by Mazzy King
I glare at him, then pivot and stride out of the warehouse toward the black SUV with the fake plates that idles by the back door.
One of the guys I’m with, Eric, glances at me from behind the wheel as I climb into the back. “Any problems, college boy?”
“Other than Runty being a dick as usual, no,” I say drily.
The guy in the front passenger seat, Oliver, turns around. “Well?”
“Here.” I hand him the envelope. “Says he wants another shipment next week. I’m assuming that means he’ll be in touch with you.”
Oliver nods. He’s Gray’s second-in-command and comes on all my runs since I’m new. He opens the envelope and counts the stacks, then counts off a thousand dollars and hands it to me. “Your cut. Good work, Joe.”
I wasn’t about to work with these dudes and use my real name. I bob my head, folding the cash into a square and tucking it into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“You’re on call next week,” Oliver adds. Half his face is in shadow from the trees over the SUV is parked by. It’s weird not seeing his eyes; he’s definitely the kind of guy whose eyes you want to see. Then he pauses. “That cool with your school schedule and stuff?”
I shrug. “As long as you don’t need me before nine. That’s when my class ends.”
“That works. All right, let’s head back. Gray’s going to want the rundown.” He glances at me. “You do enough of these, prove yourself, you can probably be the one to give him the report yourself.”
“That’d be an honor,” I say in a low voice.
Oliver turns back around. “You’ve been doing a good job, Joe. Keep it up.”
“You got it.”
I lapse into silence as Oliver and Eric chat about nothing of interest to me. I keep one ear on their conversation and keep my gaze directed out the window, aware one or both might be able to see me in the backseat. They don’t quite trust me yet, though I’ve been winning them over the past three weeks. Tonight marks my ninth run, and things have gone smoothly.
I parked my car in the parking lot of a burger joint in the really seedy part of town. I don’t know where my crew actually operates out of—I have to be off “probation” before I can know that, and I have no idea how long I’ll be on probation for.
I climb out of the SUV and head to my car, lifting a hand at them. Oliver waves back, face impassive, and he and Eric drive off.
I take the long route home, just in case I’m being followed. When I get inside my apartment, I pull out my phone and send off a text.
Me: Just got back from the run.
Gunner: Anything?
Me: No. Couldn’t go eyes on again.
Gunner: All right. Let’s meet tomorrow on campus. 1900.
Me: See you then.
I set my phone down on the nightstand and draw the square of money out. A thousand bucks, just like that.
Too bad it’s evidence.
I set the money down and glance at my laptop resting on top of my dresser. I need to work on the second round of edits Stella sent me today after I submitted the first round to her a couple of days ago, but I’m beat and I can’t focus. I’m too tired, too amped, too anxious, and too worried this is all going to come crashing down on my head.
4
Aidan
Around seven o’clock the next night, Gunner Hansen finds me at a table in the student lounge, where my laptop is open and I’m typing away.
Gunner’s not much older than me, married, with a baby. He told me he actually met his wife during a bank robbery, which was a wild story. He’s pretty cool and laid back, less egotistical than some of the other RCPD higher-ups I’ve met.
“You usually hang out around campus?” I crack as he takes the seat across from me.
He smirks. “Actually, I was with a detective. We were meeting with another possible recruit to the Program. If you must know.”
“Be nice to spread some of this shit around,” I mutter. “Between a physically hard day job, night class, and being RCPD’s errand boy, shit’s getting exhausting.”
“Well, you have a night off tonight, don’t you?” Gunner asks.
“If you could call it that.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Help us nail the weapons dealers, and you get your life back.”
“For how long?”
“Until we require your services again.” He smiles, then leans forward. “Got the money?”
“The ‘evidence,’ you mean?” I reply, reaching into my back pocket for the sealed, folded envelope I put the grand in and handing it over.
“Don’t sound so bitter,” Gunner chides. “I wish I could let you keep this money. Legalities aside, in all fairness, you did do a job, and you did earn a cut. But you’re working for us, which means, yes, this is now evidence.”
“I think you guys should start paying us.”
I was half-joking, but Gunner nods. “I agree. I’ve been pushing for that, actually. We’ll see how things go. You and Tommy have done a good job so far, but we’ve only had a couple of missions for you. If Colin accepts, and we can get a couple other recruits, we’ll see about getting you guys some dough.”
“Me and Tommy get to meet this Colin dude?”
“Maybe,” Gunner replies. “You were a referral from Tommy, so it makes sense you know each other. But the chief is on the fence about the recruits having contact with each other. You don’t want to potentially blow a case. He thinks the less you know, the better.” He waves a hand. “Enough about that. Colin hasn’t said one way or the other if he’s in. Tell me about last night, in detail.”
I recount for him everything that happened, from the moment Oliver and Eric picked me up before the run to when they dropped me off. Gunner listens intently, his gaze fixed on the table’s marked surface.
“I don’t see that I’m getting any closer to meeting the boss,” I finish. “I’m getting frustrated, Gunner. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s just, whatever and whenever he feels like it.”
