by JA Huss
“Not everything, just what I need to know. Not good enough.”
“I’m paid to complete missions, but I’m also paid to keep secrets. I’ll tell you all the details you need to do your job, just as I was told all the details I need to do mine.”
I look down at the gun. It’s more than nice. Much more than nice. Expensive, both to buy and to shoot, because the ammo is unique. A cone-shaped projectile that acts more like a rifle cartridge than a bullet. My heart thumps a little at the offer. I feel like I’m in a movie. My life is morphing into something interesting and dangerous before my eyes. It’s far better than sitting around pining for Spencer.
I look back at Bobby Mansi and nod. “OK, I’ll go. But I’m not making any promises until I hear the details.”
Sixty minutes later we are still driving. It’s eleven thirty at night, it’s dark as hell, and I’m truly in the middle of nowhere. I have lived no fewer than ten rape/kill scenarios in my head. But that’s ridiculous. I’ve got a gun. A very powerful gun.
I’m sure Bobby has one too. Somewhere on him. But it’s not in his hand with his trigger finger resting alongside the barrel, like mine is. I flicked that safety off and loaded a round into the chamber as soon as I got in the car. Bobby was walking around to get in his side after holding the door for me—those rich-boy manners again—so he didn’t see me do it. But I’m sure he knows I’m ready to shoot his ass, should the need arise.
I’ve never shot a person but I’ve shot a hundred thousand rounds, at least. Spencer and I used to go shooting once or twice a week back when we first met. We’d spend the entire day at the gun club. I took a lot of shooting classes. I’m a better shot than Spencer is.
I still have a gun club membership, paid in full every year thanks to my ghost of a boyfriend. In fact, I’m still on his account. We just never go together. I’m not sure he even goes there at all—he has his own range on his farm. It’s just the back side of a dirt hill, but that’s all you need.
Bobby and I sit in silence the whole ride. I guess he’s not a music guy because he never turns it on. And when I steal some glances over at him every few minutes, his expression is distant and serious. Like he’s thinking very hard about things.
My grip on the gun tightens. God, I hope to hell I’m not setting myself up to be killed.
The car slows and we turn off on a dirt road. We bounce around on it for about a mile, then he stops and cuts the engine and we both get out. “We’re here.”
I look out at the total darkness. “How the hell are we gonna shoot targets in the dark?”
“You’re on the clock now, Veronica. Be quiet, watch, and then do as you’re told.”
My brows go up into my forehead. Jesus. Blunt much?
He opens his trunk and rummages around inside a duffel bag, then produces a contraption that looks like a bunch of laser pointers taped together. He sets it down on a table—table? I guess we’re actually somewhere legitimate. And then turns it on. Ten laser beams shoot off into the distance and rest on some sort of vertical platform. The points of light create a line of red targets.
“Shoot them,” he says in his all-business tone.
I check my barrel to make sure I’ve got a round in there, then lift the gun, sight the first dot and move my finger to the trigger. I pop off ten rounds, and with each release the pinprick of light blinks to signal I hit it.
I stand back and lower my weapon. Smiling.
God, I love shooting.
Bobby says nothing, simply moves the target slightly and then the pinpricks of light are farther away. “Twenty yards. Go,” he says.
I pop those off in rapid fire, then disengage the mag and hold it out to him. He gives me a smile this time, then hands over another loaded mag and moves the lasers again. “Let’s just get to the good shit, shall we? Fifty yards.”
I slip the new mag in, load the chamber, and disengage the safety. I fire all twenty rounds this time, starting over from the end after I hit the last dot. I pop the mag out and wait.
“You missed.”
“Only twice.” I shrug. “I’m not gonna apologize for missing two shots out of forty. I’m standing in fuck-me boots and it’s dark. Be reasonable.”
I catch his smile in the dim starlight.
“OK, I did my part, now you tell me who you really are. Let’s start with your name. I know it’s not Bobby Mansi. No one is stupid enough to come to town with an agenda to kill someone and use their real name. So spill.”
