Well, there went my previous thoughts. “I have stuff to do” was code for “I’m going off to murder someone.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Make yourself at home. I’ll leave the keys to the convertible on the counter.”
“You’d let me drive your car?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I shrugged. He didn’t really seem like the kind of guy who liked to share.
“If you wreck it, you owe me a million dollars,” he said, winking.
I wasn’t charmed. I wasn’t.
“Don’t turn into a lobster while I’m gone.” He stepped away from the back door.
The reason he was leaving crashed over me all over again. Sharp pains cut through my middle. “As long as no one comes to murder me, I’ll be just fine,” I snapped coldly.
He stopped in his path but didn’t turn around. I saw him flex his hands at his sides. “I wouldn’t worry about that. All you’d have to do is open your mouth and anyone coming near you would run away as fast as they could.”
He started walking again, but I didn’t stand there to see if he looked back. I went out the back door, slamming it behind me. I wasn’t going to think about him. I wasn’t going to think about what he could be doing. I was going to take advantage of this beautiful place and not think at all. With any luck, the waves would carry away every single thought I had.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Kill - to deprive of life.”
Charming
The Target was a man. I didn’t get a huge folder of background information on him. Just his name, his whereabouts, and the fact that he was supposed to die. Frankly, I welcomed the fact that I didn’t have to learn anything about him. It seemed like such a waste of time to get to know someone who was practically already dead.
I didn’t even know why G.R. wanted him dead. It wasn’t for money or the job wouldn’t be an in-and-out type of thing. If he had an ability G.R. wanted for someone, he didn’t say. All I was supposed to do was complete the job and then call him so he could come collect.
Although, I really wouldn’t be surprised if this man had anything G.R. wanted. He was probably just some lame excuse to get me out of town and away from my real Target for a couple days.
I wasn’t even sure what he did with the bodies, with the souls of the Targets. Once we called and he came, our part was through and we left. I never asked him and he never volunteered the information. I never really cared. Until now.
Robert “Bobby” Salzman worked in the entertainment industry. In Hollywood, that could mean anything from blockbuster movies to adult films. Whatever he did paid him pretty well, judging from the size of his house and cherry-red Dodge Viper sitting in the driveway.
But he should have spent his money on better security. I pulled the motorcycle I “borrowed” into his driveway, leaving my helmet on but flipping up the visor so it only looked like I was too lazy to pull it off and not like I was trying to hide. I kept the leather jacket and gloves on and then unstrapped the pizza that I picked up from the local pizza joint on the way and carried it toward the door.
To any wandering eye, it would appear I was just the pizza guy delivering lunch. I made it to the front door and rang the bell. From what I knew, he lived alone, but I wasn’t sure if he was alone today, so ringing the bell would give me a chance to figure it out before I actually finished the job. It was never good when you realized there was a witness that you didn’t know about. Then your single Target became two. Yes, the rules were you killed no one but the Target, but when the job was compromised, exceptions were made.
He answered the door. I checked a housekeeper off my list of potential witnesses. He was wearing a bathing suit and no shirt. He smelled like tanning lotion and his skin was slick with the stuff. “What?” he demanded.
“Pizza delivery,” I said, holding up the pizza.
“I didn’t order a pizza.”
I read off the address—his address—on the order form attached to the pie.
“That’s me, but I didn’t order a pizza.”
“Well, I’m already here and no more orders to fill. Here,” I said, holding out the box, “on the house.”
He grunted. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, kid.”
I handed him the box and he went inside, shutting the door on my face. What? No tip? I stepped away from the door, but instead of getting on the bike, I zipped around the side of the house (super speed really comes in handy) and into the back yard. There were lots of foliage and tropical plants back here and the neighbor’s house wasn’t even visible, so it made the job even easier.
He was sitting in a patio chair with the open pizza box beside him. I stepped into his line of sight and he stiffened, standing up immediately. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”
He came over; his body language said he was ready for a fight. I kicked his legs out from under him and he fell back, hitting his head on the concrete. He lay there unmoving. I used my foot and pushed him into the pool.
If the body was found, it would appear that he slipped, hit his head, and fell into the pool and drowned.
When I was sure he was dead, I dialed G.R. “It’s done,” I said into the phone. Then I hung up.
He appeared two seconds later, stepping through the door/portal he created, and looked at the body floating in the pool.
“Job complete.”
I started to walk away, but then I stopped. I had to ask. Even if he didn’t answer. “Why this one?”
“That Viper in his driveway came from my lot. He hasn’t paid his lease in six months.”
Revenge, then. I nodded and walked away. I ignored the sick feeling in my stomach. When I stepped around the house and into the foliage, I heard the water in the pool ripple. Curious, I turned around, keeping myself concealed behind a large palm. I watched as the Reaper waded through the shallow end toward the body. He didn’t touch him but hovered his palm over the man’s back.
