by Finn, Emilia
Mercifully, when Soph couldn’t ignore her work any longer, she let me take control of her TV remote, donned a baggy pair of sweatpants, turned her music down, and got back to it, albeit in Mandarin.
If I want to know what she does for a living, I won’t find out by watching her work. I have no fucking clue how to speak Mandarin, and though I’m not incapable of learning, I won’t learn it in the couple days I set up camp in her living room.
So I leave her be, because it’s not like I don’t have my own secrets. Massive secrets, secrets that include killing men, fucking whores, and having cocaine addictions.
And that doesn’t even mention the time I was shot in the head and executed right in front of my brother’s girlfriend’s eyes.
Soph doesn’t ask, and I don’t tell.
She gives me the privacy I need, so I can return the favor by not asking how she earns her heat and food. Instead, I watch midday soaps on her large-screen TV; I raid her pantry every hour; I bring food to her desk and grin when she flips screens every single time I approach, and I put my feet on her coffee table while I mentally work through my actions from three days ago with a Winchester and four shots.
It’s crazy that I kind of want to call Kane and tell him I made four shots and hit my targets each time.
Even at thirty years old, I want to impress my big brother.
“Jay?” Lifting her mug of coffee, Sophia turns at her desk and meets my gaze. It’s dinner time, almost bed time, but she drinks coffee like it’s water and doesn’t worry about the effect of caffeine on her sleep. “I’m starving.”
I toss the remote away and study her from her bare feet with sparkle-painted toenails, up to her hair in that bun. She promises nothing, doesn’t give a shit that she looks like a bum, wears no bra beneath her hoodie and no makeup on her face.
In fact, I haven’t seen her in makeup yet at all.
She’s as real as they get and makes no apologies like she thinks she needs to impress me.
She doesn’t.
I’m kinda crushing on her already, because she dances like an angel when she thinks I’m not watching, eats like a horse even when I am, and holds no shots when I give her attitude.
I remember back to a time before I was hurt and cocaine was kicking my ass, when my nights were hazy, broken, and filled with bad choices, and my days were made up of too much nicotine, too much alcohol, and too many naps to combat my bad choices and good memory.
I remember sitting in my car more than twelve hundred yards from a roadside diner where I watched my brother and his girlfriend through a scope. Smiling, I watched him palm this blonde’s ass beneath her dress, make out with her in public, and almost get them both arrested for public indecency.
My world was falling down around me because I was an addict who couldn’t walk away, and my career had officially taken a turn from undercover agent pretending to be a thug, to straight up being a thug who committed crimes far more often than I solved them.
But Jessie and Kane sat in that diner in the middle of the morning and made out like a couple kids on spring break. His world was just as shitty as mine, but in the dark, he was able to find love.
He showed me our world under Abel Hayes’ reign wasn’t the end.
I watched him smile and joke with Jess. He made her quiver under his touch, and when he turned his back, and another woman stepped up and gave Jess sass, that blonde spitfire went rank and showed her spine the way Soph barks at me.
What can I say? Bishop men are attracted to psychos.
“Hey!” Soph tosses a tennis ball at my head and beans me just below my scar. “I said I’m hungry.”
“So come over here and eat my cock. That oughtta fill you up.”
Pursing her lips, she stands from her desk and stretches her back until her spine pops and a groan escapes her throat. “I’d be super grateful if you could get food and bring it back.” Walking around the couch and stopping in front of me, she drops down into a crouch and meets my eyes. “Pretty please?”
“Call something in for delivery. Then I don’t have to put my boots on.”
“But I want a burger from Ginnie’s.” Leaning forward, she drops a teasing kiss on my lips and a fast swipe of her palm over my dick. “Ginnie doesn’t deliver. Pretty, pretty please?”
I never used to be a guy who’d hang out with one chick. I don’t stay in their apartments, watch their TVs, stroke their hair for the six hours a night they sleep and I lay awake. And I definitely don’t fetch food on request.
But… “Take a break and come down with me.” I pull her into my lap and smile when her hot core brushes over the cock she made hard. She makes me hard just by existing. And if I thought my appetite for sex was a weird anomaly, or something no one woman could keep up with, then I was wrong. If Soph isn’t working, eating, or sleeping, she’s bringing me pleasure and making it so other women don’t even enter my mind. Wondrously, she’s enough, and I didn’t think any single woman could do that. Sliding my hand under her sweater, I palm her bare breast and grin when her bottom lip drops into a sexy pout. “You haven’t stopped all day. Come with me, then come with me.”
“I can’t…” Her eyes close as she drops her head back and enjoys my fingers on her nipple. “Jay…” Despite herself, she moves in my lap, slides her pussy over my thigh, and leans against my chest. She’s so responsive. She’s as hungry as I am. Ridiculously, I had to go and find the one woman on the planet who eats as much as I do, then fucks off her energy and still has some left over for later. “Jay, stop. I don’t have time to stop working. You knew this about me.”
“Just an hour?”
“Last time you asked for an hour, you practically moved in and haven’t left yet. I don’t have time for you right now.”
Leaning forward, I take her thick bottom lip between my teeth and bite until she hisses. “That was rude and unwelcoming.”
