“Tired?” he asked through his own stressed breathing.
“Fuck off,” she panted. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands in loose fists at her side as she kept her pace, and he was tempted to pass her fully, but he slowed and stayed next to her for the last half of the mile. When they finally crossed the landmark he’d been looking for he slowed to a stop and she kept going for a few feet, shaking her arms and legs out in a way that made her chest bounce. Things he was going to stop noticing right now. The last thing C needed was him looking at her like something other than the warrior she was making of herself.
“Alright, come on. Showers, then lunch, then we review the plan.” He tilted his head in the direction of the hotel and she sighed audibly.
“Again? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I can quote you the plan while we’re walking back to the hotel.”
“Then prove it.”
She knew the plan inside and out, and no matter how many fucking questions Smith asked her – there were no changes. Even over the drive out to New Jersey, the nighttime walk by the target’s house, she had never wavered.
It was her first real job, and she wasn’t going to fuck it up.
“What’s the first rule?”
“Don’t get caught,” she answered, practically squirming in the passenger seat as the adrenaline started flooding her too early.
“And how do you do that?”
“Observe.”
“So, how many people have passed in the last ten minutes?” Smith asked, his voice full of measured calm.
“Three cars, and two people. A couple that walked by on the right side of the road about five minutes ago. She was wearing a skirt and a blue top, he was in shorts and a white shirt with writing on it.” Camille turned to face him. “Want to know their hair color?”
“Don’t get cocky. This is the real deal.” He turned in the driver’s seat, reaching between them so that he almost brushed her arm until she pulled it back, trying to avoid the electric rush she got every time she was in contact with his skin. The small black duffel bag was in her lap a second later and she knew exactly what was in it. Two 9mms with silencers. Two extra clips.
“I’m not cocky, trust me.” The memory of her failure before was too fresh, even though Smith had started kicking her ass as soon as she could stand. Exercises, then runs, then full workouts and obstacle courses and sparring matches.
“Second rule.”
“Shoot and run.”
“Right, but do you ever actually run?” His green eyes were trained on her; she could feel them even when she wasn’t looking at him.
“No, not unless I have to. If I’m alone I walk calmly, react the way anyone else does. Look confused, interested, wander away whenever it’s reasonable.”
“And when you’re with me?”
For a moment she imagined what it would be like if Smith actually wanted her, wanted to walk down a street like this with her. Wanted her to hold his hand as something other than just a cover. Idiot. “I hold onto you, react. Couples are never looked at.”
“Exactly.” He took a slow breath. “Have any questions?”
“Nope.”
“You don’t want to know what he did?”
This time she did look at Smith, and she found the same placid expression he held ninety-nine percent of the time. “Do I need to know?”
“Absolutely not, I just thought you’d be curious.”
“Do you know?”
“…yes,” he answered, his eyes flicking towards her. “They told me when I took the job.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s young, so I wanted to know, but he did the wrong thing and pissed off the wrong guy.”
“What did he do? Steal something? Kill someone?” Camille shifted in the seat so she was facing him completely, and he turned towards her, his gaze measuring her.
“Do you remember our discussion about why we kill?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. We kill for the money, not for the why.”
“And what does that mean?” It seemed like class was back in session, even though they were a block down from the target’s house.
“It doesn’t matter if you hate someone or not, doesn’t matter if you can rationalize their fucking decisions – it’s kill or wait to be killed, and I’m the only one who benefits from the situation either way. Let them go, someone else will kill them, and probably come after me too.” She steadied her gaze at him. “You’re not going to fuck up my focus, Smith.”
“Good. That’s right. If the money’s good, we do the jobs we take.”
“And is the money good?” She grinned and he laughed softly, returning her smile as he palmed one of the nines in her lap and tucked an extra clip into his back pocket.
“It’s very good.” With a nod towards the gun left in her lap he waited until she mimicked him, tucking the extra clip away, and gripping the gun. She did a quick check, loading a bullet into the chamber, flipping the safety off and back on, and then she looked over at him.
“Alright, remember the plan.” The sound of the doors unlocking was a loud clunk, and then he stepped out, tucking the gun into the back of his pants before he adjusted his shirt over it and shut the door behind him. She followed suit, repeating the movements, until they were both on the sidewalk and he was locking the car with the button in his hand. “Still good?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought so,” he muttered and then his hand slid into hers. Palm to palm, skin to skin, and it sent an electric shiver up her arm as they walked forward. For a moment the job faded into the background because she was walking with Smith on a moonlit street in suburban New Jersey, with the trees waving in the spring breeze above her head. Other than the fact that they were on their way to execute some idiot bastard in some shitty little house, it was almost romantic.
When they got to the right address, Smith looked around, pulling her close so that she could have leaned onto her tiptoes and kissed him if she wanted to – but he was scanning, observing, and using her as cover. “We okay?” she asked.
“You tell me.”
Turning her head she looked around at the empty streets, off in the distance there was a pair of headlights and she nodded at them. Smith squeezed her hand, pulling her tighter against him as the car passed, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of his hard body even when he stepped back.
