Gifts

by Brynne Asher

  To say the past twenty-four hours have been intense is an understatement, yet every time I see Keelie’s tongue wet her lips, I imagine it tasting my cock right before I fist her long hair and slide myself inside her sweet mouth.

  “Right. I’ll let him know.” Grady’s voice is low since Chloe’s sleeping on his chest. He sets his phone down on the table next to him and settles his hand on Chloe’s back. These men and their babies—never imagined them this way after working with them all these years. “That was Jarvis. He’s been looking around.”

  “And?” I lean back in my chair. Vivi and Cayden are playing just beyond the patio in a sandbox and the three of us are sitting around the unlit fire pit.

  “He couldn’t find Raymond Wallace. He’s scoured all the places I sent him and where we knew he trolled. No one’s seen him for days, either. I don’t know if we scared the shit out of him or what, but he can’t be that hard to find, especially for Jarvis.”

  Grady and Jarvis are close, but they would be. Grady and I went head-to-head over him in the beginning years ago. I prefer recruits who can at least control their fucking tempers. Jarvis has somehow toed that line, yet still jumped off the deep end so many times, I don’t know how he hasn’t gotten burned. But if I can benefit from it now, I will.

  Grady’s eyes move to me. “Terry Mosher was easy to find.”

  “He should be. He still lives at home and is suspended until the district decides whether or not to expel.” Mosher is a shithead kid who thinks he’s bigger than he is. He definitely thought he was untouchable until last week.

  “He followed him until he stopped at a gas station and was able to get him alone. At first Mosher acted like he didn’t know about the shooting, but finally fessed up. Not only had he heard about it, but once Jarvis pushed, he finally gave up a couple names who drive blue sedans. This was a couple hours ago. He’s still poking.”

  “Did he say if they’re related to any group?” Crew asks.

  “Not yet, but that should be easy to figure out,” Grady says as he rubs Chloe’s back when she starts to fidget.

  “I want those names,” I demand. “I’ll have Carson run them. He could have something back in a couple hours.”

  Crew picks up his phone and raises a brow. “I’ll let Jarvis know, but it’s not like he’s on the payroll for this. This shit’s like a game to him, the crazy fuck.”

  I hear a burst of laughter from the women and look over to find Keelie loose and happy. This is good. She needs this after yesterday. But then I look toward the house and think about Levi, and especially Emma, and all the shit that’s gone on recently. I’m past thinking that this could be happenstance or a run of bad luck. Someone’s targeting my family and now Keelie’s been dragged into it. This shit needs to stop so I can get my daughter better, let my son enjoy the end of his senior year, and move things forward with Keelie and her kids. And no way are Levi and Emma going to California, I just got them.

  I want it all and that means I need to fix this.

  I set my beer bottle down on the patio and stand, glaring down at Crew and Grady. “You tell him to send me those names and do it now. I’m tired of people fucking with my family—I’m ready to put an end to it. That crazy fucker can come along for the ride, but I’ll be the one to end it. I’m gonna go check on my kids. Tell him I’d better have those names in the next ten minutes. I’m sick of this shit. I’m ready to move on.”

  I don’t give them a chance to respond and head for the back door.

  *****

  Keelie

  If day drinking were an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. Asa Hollingsworth could travel from afar to watch me compete with the world’s best—but I’d conquer all.

  However, day drinking is also exhausting.

  I don’t know how much wine I had since I never saw the bottom of my glass, but the hours flew. Eventually, hunger engulfed my children and they became miniature spawns of Satan. After all the day drinking and being so relaxed I didn’t have a care in the universe, I’m over being embarrassed by my children’s childish tendencies. I mean, every kid gets grumpy when they’re hungry, and most don’t love to do their homework, and I’m pretty sure all siblings bicker and fight. If Saylor hasn’t scared Asa off by now, I wasn’t worried when she acted like the world was going to come to an end if she didn’t have fish crackers yesterday.