Laughing, she smacks my chest and grunts when I don’t let her go. “I never said I wasn’t rude. I also said I didn’t want you here. Which part of that gave you the impression I was welcoming?”
“Your hot pussy was kinda welcoming.” I tweak her nipple and groan when she grinds down over my cock. “Let’s fuck first, beautiful Sophia, then dinner, then you can get back to work.”
“No!” Pushing my hand out of her top, she bounds out of my lap and cups her pussy. “You’re not allowed to touch right now. I have work to do, Jay. Really important work. And to be able to do that work, I need food. I have a mooch living on my couch, a mooch who claims he has a few days off from his bullshit fridge job, so either leave and go back to your apartment, or go get me food and help me keep my job, which, by the way, pays for the heat and food you so love to mooch.”
“You’re so bossy.” Huffing, I stand and fix my shorts around my still-hard cock. Walking across the room and snatching up my wallet and phone, I turn back and point. “I paid for every meal since I got here, just so you know. I’m not a complete mooch. I pay my way.”
“I never said you were cheap, just that you’re a pest when I’m trying to work. Please bring me food. I’d truly appreciate it. When you get back, after I’m done working, we can fuck and your hurt pride will feel all better.”
“Don’t think I’m letting you forget that, Sophia. I’m gonna fuck you till you apologize for being rude.”
“Suits me.” She turns away with a dismissive shrug and drops back into her desk chair. “I like when you angry fuck, anyway. I get to come more often when you’re pissed.”
Stalking forward with a thundering heart, I stop behind her chair and lean in. Biting her neck, I don’t let go until she throws an elbow back and cries out. “Asshole.” She spins and rubs her neck. “That hurt, jerk.”
“Good. That means even when I walk out that door, you’ll still feel me.” Grabbing her jaw, I pull her up and press my lips to hers. It’s noisy, dry, and ends with her huff of impatience. “Back soon, Tiny Dancer. Work fast; we have personal shit to take care of.”
Kane Bishop Is A Pain In My Ass
Jay
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Crushing my phone in my hand the next day, I walk laps through Sophia’s apartment and push past her when she glances up from work. “Impatient motherfucking asshole can’t just sit still. He has to be the fucking hero. Why does he always have to be the first through the door? Fuck!”
“Jay?” Slowly rising from her chair, Sophia watches me with a frown and lifted hands as though I might attack her. “You okay?”
“No! I’m fuckin’ not!” Pulling my boots on and leaving my laces untied, I run across her apartment and drop a kiss on her lips. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Jay?”
I sprint to the door and swing it open.
“Jay!”
“I’ll be back later. Maybe. I dunno.” I was running, but now my heart makes me reconsider everything. Pain slashes through my gut. Common sense fights with my heart, and when I meet Soph’s dark eyes and study her slender body in those sleep shorts, I’m ashamed to admit how much of me wants to stay here. “Don’t let anyone in here, okay? Don’t answer your door to anyone. Don’t go out alone at night. I don’t know if I’ll be back tonight, so…” I run a hand over my head and remember my missing beanie. “Fuck. I’ve gotta go. Be a good girl till I can come back.”
“Jay?” She runs forward with a white face, then jumps when I swing the door closed and it slams against the frame. I swear to God, if the last I ever see of her is those sleep shorts and her white face, if I never get to say goodbye, I’m going to fucking rampage.
For the first time in my life, I want to strangle Kane fucking Bishop, because Ace’s email just came through, and it’s exactly what I didn’t want to read.
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From: AcesAndEights
Subject: Kane Bishop quit.
Handed his badge in. Forfeited his weapons. He was hidden and believed dead, but now he’s back. He’s a civilian; he has no protection, and my information says he’s en route back to town. I don’t know what you can do about it – you’re dead, too.
You’ve helped me. You helped me with those girls, so this is me keeping my side of the bargain. But don’t make any rash decisions about this. Use your brain; don’t rush into anything. Tell me your plans, and we’ll work it out together.
Fuck Ace and his “let’s talk it out” bullshit. I need to pack my shit up, get in a car, and drive my ass back home before Kane gets there and gets himself killed.
He doesn’t know they’ve got a contract on his head!
He doesn’t know someone from higher up in Abel’s faction still has Kane in his sights. And I sure as hell ain’t staying here with a pretty girl while my brother walks into an ambush.
Jogging down a single flight of stairs, I push into my apartment and ignore the freezing air. I haven’t slept in my bed in days, though I’ve been down here each day to get fresh clothes. Rushing straight to my bed, I snag a duffel from beneath and drop it to the mattress.
My heart races with the what-ifs. What if I don’t get to Kane in time? What if I leave and Sophia needs me? What if I go to Kane, but the guy who signs those contracts is here like we suspect, and going back to town is the wrong move?
I only get to choose one move. One direction.
And whichever I choose might decide who lives and who dies.
If I go to Kane, but our guy is here, then I become a sitting duck with Kane. If I stay here, he’ll be there, and no one will have his six.
And no matter which choice I make, I lose Sophia. Because both worlds are too dangerous for her.