“Just keep at it,” Gunner says quietly. “I know you’re getting frustrated, but until we know who’s dealing, we don’t have a lead. The buyers are good intel, but it’s not the source. We need the source of the guns.”
“What if that takes six months? A year? Longer?” I demand.
“Then it takes six months. A year. Longer.”
“When the fuck do I get my life back, man?” I exclaim.
Gunner meets my gaze evenly, but there’s understanding and empathy in it. “When the job’s done.” He stands and claps me on the shoulder. “You’re doing a great job, Aidan. Keep up the good work. Hang in there. I’ll be in touch soon.”
I sigh and flick my head in acknowledgment. As he walks away, I feel a little bad, even though I know he knows my frustration isn’t aimed at him. This work isn’t easy. But he’s right. I want to help get guns off the streets in Ridge City. I get my life back when the mission’s accomplished.
“Aidan?”
The soft voice draws me up and I whirl around, already knowing who I’ll see.
Stella’s looking as gorgeous as ever tonight, wearing jeans and a pretty top that hangs off her golden shoulders and ends where the jeans start, flashing just a little slice of equally golden belly. Her long raven hair is swept into a loose side braid, tendrils framing her face.
“Ms. Smythe,” I say quickly, standing. “Hey.”
She glances at my laptop. “Working on the edits?”
I nod. “Yeah, just finishing up, actually. I think you’ll be pretty pleased.”
Her full lips curve up. “Based on the last round, I fully expect my mind to be blown.”
I’d love to blow your mind another way…
“Think you could have those to me tonight?” she continues. “The submission date is only a couple weeks away.”
“Yeah. In fact…” I turn back to my laptop, save the document, then email it to her. “Now you have them.”
She giggles, glancing down at her pretty, pink-polished toes
, set off by the little tan sandals she’s wearing. “That was fast. Thank you.”
I nod and smile, unable to stop looking at her. She’s so beautiful, it hurts.
“Listen…” Stella glances around. “This is going to sound a little weird, probably, but do you want to grab a drink?”
Holy shit. Is she asking me out?
“Maybe I could tell you a little more about the contest and what it could mean if you win,” she hastens to add, her cheeks turning pink. “We could talk more about your writing. If you want.”
If Stella Smythe said she wanted to discuss the mucus-y pus that makes up insect bodies, I would say yes.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” I tell her, and catch a smile as I turn around to pack up my things.
There’s a little dive bar she likes called Nose Dive near downtown. I offer to drive. Having her in my passenger seat makes it feel more like us hanging out, rather than a teacher-student relationship. Which is good. It makes my nonstop desire to kiss her feel less wrong.
It’s dark by the time we arrive. As we walk in, I automatically place my hand on her lower back before I realize I probably shouldn’t do that. It’s what I would do with a girl on a date—even though it’s been a while since I’ve been on one of those. Stella doesn’t seem to mind, though. She smiles up at me over her shoulder.
We find a small, round high-top table near the back. A server comes to take our drink orders. I order the house ale while Stella goes for a crisp Moscow Mule.
The table demands coziness, and our knees brush under the table as we talk about the contest. There’s a little prize money involved, but there’s also a conference with a couple of literary agents too. The publication itself is available in both print and online, and the website gets over a million hits a month.
“Wow.” I shake my head, sipping my beer. “I never really thought about being a writer. And by ‘never really,’ I mean never.”
“Some people sort of stumble into it,” Stella says, lifting a slender shoulder. “But if you’re talented, you’re talented. No denying that.”
“Have you ever been published?” I ask.
“A few times. Some poetry, a couple short stories.”
“I’d love to read your work,” I tell her.
She blushes a little. “You would?”
“Absolutely.” I’m not bullshitting her, either—I really do want to read it. I want to learn something about her and how her mind works. “Where can I find it?”
Stella chuckles. “I’m sure my mother has a few dozen copies of it all somewhere. I’ll grab you some.”
“Please do.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy I’m interested in want to read my work before,” she says, then gasps, covering her mouth.
I lift an eyebrow. Things just got very interesting.
“I—I shouldn’t have said that,” she says behind her fingers, her voice muffled. “I forgot where I was for a second. Oh god. This was a bad idea. What was I thinking?” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a few crumpled bills. Her hand is trembling.
I reach out and lightly grasp her wrist. “Hold on for one second. Please.”
She swallows and stills but doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Look at me, please…Stella.”
Slowly, she does.
Carefully, I slide my fingers lightly over her wrist and then intertwine our fingers. At the same time I lean closer to her.
“You’re my teacher,” I murmur. “And I’m your student. At school. In class. But we’re not at school and we’re not in class right now. I’m just Aidan, and you’re just Stella. And, Stella?”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Yes?”
“I’m interested in you too.” I stroke my thumb over the back of her hand. “In fact, I’m crazy about you.”
Her lashes flutter a little. “Aidan…”
I trail my fingers up her other arm, over her shoulder, and up the side of her neck. I skim them along her delicate jaw to her chin, then beckon her closer.