  Asa rounded us up quick-like, I said goodbye to my new wino friends, and we were off. I didn’t know where we were off to and I didn’t care. I was sitting in the most comfortable seat in automotive history, so I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The last thing I heard was Saylor and Asa discussing lo mein.

  The next thing I know, car doors are slamming and when I feel a touch on my chin, Chinese food mixed with new car smell engulf me. My eyes flutter open and all I see is Asa. “You’re home, baby. Go on in.”

  “Where are the kids?” I ask.

  “In the house, probably ransacking your kitchen.”

  The thought of standing exhausts me further, so I state the obvious. “I drank too much.”

  He smirks. “It’s okay.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not. I can’t day drink. It makes me tired and my kids are too little—they need me.”

  “I’m here,” he says. “It’s not like they’re on their own. Give yourself a break. You had a bad day yesterday.”

  I close my eyes and let my head fall back to keep it from spinning. “I did get shot.”

  Asa lowers his voice. “Don’t joke about that.”

  I roll my head on the cushiest headrest ever and barely open my eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “Come inside and eat.” He gets out of my loaner, but I don’t move.

  When he opens my door, I shake my head. “I’ll just sit here. This is more comfortable than my bed.”

  He takes my hand and pulls me out. “I know for a fact that’s not true.”

  When I’m standing toe-to-toe with him, I lean into his chest and tip my head back. “You liked my bed?”

  He dips his hand in my hair and leans down to kiss me. “I did.”

  “It’s new.” For some reason, I feel the need to fill him in on this and the wine is making me talkish. “You should know that. Because I’m me, and even though the CIA blabbered everything about my life, I’m not sure if they know the age of my bed. You should know when I got rid of David’s stuff, I got rid of that, too. I couldn’t stand to sleep on it. It was during my angry stage—my therapist concurred.”

  Since I’m pressed against him, I feel him sigh when he shakes his head. He brings his hand up to cup my face. “The CIA doesn’t know the age of your bed.”

  “Well, with all my other baggage,” I mumble, continuing, “you don’t have to worry about that. It’s new.”

  He kisses me again. “I’m not worried about your baggage, baby.”

  “Really?” I ask, wondering if he’s telling the truth. I mean, I’m a widow with two kids, a donkey, goats, mutts, barn cats, and a broken-down house. I’m not exactly a piñata party.

  He gives me a squeeze. “Really. You give it all over to me—I can handle it.”

  I shake my head, pushing away from him and let my words trail off, “You say that now…”

  I somehow make my way through the garage and to the kitchen where all the kids are eating out of Chinese to-go containers. I need leggings and to not be wearing a bra. I leave the bra part out and announce, “I’m going to change.”

  I end up in my room with every intention of taking off my bra and returning to eat all the Chinese food I can, but instead, I look at my new-ish bed that is still unmade from last night. If there’s one thing in life I don’t have time for, it’s making beds. Asa’s pillow is lying there where I left it this morning, so I sit and pull it to my face to see if it still smells like him.

  It does.

  I fall to my side, promising I’ll just smell it for a few seconds.

  That’s when the day drinking takes over.
I fall asleep smelling nothing but Asa.

  Chapter 16

  What do Assassins do for Fun on a Saturday Night?

  Keelie

  A blanket is pulled over my shoulders at the same time I feel lips under my ear.

  “Baby,” he whispers.

  “Hmm?” I burrow my head into his pillow. Still so tired.

  “I’ve gotta run an errand,” Asa keeps on as he swipes the hair out of my face. “Stay in bed. Levi is with the kids and I told him to keep them in the house. Your alarm is set and Ozzie is outside until I get home.”

  I pry my eyes open to peek at him and wonder how long I’ve been asleep. “That’s a strange name.”

  He smirks. “I guess it is.”

  “Is it really necessary for someone named Ozzie to be here?”

  He loses his smirk. “I hope not. I’ll be home soon. Go back to sleep.”

  “I should get up.” I start to push away from Asa’s pillow, but he stops me.