I watched, waiting to see what would happen. Just a few seconds ticked by and then the man’s spirit began to rise up out of his body. It was green. I thought G.R. was going to talk to him—maybe recruit another Escort.
He wasn’t looking for another Escort.
When the green spirit hovered over the Reaper’s head, he raised up his arms, looked up toward the sky, and then he proceeded to eat the spirit.
He literally opened his mouth as wide as it would go and began to suck the spirit into his mouth. But the spirit didn’t just go into his mouth; it seeped into his ears and up his nose. The spirit didn’t struggle; it didn’t try to get away. I wasn’t even sure if it knew what was going on.
I wasn’t sure if I knew what was going on.
Was this what he did to all the people he killed—that the Escorts killed?
This was some disturbing shit.
When he was done chowing down on spirit, he waded out of the pool, leaving the body right where it floated. Then with a single wave of his hand, the portal opened and he stepped through, leaving the scene of the crime—of his meal—behind.
I didn’t loiter on the property. I zipped around the house and forced myself to jog to my bike like a guy who just delivered a pizza and who didn’t witness the Grim Reaper eating the green spirit of a man he’d just killed.
I put the bike back in the parking garage where I found it (but kept the helmet—since my hair and therefore DNA was now in it) and climbed on the closest bus. I rode that and got off after three stops. I got on another bus, rode that for two stops. Then I got off and walked three blocks, passing a city garbage truck on the sidewalk. I tossed the helmet into the back and it was immediately crushed into the already huge pile of trash. Another block passed and I ducked into a parking garage. I went up three flights of stairs and climbed onto another motorcycle—this one mine. It was completely different than the one I borrowed earlier. This one was a bike built for speed—something flashy that rich people drove. If you wanted to blend in
around Beverly Hills, then you drove something expensive.
I pointed the bike toward my beach house. Toward Frankie. I pictured her sitting on the beach, her toes buried in the sand. I wondered if she would talk to me when I got home. I probably didn’t deserve it. I still hoped she would. Right then, I would have loved to hear her yell at me, to see her roll her eyes. Hell, I would’ve even listened to her insult me.
Anything to drown out my own thoughts.
Because right now I was thinking I didn’t like myself.
Right now I was feeling guilty. Guilty about what I just did. And I was also feeling slightly freaked out that I kind of fed my boss.
Why would he eat a spirit? There was perfectly good pizza right there if he was hungry.
Something told me pizza wouldn’t have conquered his kind of hunger.
It didn’t matter anyway. This whole thing started out as being about getting the best of him and doing the job. And now… now I wasn’t sure what anything was about.
The only thing I really knew for sure was that I wanted to see Frankie.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Sand - small, loose grains of worn or disintegrated rock.”
Frankie
I came to the conclusion that I would never get tired of staring at the ocean. It didn’t matter how long I sat here or how long I stared because the sights were forever changing. There was always a new wave to look at, a boat, a bird, or a person.
The ocean had a way of making a person feel small, but not in a bad way. In a way that made you feel like you were part of something bigger. It was humbling, but it was also inspiring.
Even though Charming left me here while he was off committing a crime, I couldn’t feel sorry about experiencing this. I still felt thankful that I hadn’t gone another day without seeing something outside the walls of Alaska.
The sun was beginning to sink behind the water when I felt his presence behind me. I didn’t have to look to know it was him. My body had a way of knowing when he was near. He approached slowly and I stiffened. He didn’t tell me where he was going today or what he was doing, but I knew.
I hated it.
“There enough sand here for the both of us?” he asked, standing just slightly behind me.
The insecurity in his voice had me patting the empty space beside me.
“You’ve been down here all day, haven’t you?”
I glanced over. He was still wearing those jeans, but that was all. No shirt and no shoes. He stretched his legs out in front of him and propped himself up with the heel of each hand just slightly behind his back. I wondered if he was doing it on purpose, displaying his perfectly cut abs just to throw me off. It didn’t matter because it wasn’t going to work.
“I sat on the deck for a while,” I answered. “But yeah, mostly I was down here all day.”
“I knew you’d like it.”
“I do.”
We watched the sun slip lower and lower until it completely disappeared behind the endless sea. The breeze off the ocean turned cooler and the shoreline grew quiet except for the crashing of the waves against the sand.
“Rough day?” I asked him.
“I’ve had better.”
I could have made a biting remark about why his day had been so shitty. Several scathing comments rose up in my mind, but even just thinking them made me tired. And there was something about him tonight, something about the air that surrounded him, that told me it didn’t matter how many mean things I said because he was already saying worse things to himself. Part of me was glad. Part of me thought he deserved all those mean things and more. But there was this other part of me that felt sorry for him. In the end, it was the softer side of me that won out.
“Well, the sun will be up tomorrow and with it comes a new day. A fresh one.”
“What if the day that comes before the fresh one is so full of clouds and they cast shadows that follow you all the way into the new day?”