“Aidan,” she says again, but it’s a whispered breath that dissipates the second my lips touch hers.
Her lips are soft satin under mine, sweet and chilled from her drink. I keep our kisses slow, gradually deepening them. In a matter of seconds I forget we’re in public, but we’re in a shadowy corner all to ourselves anyway.
Her mouth tastes like sweet, spicy ginger beer as she opens wider for me. I tease her tongue with mine until they slide together and massage each other as if we have all the time in the world.
Embers of desire unfurl in my chest and my belly, reaching lower until my cock stirs. We part for air, both of us breathless.
“Shit,” I murmur. “What’re you doing to me, Stella?”
She grazes my face lightly with her fingers. Her touch has the power to heal me, to change me, to make me into more than the man I am currently. It’s a touch that’s equal parts beautiful and terrifying, but I know I can trust her.
Before she can reply, footsteps approach the table, and I look up. Then I do a double take, my heart sinking.
Eric walks toward us with a few guys I recognize from the crew. His brows are raised and there’s a little smirk on his face as he reaches the table.
“Thought that was you,” he says to me. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, college boy.”
Fuck!
Stella shifts her suddenly guarded gaze to me but says nothing.
I slide off the stool and approach Eric, leading him away a few feet. “I’m busy. What’s up?” My tone is more clipped than I intended, but the alarmed adrenaline coursing through me roughens my words.
“She’s sexy,” Eric says, casting a sly glance toward Stella.
“And she’s mine,” I snap, stepping into his line of sight. “What, man? We don’t have a run tonight. I’m allowed to have a life.”
“Sure you are.” He tilts his head, studying me appraisingly. “How come you’re all on edge and shit, college boy? I just came to say hi.”
“Did you? This place doesn’t seem like your speed.”
“Oh? And what’s my speed?”
“I don’t know. A place like Triple 6, maybe?” Triple 6 is one of the seediest places in town. Last year there was a huge shootout—one of the vice detectives was undercover at the time. Interestingly, that’s far from the craziest thing that’s ever happened there.
Eric lifts his brows. “You trying to tell me I’m not good enough for this place?”
I fold my arms. I’m telling you that you only came here because of me. “What do you want, Eric?”
“Just came to see if you wanted to work tonight,” he says, tilting his head. “An extra stack this week. Buy your pretty lady something nice.”
I shake my head. “I need a night off too. Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” His icy blue eyes bore into mine with all the heat of a laser beam. “Catch you around, Joe.”
He lifts his hand toward Stella in a friendly wave. Only I can see the malevolence simmering under the surface as he walks off.
Fuck. I’m fucked.
And on the tail end of that thought, I’ve got to get her out of here.
I can’t explain why seeing Eric here has my gut in knots suddenly. I’ve always had pretty good instincts, but training with the cops has heightened them over the past couple of months. Am I paranoid? Possibly. But I’d rather be paranoid and overreacting than put Stella in danger.
Any more than she’s already in, hanging out with me.
I don’t move from where I’m standing until Eric and his pals are out of the bar and swaggering across the street. Then I turn around to find Stella still sitting silently, watching me.
I reach into my pocket, pull out a wad of cash, and peel off a fifty. I’m pretty sure our tab is less than thirty bucks, but our server’s getting a nice, fat tip tonight.
“We gotta go,” I tell her, folding the rest of my money into my pocket. I g
lance up at her, noting the expression of confused alarm on her face. “Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, folding her arms, “until you tell me what’s going on.” She pauses. “Joe.”
I sigh. I was hoping she didn’t hear that. “Look, I’ll explain as much as I can, but we have to get out of here. Those guys—they’re bad news. I need to get you away from here. Away from me.”
“Explain as much as you can?” she repeats, a frown creasing her brow. “What the hell, Aidan? If that is your real name.”
I gently cup her face in my hands. “I swear to you, that’s my real name. It’s a long story, but, please, Stella. You have to trust me on this one. Please.”
Her green eyes search mine intently for a long moment until she relents. “Okay.”
I take her hand and lead her out the door, scanning the surroundings as I lead her quickly across the street to my car. I check the interior to make sure there aren’t any surprises, lock the doors, and start up the car.
“So,” Stella says lightly. “Who are you, Aidan?”
I draw a deep breath. “I’m who you know me to be.”
“Really? Then why did that extra shady-looking guy call you Joe?”
“Because that’s the name I gave him.”
“Why?”
I check the rearview mirror, making a left turn onto one of the main downtown streets. “Because I didn’t want him to know my real name.”
“Why?”
“Because the work I’m doing with him is extremely dangerous. And I need…” I trail off, staring into the blaring red bulb of the traffic light. To protect my cover. The light turns green and I weave through a few cars to pass them.
Fuck. I can’t say that. Gunner would kill me.
But he might also understand.
“You need what?” Stella whispers.
“I need to—” I break off, something in the rearview mirror catching my attention.
“Aidan,” Stella says. “What is it?”
I clench my jaw, shifting my gaze back to the road. “Scoot down in your seat for me, okay?”
She complies. “Why am I doing this?"