by Lauren Rowe
Jonas nods. “Thanks, guys.” He looks emboldened. “I think that might work if I sell it right.”
Henn scrunches up his face, thinking. “Lemme see if I can’t get you a little insurance to help you out, big guy. Maybe I can dig up some more shit on the Secretary of Defense. Some compromising photos or whatnot. Kiddie porn on his computer. A dick pic he sent to a minor? I’m sure there’s something. There’s always something with these guys. A little insurance would be a good thing to have in your pocket in case the feds balk about taking those two guys out as part of the deal. ”
“Thanks, Henn,” Jonas says. “Yeah, insurance would be awesome.”
“Cool. No problem.”
“Is that everything, bro?” I ask.
Jonas looks at his watch. “Just one more quick thing. What about Oksana? Does she pull a weapon during the shoot-out or not?”
We all ponder the question for a moment, pursing our lips.
“The more people ‘pulled weapons on officers’ and didn’t make it out alive, the less believable the whole thing is,” Henn says. “Plus, women are much less likely to pull a weapon, statistically speaking. We don’t wanna raise any suspicion that anything’s hinky.”
Jonas clenches his jaw. “Did you uncover anything whatsoever to suggest Oksana had something to do with the hit on Sarah?”
“Or maybe knew about it beforehand?” I ask, my jaw clenching in sympathy with my brother’s. I want these fuckers dead every bit as much as he does.
Henn shakes his head. “Everything I’ve seen tells me Max ordered the hit and the Ukrainian Travolta carried it out. All evidence is that Oksana’s a pimpstress and a loyalist to mother Russia, but not a stone-cold killer. Max is the head of the snake. Indubitably.”
Jonas looks deep in thought.
I touch my brother’s shoulder. “I vote you be the God of the New Testament, Jonas—show the perfect measure of force and mercy.”
Jonas runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck. I dunno.” He exhales. “I’ll think about it on the plane some more.”
“Okay. Follow your gut.” I hug him. “Be safe, bro.” I kiss him on the side of his neck.
“You, too,” Jonas says. He kisses my cheek. “Be careful in the banks, guys. Please.”
“We will.”
“Take extra good care of Kat.” He looks across the room at Sarah. She’s chatting and giggling happily with Kat. “My girl can’t live without her.”
I stare at Kat across the room, my heart suddenly bursting in my chest. “I won’t let anything happen to her, bro.”
“We’ll keep her safe, big guy,” Henn says.
Jonas hugs Henn. “You’re a fucking genius, man. I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
“Hey, man. We’re family now.”
They slap each other’s backs and when they pull apart, Jonas looks determined.
“You got this,” I say. “You’re a fucking beast, bro.”
“Fuck yeah,” Jonas says.
“Fuck yeah,” I reply.
“Fuck yeah,” Henn echoes. “Wow, I feel so masculated right now. Is this how you guys feel every fucking day? Wow.”
We all laugh.
I look at my watch. “Okay, bro. You better get your ass to the airport. Keep us posted. We’ll be ready all day tomorrow. Just give us the word and we’ll head to the banks.”
Our threesome walks over to the girls, and after the five of us have completed every possible permutation of hugging and whispered goodbyes, Jonas and Sarah waltz out the door, bags in hand and determined expressions on their faces.
“Good luck saving the world, guys!” Kat shouts to their backs.
“Holy crappolaaaaaaaaaaa!” Sarah shouts, just as the door closes behind her.
They’re gone.
Henn, Kat, and I look at each other in a shared daze for a long moment.
“Holy shitballs,” Kat finally says.
“Big shit going down in little China,” Henn says.
“Or little Ukraine,” I add.
“Shit just got real,” Henn says.
“Fo shizzle pops,” Kat says.
Henn exhales, filling his cheeks with air like a blowfish. “Welp.” He looks at Kat. “I guess we’d better take your photo for your Oksana passport, huh? If Jonas and Sarah call upon us to save the world tomorrow, we’d best be ready.”
Forty-One
Josh
“Okay, Kitty Kat,” Henn says, his eyes bugging out. “There’s nothing to stress about. I’ve already shaved years off Oksana’s age on all the banks’ systems and I’m gonna swap your photo for Oksana’s on the accounts using photo identification. Tonight, I’m gonna check and recheck all the passwords and codes on every account, too, just to make sure everything goes off without a hitch tomorrow. Oh, and I’m gonna infect the bad guys’ devices with malware to block their wifi at the flip of a switch too—just on the off chance they try to log into their accounts while we’re in the middle of making the transfers.”
“How many Americanos have you had today, Henny?” Kat asks.
“Why does everyone always ask me that?” He chuckles. “So are you ready to get your photo taken, Oksana?” He motions to the door of Jonas and Sarah’s suite. “I think we should head down to the casino and look for a white wall as a background.”
Kat steals a glance at me, and there’s no mistaking what she’s thinking about.“Sure thing,” she says tentatively, still looking at me. “How long do you need me?”
“Just a few minutes. Shouldn’t take long once we find a good backdrop.”
“Is there any hacker-stuff you could do first, before taking my photo? Maybe for about an hour?”