“Usually even on the cloudiest day, the sun will find a way to peek through at least once.”
His hand wrapped around mine. His fingers found their way in between mine and curled closed, pressing his palm against mine. My heart began to beat a little harder; nerves began to tingle throughout my body.
“I know I’ll never be able to make up for the things I’ve done,” he said. I had to lean a little closer so I would catch his words before the wind carried them away. “And I doubt I ever try. Feeling better isn’t really something I deserve, and it seems that living with those things is part of the punishment.”
I wondered if he realized he said the word living. Up until this point, he’d been adamant about the fact that he was dead.
“But when I’m around you, I feel like there might be some hope.”
My heart lodged itself in my throat. I could barely swallow past it. “Hope for what?” I asked, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of the waves.
His fingers tightened around mine. “For a little more sunshine instead of just clouds.”
Oh my God, what he did to me. I felt like a dishrag that had been used to mop up far too many spills and then rung out again and again. I felt twisted and damp, like I wasn’t as clean as I was in the beginning.
He was right. There was no excuse for his actions. There was no excuse for him. But I still wanted to sit here with him. I still wanted to feel his hand hold mine. Nothing about Charming would ever be simple. And it also became quite clear that nothing was going to change the way I felt about him.
I guess the real question I had to ask myself was if I was going to feel all these things beside him or if I was going to feel them at home, alone. Because even if I walked away from him right now and didn’t see him again for a year or ten, I would still get the lightheaded, slightly shaky, fluttery feeling that washed over me when he walked into a room.
It was a choice that wouldn’t come easy. When you were so drawn to someone the way I was drawn to him, it was almost impossible to think about walking away. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do it because if he wasn’t good for me, then I couldn’t stay.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“You.”
He pushed me down in the sand, his body coming over mine and blocking out the stars that glistened like jewels in the night sky above us. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmured, already brushing his lips across mine. “Don’t bother to try to fight it. It’s a fight you won’t win.”
“What if I want to lose?”
He groaned and crushed his mouth over mine. His lips were hot against my wind-chilled skin. My body began to shake all over, and I reached up, curving my hand around his waist and pulling him down so our bodies were tangled together. His skin tasted salty like the ocean air and his toes were chilly as they ran up my calf. He moved his body against mine, the roughness of his jeans brushing against the bare skin on my legs. Without thought, I opened my legs for him, so he could settle even closer. The moment he did, pressure began to build in my center and he kissed me more fiercely than before.
I was going to burn up, burn up from the inside out. Every time he touched me, ran his hand up my inner thigh, or teased the skin on my stomach, it was like he lit yet another match and added it to the fire.
He murmured my name against my lips and I ran my hand along the rough stubble lining his jaw. If we didn’t slow down, he was going to take me right here.
Sleeping with him would only make things harder.
But it was hard to listen to your head when your body wanted something so badly that it shut off all thought.
He pulled away abruptly, coming up onto his knees and staring down at me lying in the sand. Grabbing a fistful of my shirt, he pulled me up and ripped the cotton fabric up over my head and threw it onto the sand. The sand was cool and rough against my back, but I barely noticed because my eyes couldn’t get enough of his chiseled body leaning closer.
I was wearing a bra, but it must have been in his way because he yan
ked the cups down so they were bunched beneath my breasts and pushing upward so the sensitive and aching flesh was closer to his hands.
But he didn’t touch them.
He latched onto them with his mouth. His lips were warm and moist as they trailed across each peak. My fingernails found his biceps and dug in as little shivers raced up and down my spine. When his tongue flicked over a very erect nipple, I arched up off the sand toward him and cried out. He looked up at me and smiled, then repeated the movement again.
My hands moved to his head and kneaded his scalp, silently begging for more. The wind off the waves carried away his throaty chuckle as his mouth covered my nipple completely, sucking it fully into his mouth.
Moisture pooled between my legs and I titled my hips closer to him, closer to the hardness pressing against the front of his jeans.
His mouth left my breast as he trailed kisses down my stomach, toward the top of my shorts. My hands fell on either side of me and pushed down into the sand as I stretched myself like a cat, trying to become longer so there was more of me for his lips to touch.
Just as he slipped several fingers beneath my waistband, a swell of water rushed up around us, making me squeal. Charming came back over me, laughing, and buried his face in my neck as the water began to recede. “Hold on,” he said, kissing me below my ear and pinning me a little closer to the beach.
As the water receded, it pulled at us, making me dizzier than I already was. Before the wave could completely pull away, another one surrounded us and I squealed again. The water was cold without the sun to warm it, and I snuggled in a little closer to his heat. Once again, the water pulled away, going back into the sea where it belonged, and once again, it pulled at us, trying to claim us for its own.
But I was already taken.
By the man anchoring me to the sand.
Even if I forever remained single, my heart would never be free.
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