  “Trust me, they’re fine. Sleep.”

  He leans in to kiss me, and when I sink back into his pillow, I wonder how I could be so tired after one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years along with a nap. But my eyes are so heavy it’s easy to give in. I barely hear the click of my door when he leaves.

  *****

  Asa –

  Jarvis found Dooley.

  I’m not surprised, Jarvis has proven he can find anyone over the last three years. We still have no idea what Dooley’s real name is, but Jarvis branched out and here we are, in the Adams Morgan neighborhood in D.C. on a Saturday night.

  Jarvis is with me and I’m following him through a dark hall to the back of a restaurant that wouldn’t look welcoming during the day and looks absolutely unwelcoming at night. The hall opens into a shadier room where semi-circular booths line two walls.

  Jarvis explained that someone who works for Dooley arranged this meeting, but was told we had to be fast and arrive unarmed. He must know who he’s looking for and strides straight to the back corner where a man sits with a woman clinging to him like a bad rash.

  Dooley’s head is shaved with flamed tats licking up one side of his neck. He’s got an arm draped across the back of the booth and the other is feeling up his rash of a woman in a way not meant for many establishments other than the kind we’re standing in.

  “Dooley?” Jarvis asks.

  He doesn’t greet us, but threatens, “I never forget a face. If you turn out to be under-fuckin’-cover anything, you’ll regret the day my name passed your fuckin’ lips.”

  Jarvis holds his hands out low. “Told your man I’m not a cop. I barely work in this country, let alone have time to pretend I’m one when I’m here. My buddy has some questions about an incident yesterday, that’s all.”

  I step forward. “There was a drive-by shooting yesterday out in the Plains, in the kind of neighborhood where there are never drive-bys.”

  Dooley appears unimpressed. “The Plains? Why the fuck would I know what’s going on in the Plains? There aren’t enough people out there to justify the gas money.”

  “I’m not asking about your business. I’m asking about the drive-by.” All I need to do is to find the car and I can chase the trail from there.

  “Wasn’t me or my crew. Drive-bys are for chicken-shits. I don’t operate that way. You can leave now.”

  I ignore his dismissal. “It was a dark blue four-door sedan, Chrysler 300, an older model, at least six or seven years old. You know anyone who drives that?”

  His expression doesn’t flinch, but he angles his head and says nothing for a beat before he asks, “If you’re from the country, how’d you get my name?”

  He knows something. I cross my arms and keep as cool as him. “Met someone who said they worked for you. I had nowhere to start, so I’m starting with you.”

  “Yeah?” He snakes his fingers, heavy with knuckle brass rings up into his woman’s hair. “Who’d that be?”

  I use his street name first because after talking to his parole officer, he doesn’t go by Raymond often. “Ritchie.”

  If a drug dealer could look annoyed, this would be an example of it. “My fuckin’ cousin. He really fuckin’ dropped my name?”

  I don’t answer, but raise a brow.

  “He’s an errand boy at best. I don’t trust him with money because I don’t trust that he wouldn’t try to step out and work for someone else.” He shakes his head. “Doin’ business with family. Fuckin’ pain up the ass is what he is.”

  I can see how that could be, but get back to what I want to know. “You know the car or not?”

  The woman at his side is oblivious to what’s going on around her. She drops a hand to his crotch and starts going to town on his neck like a cow on a salt lick.

  Dooley looks between the three of us and I can tell he knows, but instead of giving it up, he shrugs. “I’ll check around, but only because your buddy here offered me a future favor and he seems like the kind of guy I might need at my back someday.”

  “Just remember, there were exclusions,” Jarvis intercedes.

  Fucking great. Jarvis is offering favors to drug dealers. Who knows what kind of outstanding markers he’s got around the globe.

  “Your man knows how to get hold of me,” Jarvis reminds him.

  Dooley gives us a chin lift and we head for the door, not knowing anything more than we did when we got here.