“Um. Sure. I can certainly work on my malware for a while. And I’ve got a little research on the Secretary of Defense to do for Jonas.”
“In that case, how about we split up for a bit? You guys do whatever while I stay here in the suite and do a little personal reading? It won’t take too long.”
“Cool,” Henn says. “Actually, I could use to blow off a little steam for a bit before I get to work, if you guys don’t mind. You wanna roll the dice with me, boss?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, my stomach clenching. “I gotta talk to Kat first, though. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
“Cool. See you soon. Just text me when you’re ready to meet up.”
The minute Henn leaves, I take Kat’s face in my hands and kiss her. And then I kiss her again. And again. And again. All I wanna do is kiss her one last time before my application potentially fucks everything up—but before I know it, my clothes are off and so are hers and she’s on top of me on the bed, riding me, screaming my name, humping me exactly the way she rode that Sybian—and I’m underneath her, guiding her smooth hips, groping her hot little ass, mesmerized by the way her tits are bouncing, by the little cleft in her chin, the way her blonde hair falls around her shoulders, and wondering how the fuck I’m letting myself have sex without a condom again (even though it feels so, so fucking good).
When we’re done, we hop in the shower, neither of us speaking.
Clearly, that was a detour neither of us expected or planned. We’re like fucking dynamite, the two of us. A nuclear reaction.
“You’re on the pill, right?” I ask.
“Yep. Still on the pill since the last time I told you.”
“Sorry. Just double-checking.”
She smiles. “Sorry. Ask me as many times as you need. Yes, I’m on the pill.”
“I’m sorry. My dad used to put the fear of God into me about having sex without a condom. I’ve never done it before. I’m just paranoid.”
“You’ve never had sex without a condom before?”
I shake my head.
“Not even with girlfriends?”
“Never. You’re my first.”
I lather her up under the hot water for a moment.
“So you’ve literally never felt sex without a rubber before me? Not once?”
I shake my head again—and then I grin broadly. “It feels fucking amazing.”
She grins broadly. “Yeah, I bet it does. Jeez, Josh. No wonder you think I’m amazing. Ha!”
I kiss her. “You are,” I say. “It’s not just that.”
She throws her arms around me and kisses me. “God, I’m addicted to you.”
“Me, too. You’re a drug.”
I take my sweet time in the shower with her, washing her, touching her. And then, what the fuck, why not? I get down on my knees and eat her out, too, bringing her to a climax that has her pulling on my hair like it’s on fucking fire.
When we’re done, we dry ourselves off with the fluffy white towels and get dressed quietly, a sense of doom descending upon me. The jig is up. There’s nowhere else to run. I’ve got to give it to her now.
“Can I make you a drink, PG?”
“Sure. Surprise me,” she says.
“My kind of girl,” I reply. My voice is casual, relaxed. But it’s an act. My stomach is tight. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
I bring her the drink. “An old fashioned,” I say.
“Oh, you hipster.” She notices my empty hands. “You didn’t make one for yourself?”
“I don’t wanna be here when you read my application,” I say. “I’m gonna go down to the casino and meet Henn.”
“Oh. Okay. Suit yourself.”
There’s a long pause. I stand, rooted to my spot, my hand in my pocket.
“Now would be when you finally give me your application, Josh,” she says.
I exhale. “I know.”
There’s another long pause. I’m waiting for her to say, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care what it says.” But she doesn’t. She just stares at me, smiling like a wolf.
“Okay,” I finally say. I grab my laptop from the table, click into my PDF-formatted application, and lay the laptop on her lap. “Here you go, Madame Terrorist,” I say. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you kindly,” she says.
“Text me when you’re done so I can come get you. I don’t want you to be alone out there—now more than ever. I didn’t like the looks of that Max guy.”
She nods. “I promise.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Well. Happy reading.”
“Thank you.”
I linger briefly, hoping she’ll say never mind. But she doesn’t.
I bite the inside of my cheek for minute. “Okay, well, bye.”
“Bye.” She shoots me a clipped wave.
I return her wave and stride to the front door of the suite, my heart pulsing in my ears. Just before I leave, I turn back around. Kat’s settling herself into her chair. She takes a swig of her old fashioned and leans into the screen, biting her lip.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. This is it—the brick wall I’ve been hurtling toward without brakes since I first laid eyes on that beautiful terrorist. And now the damned wall is finally here, an inch from my fucking nose, and there’s nowhere to turn.
I take a deep breath, open the door, and quietly slip into the hallway.
The door closes behind me.
I close my eyes.
Crash.
Revelation
Forty-Two
Kat
The door to Jonas and Sarah’s suite closes behind Josh’s back and I look down at Josh’s laptop, holding my breath with excitement. This is it. I can’t believe I’m finally gonna read Josh’s application to The Club, after all this build-up. My chest is tight. My stomach is in knots. What on earth did that man write that’s made him so skittish about revealing it to me? Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out:
Name?
“Joshua William Faraday,” he writes. Oh, I didn’t know Josh’s middle name is William. For some reason, seeing his full name makes my heart flutter.
With this application, you will be required to submit three separate forms of identification. The Club maintains a strict “No Aliases Policy” for admission. You may, however, use aliases during interactions with other Club members, at your discretion.