He hands me another loaded mag and I take that as a sign of trust. “Let’s see how much you’ve figured out first, then I’ll see if you need to know anymore.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“Adapt, Veronica,” he says dryly.
I shake my head and walk over to the car, leaning against the hood. The engine is warm and that feels good in the cold night air. My legs are bare, so I slide up and take a seat. “I think you’re Tony. I think you’re Ashleigh’s husband. You’re not dead, obviously, and you want your baby and girlfriend back. You’re here to kill Ford.”
He laughs. Like, a real that’s-fucking-funny laugh.
“And I gotta say,” I continue, “I’m not sure I can kill Ford. He’s weird. But I’m not gonna kill Ford. Or watch your back while you kill Ford. I might even like Ford. He’s growing on me. I love Kate. And he loves Kate. So I’m gonna have to decline. If you try to kill Ford, I’m on Team Ford.”
When I look up at him he’s smiling at me. “You done?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
I shrug. “I’m done.”
“That’s some imagination you have, Veronica.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bobby.”
“What’s your other name? The name your friends call you?”
He tilts his head at me as he thinks and then shrugs. “You can call me Tet if you want. My associates call me Tet.”
“Tetrahedral? Tetra?”
“No. Tetro, like tetrodotoxin.”
Okay. “That poison-puffer fish stuff they eat for fun in Asia?” I have to turn my head so I can giggle privately. Because, come on. It’s a little dramatic, right? I compose myself and turn back. “Are you a good witch or a bad witch, Tetro?”
He puts a palm out, asking for my gun. I hand it back to him and he reloads. The look on his face when he lifts his eyes from the weapon reminds me of a predator and I’m instantly sorry I gave the gun back.
“I’m number six. In between poison mushrooms and mercury.”
I have no idea what that means so I just drop it because I’m not in the mood to get weird with a guy who has a deadly poison for a nickname in the pitch-black middle of nowhere and is holding my gun.
He hands me a scope, moves the lasers to another area downrange, then raises my weapon and turns back to me. “Ninety yards. That’s max limit for this gun. Watch carefully.”
I raise the scope to my eye, adjust it a little, find the targets, and then he fires, one after the other. And with each shot the laser blinks.
He lowers the weapon, hands it back to me, and then walks over to the trunk and grabs a green canvas sack. “Here,” he says, holding the sack out to me. I take it and my arm almost drops to the ground because it’s so heavy. I lean down and open the drawstring to peek inside. It’s far too dark, so I reach in and feel around.
Boxes of ammo. And magazines for the FN Five-SeveN.
OK. He’s got my attention.
I look up at him and from this perspective, he looks every inch a killer. What the fuck was I thinking? My heart starts to beat wildly at the prospect of what he might expect me to do and it’s like he can read my reaction on my face. Because he leans down, grabs my shoulder, and pulls me close.
“Bomb,” he says in a very serious voice. Oh God, we both have dramatic mobster nicknames. “I’ve got a few more details for you, are you ready?” He urges me to stand.
I try to push back but he holds me firmly. “No, I think—”
“I’m
a soldier.”
Oh shit, here it comes. I’m gonna get everything I asked for and then some hardass is gonna stalk me and kill me because I know things I shouldn’t. Dammit.
“But not the legitimate kind.” One arm wraps around my shoulder and then I’m turned so I’m facing him. A hand slides into the curve of my waist and rests on my hip, just a little bit underneath my jacket.
I almost forget to breathe.
“Usually I work alone. We all work alone. But I need a partner for this one. I’ve got two girls involved.”
My eyes flick up to his. “Rook and Ash?”
“Plus a baby.”
“Oh, shit.”
“And I need you because your friends, Bombshell—your friends are in a lot of trouble. And I don’t give a shit about this trial, what they did, why they did it, or how they’ll fix it. All I care about is my mission. I owe someone. This mission is how I pay them back.”
“Revenge?” I’m out of my mind scared to ask that, but I ask it anyway.