Tugging my clothes out of the drawers, I toss them in my duffel, then, lifting my mattress, I take out a black canvas bag and tear it open.
Guns, cash, cigarettes. It’s funny how not so long ago, I needed cigarettes in my bug-out bag. Now, I toss them across the room and dig bags of gummy worms from my bedside drawer. I toss them on top of the protein bars and a bottle of water. Then I count rolls of cash. A thousand dollars per roll. Ten rolls. Thank you, Ace. I thumb through three passports; they all have my picture, but carry wildly different names and countries of birth. Then I thumb through three more: Kane’s picture, different birth dates and locations.
I doubt either of us will have to leave the country, but if our father taught us anything, it was to be prepared and to have a backup plan.
I toss them into my bag beside the cash, then check my M9. I check the chamber, flip the safety off and back on again, then I drop it into my bag and pick up the next to check.
Kane’s blade is in my pocket since I never put it down, and my Glock sits tucked in the back of my jeans. Sophia has seen my gun, but she doesn’t ask, and she never stares for too long.
It’s not illegal to carry weapons in this state. It’s not illegal to carry concealed, either.
So either she trusts I have a weapon for the right reasons, or she’s going with the “I don’t ask, he doesn’t tell” mantra I’ve been working with for so long.
I love that she lets me be. She doesn’t demand answers; she doesn’t check my phone or ask why I hardly sleep. She just minds her own business and watches me out of the corner of her eyes when I’m doing something she might not be sure she wants to know about, like not sleep or check my emails twenty-two hours of the day.
Tossing the last of my things into my bag and leaving my Winchester in its carry bag beneath my mattress, I zip the tote and set it aside, then I sit on my bed and run a hand through my hair.
Think. Think. Think.
Where do I go first? Where do I go next?
Taking out my phone, I reopen Ace’s email and study each word in case I missed something.
Kane’s out. He’s heading back to his girl. He doesn’t even know he has a contract on his head.
So my first decision is, do I let him know? Send an anonymous email?
He can’t know it’s me; he thinks I’m dead, and when I come back to him, it won’t be via an email. It won’t be while I’m thousands of miles away and he can’t see me in the flesh to make sure I’m okay.
I was always his responsibility, just as he was mine. In his mind, he failed, because I’m dead. That will hurt him.
My coming back will hurt him too.
Then it’ll hurt me when he kicks my ass for lying.
Scrolling back through my emails with Ace, I scan what we’ve written about Peter Aguilar, about Cole Fenney, about the drop from three days ago.
I wrack my brain from the time I spoke to Cole and Pete. Did they say anything that would help? Something I missed? Something that’ll give me a heads up on where to go next?
Cole said he gets texts from Pete.
Pete said he gets texts from the fucker I executed earlier this week.
But Ace said we don’t have to interrogate them, just exterminate. Which means he knows which step is up.
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From: KingOnD8
Subject: Where do I go?
Who’s next? I have to move now; send me to the next step, or send me home.
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From: AcesAndEights
Subject: re: Where do I go?
I don’t know right now. I’m working on Stan Corrin’s comms now. I’ve been working on it for days. The higher we go, the more secure their data.
Stan is the suit from your last mission, but I already had his devices, hence, no interrogation needed. I have his comms and agenda, collected intel and gave you your mission.
I have letters; they’ve made it a puzzle.
TN – is Trenton Neal, I assume. I’m still trying to find him.
CAB – is a ghost. I don’t know that one.
ML – I don’t know that one, either.
I’m working on it.
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From: KingOnD8
Subject: That’s a lot
of unknowns!
What exactly do you do each day, Ace? Because you have a lot of fucking unknowns, and not enough answers! Give me something. Give me coordinates; I’ll take care of the rest.
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From: AcesAndEights
Subject: Fuck you!
And fuck you again!
I work myself into the ground for this intel. Shut the fuck up and sit down. Don’t question my work ethic again.
Find CAB, find Trenton, and find ML. That’s your mission!
You think you’re so smart, figure it out.
Flipping screens, I find the internet search engine and start simple: what is CAB?
509,000,000 results, and 0.50 seconds later, I bite off a string of fucks.
It’s a fucking taxi.
Not helpful!
Trying again, I type in CAB sex club.
Nothing.
It has to be a club; whatever the initials are, one of them has to be a club. Clubs are this empire’s bread and butter; it’s where they bring their girls; it’s where they train and sell them. In the back alleys behind the clubs is where they buy and sell drugs and guns.
CAB or ML must stand for a club somehow.
Typing in ML sex club, I get a bunch of hits. Too many hits, but it’s better than getting a fucking taxi. Taking out a pen and paper, I start listing all of the clubs in the city whose name speaks to me, and whose website’s interior photos make me think of Abel and Pete’s clubs.
Murphy’s Law.
Monster Lounge.
Mr. Love.
Fuck me, could Mr. Love be any creepier?
Deciding to work from the creepiest back to reasonable, I stand and pull my beanie back on. Out of habit, I check my gun and place it back under my shirt, then, leaving my things on my bed, I swing back toward the front door and pull on a coat since I left my other in Soph’s apartment.