“C?”
“We’re good.” She nodded.
“Then come on.” Smith released her and she felt the absence of his touch more keenly than she would have expected, but then training took over. He walked between the two dark houses and into the shadows where they became invisible. As if the skies were watching over them, clouds passed in front of the moon, further camouflaging them from anyone at the street. Silently, Smith pointed at the window in front of him, and slid a metal tool along the frame between the top and bottom half. With a dull click the window slid up relatively easily, and he held it for her to climb in first. Gun out, safety off, maintaining her soft steps by staying up on the balls of her feet.
Smith joined her an instant later, his movements so quiet she was momentarily astounded, because even as the window was closed behind them she didn’t hear a thing. As skilled as he was when he trained her, this was Smith in his element. Focused, strong, skilled – the perfect killer.
The person she wanted to be.
He pointed at her, and then behind him, and she took position so that she followed as he moved forward into the house. It was small, two bedrooms, one bath, and they walked down the hallway towards the open door, where a small light still burned.
Shit. He’s awake.
Chewing on her bottom lip she waited for Smith to take up position beside the door, and with a nod he gestured towards the interior. He was going to let her go in first.
Tucking the gun behind her back she stepped into the doorframe, and the sudden gasp of the guy in front of her was followed by coughing. The smell she’d caught before had been pot
, and the sight of him bent over a bong in front of her only verified it. “Whoa! What the - oh… hey, baby, how did you get in here?”
“Me?” She grinned and aimed the gun at him. “Window was open.”
“Holy shit!” His eyes went wide, and she felt Smith step in behind her. “Take whatever you want, seriously, it’s all yours. Fuck, uh, I might have some cash?”
“We don’t want your money, Christopher Algiro.” Smith’s low voice was a bolster to her confidence, and she flipped the safety off as she watched the guy scramble off the bed.
“Fuck, fuck!” He grabbed at his hair and then held his hands in front of him. “Wait, wait, man, you don’t need to shoot me, I can fix this.”
“It’ll be easier if you just relax,” Smith spoke quietly.
“Listen, you just need to call Mr. Pelletti and tell him I didn’t mean it. First of all, I didn’t know Lisa was his daughter, and second of all I was shit-faced and high. I didn’t -”
“What did you do?” Camille felt her core grow cold, her finger itching to pull the trigger because she felt like she already knew the story before he told it.
“Come on, man!” Christopher begged Smith, dropping to his knees, but Smith just tilted his head towards her.
“Don’t talk to me, she’s the one with the gun.”
Christopher’s eyes swung towards her, his voice higher pitched. “Fuck! I didn’t mean to, I mean, I didn’t realize she was really unconscious, you know? I’d been flirting with her, I thought she wanted it!”
“You fucked her,” Camille finished for him and he let out an anguished groan.
“I didn’t mean anything by it! It wasn’t rape, you know? It was just, she was – fuck, don’t kill me! Let me talk to Mr. Pelletti!”
“I don’t think he wants to talk to you, Christopher,” she answered, shifting her stance so she was confident in her aim.
“Oh, shit, please, please help me. Don’t do this, come on, man.” He stared up into Smith’s face, eyes wide and panicked so that the white showed all the way around. For a moment Camille wondered if that was how Lisa had felt the morning after. Confused, terrified. Waking up to find out that someone had hurt her while she was defenseless.
“I’m not the one you should be begging,” Smith responded, his voice cold as ice.
“I swear, I didn’t mean -”
Camille pulled the trigger once, then again for a head shot, the puffs of air quieter than the weight of his body hitting the floor. She stared for a moment, making sure he went still, and then she flipped the safety on and aimed the gun down. Last breath. There. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”
“Seriously?” Smith asked, a surprised laugh tugging his lips into a smirk.
She pointed at the body on the floor with a shrug. “Considering I just earned us a payday I think we can afford dinner.”
“You’re right. Let’s make it back to the car, then we can talk about dinner options.” She caught the eye roll before he turned around, and she realized he had never even drawn his gun. Smith had actually trusted her to go through with it. The recognition made her feel light on the inside, bright and airy, even as they slipped back out the window. His little metal tool flipping the lock back in place, and then they were strolling, hand in hand, back towards the car.
“So?”
“So?” Smith echoed her as he turned the key to start the engine, letting the A/C cool the interior as they idled in the spot.
“Are you really going to fuck with me?” she asked.
A low laugh rumbled out of him. “Alright, you did good. You didn’t hesitate at all.”
“That’s right.” She preened, easing the gun out of the back of her pants, restoring it and the clip to the bag.
“It was your first job, and it’s done.” He turned the car away slowly, turning on the lights once they were facing the opposite direction. “What would you like to eat in celebration?”
“I’m thinking Italian.”
“Really, C?”
She laughed, relaxing back against the seat. “Absolutely. We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are. I’ll call Mr. Pelletti on the way.” The look he gave her was a flash of pride, and it reminded her of the flicker of a glance she’d earned the first time he’d put a gun in her hand, and now she’d proven him right.
She could do it.