“I need you to help me get the girl and the baby, Veronica,” Bobby says, ignoring my question. “I came to town for Ashleigh and Kate.”
I drop the gun and cover my face with my hands.
“I need you to watch my back when I take them, you understand?”
I stare up at him for a few seconds. His face is dark. He comes off as menacing and intense. But even so, I was brought up in a family where making demands was met with more demands. I’m well-versed in the art of negotiations. “I can see what you get out of this. I’m your ace, right?”
He nods, but even in the dim light I can see him squint as he tries to figure out where I’m headed with this.
“So what do I get?”
He chuckles. “You get to participate. On my team.”
“Do I look some dumb blonde who’s so hard up for attention I’ll agree to anything just to get it?” I huff out a laugh. “Sorry, poison pufferfish. There’s got to be something in it for me.”
His hand goes to his chin as he ponders my answer. “You love that guy? Spencer Shrike?”
“What’s it to you?”
“You want something from me or not, Veronica? If so, cut the shit. I’m about to make an offer.”
He waits. Ball’s in my court. “Yeah,” I say after several silent seconds. “Yeah. I love him, OK? He’s the only guy I want.”
“Well, that trial? That testimony by your friend Rook they’re all hanging their futures on? It’s not gonna turn out the way they think. It’s fixed, Bombshell. They’re all gonna be charged with murder, obstruction, perjury, and grand larceny next week. And in the case of your blue-eyed friend? Human trafficking. I’ve seen the order. Your girlfriend is walking into a trap. She’s gonna be caught in lie after lie after lie as soon as she takes that stand.”
“What?” Holy fuck, my heart is beating so fast, I feel like I have to hold it in my chest with my hand.
“But I can make it go away, Bombshell. I can.” He smiles down at me. It’s the most diabolical smile I’ve ever seen. “I have latitude to…” He stops to laugh under his breath. And then he turns his head and gives me a sidelong glance that sends chills up my spine. “To take care of things in my own way. And if you help me tomorrow, I’ll take care of that trial and your dream relationship with Spencer Shrike can begin.”
I gulp. “And what if I don’t?”
“You will, Ronnie. Because if you don’t, your boyfriend dies.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
VERONICA
It’s three AM when he drops me off on the second floor of the condo building. I give him a curt, I’m-a-professional nod and walk out calmly. But as soon as the doors close behind me, I lean back against the wall and try my best not to hyperventilate.
How the fuck, Veronica? You are one stupid chick. Oh, a pretty gun. That’s exciting! Sure, I’ll be your backup, you mobster-slash-soldier who isn’t legitimate.
I breathe in and out for a few seconds. I get the panic attacks all the time at work, so I’m pretty good at getting it under control.
Whewwwww. I blow out a long breath and wait for my heart rate to calm down. Then my phone vibrates and I squeal and jump as I put my hand over my heart again. I check the text message. Go inside, Veronica. I need you fresh later.
I look up at the ceiling and yup, sure enough there are cameras up there, hidden in those little black dome things that Rook always points out to me where ever we go. She’s paranoid of cameras after her first reality show experience.
I smile and do a little salute. I don’t want him to see me so vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable. And you’d think a girl carrying a loaded FN Five-SeveN and two hundred rounds of those pointy cone-shaped cartridges packed inside ten extra mags would feel powerful.
But guns don’t make the girl. And I don’t feel powerful.
I push the key in the lock and open the condo door. It’s dark, so I fish around for the light switch. Find it. Flick it.
And… nothing. No lights.
Strong hands reach out and grab my arms, wrestling me backwards, slamming me into someone’s hard chest. “What the—”
My mouth is covered and the gag is tied behind my head. I bend over, ready to fuck this person up with some stealthy jujitsu, but my wrists are pulled together and bound behind my back before I can even attempt a move.
I scream, but it comes out muffled and then the hood is thrown over my head.
I’m dragged down the hall to the bedroom and this is when it all becomes real. I kick. I fling my feet wildly, but the man just picks me up and carries me to the bed, throwing me down hard enough so I bounce.