  When we get out of the smoke and grease laden building, I turn to Jarvis. “You planning on mowing his yard as a favor?”

  Jarvis keeps his eyes forward as we move down the street. “I’m never in the country anyway—good luck to him cashing in on that favor. The more I looked into him, he’s a big man in the District—bigger than we thought. He dabbles in a lot of shit and knows what’s going down in the metro. Not a bad contact to have in case I need one in the future.”

  Just when I was about to agree—especially if he can get me a name of who owns that damn car—my eyes lock onto a group standing diagonally across the intersection. Right in the middle is the man who’s disappeared for days—Raymond Wallace.

  I pick up my pace and Jarvis looks over when I say, “It’s Dooley’s MIA pain-in-the-ass cousin.”

  I have a feeling if anyone knows who drives that dark blue sedan, it’s him.

  After glancing up and down the street, I head for my target with Jarvis right beside me. We make it half-way across the street when Raymond and his group catch wind of us, and the second he lays eyes on me, panic transforms his dumb-ass face. In that moment, he bolts.

  I pick my tempo up to a flat-out run and we round the corner where he disappeared. The streetlights become fewer and farther between off the main drag, but it’s easy to spot him as he crosses the next street and turns again.

  I hear footfalls behind us and Jarvis growls, “I’ll take care of them.”

  I never take my eyes off my target, even when I hear grunts, groans, and bodies colliding behind me in the distance.

  Raymond might be as tall as me, but he’s scrawny, and I catch up to him easily. When he jumps on a chain-link fence, fierce barks and howls break through the night. Raymond changes his mind and falls to the ground, landing on his back.

  When I approach, he pulls his hoodie up from his waist and goes for a pistol tucked into his jeans. I kick his hand, dislodging the gun at the same time, and it skids across the sidewalk.

  Raymond reaches up to fight me off with one hand while grasping for the gun with the other.

  “Did you not learn your lesson last time?” I growl, putting a knee to his chest and grabbing his stray weapon at the same time. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Why the fuck’re you all over my ass?” His voice is husky from running and my weight on his chest.

  “You’re a hard man to find the second time around. I need more info.”

  Three dogs behind the fence are barking up a shit-storm, bringing us all kinds of unwanted attention.

  “I don’t know a
nything about anything,” he sputters.

  “Who else do you work for besides Dooley?”

  “I paint houses sometimes. Told you I have a legit job.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” I warn. “Who else do you work for besides Dooley who’d be fucking around out in the country? There was a shooting in the neighborhood where we met. I want to know who did it and I want to know who you were making a delivery for that day.”

  He says nothing but his eyes flare.

  I give him more of my weight and can’t help my hand from cinching around his neck. “Was it you?”

  His head shakes. “No. No fucking way.”

  “You know about it, though?”

  He keeps shaking his head. “No.”

  “I’ve got surveillance video, Ray,” I add. “It was a dark blue Chrysler. Late model 300. Who do you know who drives a ride like that?”

  He stays silent, but we both jerk when we hear a gunshot. It’s close and came from the direction where Jarvis broke off from me.

  Fuck.

  Losing my temper once and for all after the longest and most intense couple weeks of my life, I get in his face and yell, “Tell me what you know or I’ll put a fucking bullet through your head without a second thought.”

  I hear sirens and whip my head around when I hear someone coming.

  Jarvis appears from around the corner of the dilapidated building like he’s out on a stroll for a fucking ice cream cone. “That was annoying and the cops are on their way. He tell you anything worthwhile yet?”

  I look back down at Raymond. “I’ve got your parole officer on speed dial and the cops are looming. Talk.”

  His breath becomes shallow and I loosen my hold on his throat. When the sirens get louder, he finally sputters, “I heard it was supposed to be a warning—just a warning. They didn’t even know why they were doing it. It was a paid job.”

  A warning?

  The sirens are getting louder and I don’t feel like dealing with the cops. We’ll be here all night. “Warning for who?”