She could kill.
Chapter Eight
One Year Later
“Dammit Smith!” Camille shouted as she lifted her arms to block another kick, the force of it knocking her off balance and she rolled as she hit the ground, popping up a few feet away.
“Language,” he muttered as he came at her again. She had barely taken up her stance when he fired a series of blows at her. The first punch she blocked and redirected, delivering a kick to his side when his weight was leaned too far to strike again. His grunt was short, and then his other fist was coming towards her. She ducked, ducked the next punch, and then dropped down and swept his leg out from under him. Smith hit the floor hard, but rolled backwards and was back on his feet in an instant.
“Show off.” She grumbled as she moved, watching him carefully as they circled each other, slowly getting closer, but she kept her hands up. Ready.
“That was good. Let’s see if you can keep up.” He went straight for her face but she leaned back, side-stepping to throw her own punch, which he caught. Smith twisted her wrist, trying to lock her arm against him, but she rolled inward and landed a hard elbow directly into his nose. His stunned shout made her pause for a moment, and he used it, kicking hard behind her knee to buckle her and send her flat on her back with another strike. Pain radiated up her leg, but she breathed through it until it abated. “Giving up so soon?” he taunted.
“You wish.” Twisting, she pushed herself up from the floor and ducked his first attack, countering with a hard hit to his diaphragm. She caught his attempt to grab her, and lifted her leg between them to kick him back. With little air left in his lungs, Smith stumbled back and landed flat on his ass. He coughed from the floor, and she stayed back, having learned that the fight was never over unless he said it was. “Need a break?”
“Ha. A few kills under your belt and you think you’re top dog now?” Smith flipped to his feet, the smirk at his lips one she knew all too well by now. He was about to make it much, much harder to put him on the ground.
This will be fun.
“Eleven. Eleven kills, Smith. That’s more than a few.”
“Your first two don’t count.” With a lunge he snagged a knife off the coffee table and swung at her, and she jerked backwards to avoid it.
Fuck. He was not playing around tonight.
She paced him, making him follow her around the hotel room so she could get the meter of his steps, measure when he was comfortable taking a swing with the blade. The next time he thrust, she blocked with her forearm, and grabbed his wrist, driving her thumb into the tendons until his grip went slack. With a twist she ripped the knife free from his palm, and threw it. It tumbled end over end, and then buried its tip in the headboard of the bed.
“Yes!” Camille cheered, and then he tackled her, his shoulder slamming into her stomach just before she hit floor and all the air left her lungs. An instant later he was hovering over her, both of her wrists pinned, his weight distributed at the top of her thighs so she couldn’t counter.
“What did you forget?” he panted, his breath brushing over her cheek.
“I forgot to put you on the ground after I disarmed you.” The words were automatic because she was too distracted to consciously respond with his weight on top of her. Smith was barely inches above her, the warm smell of his skin, his sweat, his aftershave, floating in the space between them – and his mouth was so close. Just an inch or so, and she could…
Before she could stop herself she had lifted her face to his, and their lips met. It was a kiss, warm and soft, and he pressed her back to the floor, nibbling at her lip as it continued
and there was no stifling the quiet moan that escaped her as they tentatively deepened the kiss. With a brief brush of tongues, Smith suddenly jerked himself back, sitting up on her hips, and then he threw himself backwards. He landed gracelessly a few feet away, and she sat up, staring at him as if she could mentally confirm that it was okay, that she wanted it, but her tongue was tied up in the knots he’d made of it when he’d kissed her back.
“Session is over,” he said and shoved himself off the floor. A moment later he was shut in the bathroom of their hotel room, while she was still sitting, stunned, beside the coffee table.
His touch was a phantom on her skin, his lips a ghostly memory across her own, but she stayed where she was and memorized it. The taste of his lips, the salt of his sweat, the incredible gentleness of his touch combined with all the raw power of his body, of what she knew he was capable of - she had to memorize it because it was probably the last time he'd ever touch her like that.
“Shit…” she whispered and pushed herself off the floor, moving over to the door to press her forehead against it. The cool wood felt good on her skin, and for a moment she couldn’t tell if her heart was racing from the fight, the knife, or the kiss.
Probably the kiss.
“Smith?” Rapping her fingernails on the wood she waited, listening for movement. “Don’t make a fucking deal out of it. Come out.”
The sound of the tiny plastic trashcan being nudged across the tile was the only response.
“Look, I’m sorry I fucking kissed you.” She swallowed around the words, because she didn’t mean them. She’d been wanting to kiss him for almost two years, had wanted to feel his skin against hers when they weren’t fighting. A kiss didn’t feel like much to her, but apparently it was everything to Smith.
It’s because you’re tainted and he knows it.
Dirty. Damaged. Unworthy of someone like him.
With a growl Camille slammed her hand on the wood of the door. “Don’t be a little bitch, Smith! If you don’t want me, just fucking say it. Don’t lock yourself in a God damned bathroom!” Rattling the locked doorknob she kicked the wood and walked away. Fuming as she stared across the hotel room.
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 8