“OK,” he writes.
Age?
“29,” he writes.
I stop and think. Josh is thirty. I wonder when he had his birthday? I’d love to know his zodiac sign. Damn, it sure would suck donkey balls if it turned out we were cosmically incompatible.
Provide a brief physical description of yourself.
“I’m 6’1, 190 lbs. I’ve got brown hair and blue eyes and tattoos on my torso and arms. I prefer not to talk about the meanings of my tattoos at length, so please tell whoever gets assigned to me not to ask about them.
“I work pretty hard at keeping fit,” he continues. “I’m a big believer that a man only gets one chance at a first impression, so I try to make mine count, every time. Just to be clear: I’m not applying for membership to The Club because I have some sort of inferiority complex about my appearance (I don’t) or because I can’t attract women on my own (I can).”
I can’t help but smile. Even when Josh is being kind of douche-y, he’s sexy as hell to me.
With this application, you will be required to submit three recent photographs of yourself to your intake agent. Please include the following: one headshot, one full-body shot revealing your physique, and one shot wearing something you’d typically wear out in a public location. These photographs shall be maintained under the strictest confidentiality.
Oh, this I gotta see. I scroll down, assuming Josh’s photos will be attached to the end of his application, but they’re not there. I scan the top of the document, looking for some indication of where I can find his pictures—but, nope. There’s nothing. Goddammit! I grab my phone.
Josh answers my call immediately. “Wow, that was fast,” he says. “I’m only just now walking into the casino.”
“Where are your photos?”
“My photos?”
“Yeah, the three photos you submitted with your application.”
“Oh, my photos.” He pauses. “Why do you want them? You already know exactly what I look like.”
“I just want to see them.”
“But you’ve already seen every inch of me—you’ve seen my YOLO’d ass, for Chrissakes.” He snickers. “Not to mention my balls.”
I join him in snickering. “Up close and personal.”
He snickers again.
“But I still wanna see your photos.”
He sighs. “How ’bout this? I’ll come back up there and let you take three photos of me any which way you want. We’ll have a photo shoot, just you and me, baby.”
“Ooh, sounds fun—I’ll definitely take a rain check on that offer. But I still wanna see the photos.”
He grumbles. “But why?”
“Because I wanna see what photos you thought would best represent yourself to perverts in a sex club.”
There’s a long pause. “You’re such a fucking pain in the ass, you know that? A terrorist and a colossal pain in the ass.”
“I told you—I’m a Scorpio. We’re extremely focused and we also have a disproportionate sense of entitlement. Plus, I gave you my three photos—a deal’s a deal.”
He laughs. “Oh my God, those photos, Kat.”
“You liked them?”
“I loved them. The one of you in your undies was so hot—and then I practically pissed myself laughing at the one of you pretending to barf over the toilet. You’re so funny.”
“Thank you. You’re pretty funny yourself—but funny ain’t gonna get you off the hook, dude. Those photos are part of your application, which means they’re part of your promise.”
He grunts. “Fine. Are you familiar with Macs?”
“Yeah, I’ve got one—from your brother, actually.”
“My brother gave you a Mac?”
“Yeah. To replace the one The Club stole from me.”
“That was awfully nice of him—I didn’t know Jonas knew how to be nice.”
“Yeah. He’s been super nice to me. Okay,
quit stalling. Where are the photos?”
He groans. “Fine. Go to ‘Finder’ and click on ‘Pictures’ on the left side of the screen.”
“Yep. Okay.”
“And now do you see the folder...” Josh says, but I don’t hear the rest of his sentence because something has caught my attention on Josh’s laptop screen: a folder labeled “Sick Fuck.” Well, jeez, with a name like that, the folder might as well be named “Open me, Kat!”
“Do you see it?” Josh says.
“Mmm hmm,” I say, clicking on the “Sick Fuck” folder.
Oh my God. I’m looking at a bunch of photos of naked women—lots and lots of naked women—all of them blonde, all of them gorgeous, and all of them striking poses like porn stars.
“Kat? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, scrolling through the photos. There’s probably close to twenty different women here. “Josh, who are all the blondes?”
“What?” he asks, his voice suddenly tight.
“The porn stars in the folder labeled ‘Sick Fuck’?”
“Jesus Fucking Christ! Get out of there, Kat! That’s personal!”
“Who are they?”
“I didn’t give you permission to look through my private stuff. Get the fuck out of there right now. Jesus!”
“Oh, waah, waah. So you like porn—you’re such a pervert.” I laugh, but he doesn’t join me. “Come on. Just tell me who they are. It’s no big whoop.”
“This is a total breach of trust. Absolutely inexcusable.”
I ignore his outrage. It’s an extremely effective tactic I’ve learned from observing my brothers over the years: remain calm in the face of indignation and then deny, deny, deny any and all wrongdoing until the person angry with you simply forgets what they’re mad about.
“Are these photos off the Internet, or are they women you actually know?” I ask calmly.
There’s a long silence. “This is total bullshit,” he grumbles, but it’s clear his outrage is already beginning to soften. “I want to lodge a formal complaint,” he says.