My legs kick out again as I try to scramble away, but those hands are on my ankles, not squeezing hard, but just enough to make me—
“Arggghhhh,” I moan. Oh shit, that fucking tickles. “Stop,” I try to say through my gag. But his hands go behind my bare knees and I lose it. I wiggle because I’m really getting tickled now. I wiggle so much I almost get away.
Lips begin to kiss my neck and chills erupt down my whole body.
“I love the shudder, baby. Did you know that every time I come at you for a fuck or a tease, you shudder for me? Do you shudder for anyone else?”
Spencer.
I can’t answer because I’m still gagged and hooded.
He leans down and buries his face in my neck, and then inhales deeply. “Veronica Vaughn, why the fuck do you smell like guns?”
The light on the bedside table flicks on and the hood is removed. Spencer is smiling down at me. I can’t help it, I smile too. Right through my gag. And then I start making noises that should clue him in to take the gag off, but instead he puts the hood back on and lowers himself on top of me. His body is hard. Every inch of Spencer is hard. He’s like a rock or a mountain. His arms are positioned alongside my body and he spreads his legs so he’s straddling me.
He bites my lip.
“I like you gagged, Bombshell. It’s refreshing to make you be quiet. Don’t get me wrong, I love your slutty mouth, especially when it seals around my cock, sucking me until I explode down your throat. But right now, I’m gonna talk business and you’re gonna listen. You got it?”
I nod. I’m all for his brand of talking. When Spencer talks business, my panties need changing. It’s been a long time since I had a proper Spencer fuck. A long, long time. That alleyway halfer and the penthouse quickie do not a fuck make.
“Did you go shooting tonight?”
I nod and he leans down to kiss my neck. Oh God, here it comes. I’m already wet.
“Did you go on a date tonight?”
I shake my head. That was not a date. I thought Spencer’s idea of a date was pretty bad, but Bobby or Tet or whatever the fuck his name is—yeah, that was not a date. A job interview is more like it.
“You look hot, Bombshell. What were you doing?” Spencer pulls the hood off and slips my gag down. “Answers, now.”
“I did have dinner with the landlord. Pasta. It was reall
y good, he’s got a private chef up there, have you ever hired a private chef for a date?”
“Ronnie, cut the shit,” he growls at my rambling.
“He took me shooting after.”
“Why?”
“To show off.” I’m not gonna tell him shit. Tet made that very clear on the ride home. No information about the job was to leak out. Like at all. Because if it did, Spencer was a dead man. I love Spencer so right now I’m gonna lie like the professional I’ve suddenly become. “And try to impress me after I challenged him. He thought I was some stupid girl who didn’t know her pink .38 from her Walther P99.”
This makes Spencer laugh and his eyes crinkle up in the corners.
“Untie me.”
“Yeah, right. I’m not done. Did he try anything?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “He kissed me.”
Spencer frowns. “Did you like it?”
“Yes, it was”—I pause to stop the laugh, because Spencer’s jealousy is all over his face—“um, well. Sweet, I guess. Gentle.”
He smiles. “Sweet, huh. So you like it gentle, Bomb?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you want it gentle now?”
“Untie me.”
“Answer me.” He sits up on his knees and pulls his shirt over his head.
I moan. I’m not even embarrassed to admit it. “I need this. I need this bad. I need it to be long, and slow, and rough, and dirty, and fast, and hard, and every way you want to give it to me, Spencer. I need you. I need you to love me right now. Whatever the reason is that you’ve been ignoring me, been pushing me away, just stop. Please. I need you.”
He gently grabs my shoulders and pulls me forward to untie my hands. Then he finds the hem of my dress and pulls it up and over my head. He throws it off to the side of the room and then looks down at my fuck-me boots. “Those,” he says with his eyebrows raised, “will need to stay on.”
Do I know this man, or what?
He reaches around and unclasps my bra, his fingers lightly dragging across my skin as he pulls it over my shoulders and down my arms. My head falls back and my mouth opens to let out a moan.