Wolf (Tall, Dark and Dangerous Book 2) Page 3

  In our job, we’re paid to watch, wait, hurt, maim, and kill, and when that’s done, we clean up the mess as though it never happened. Hell, we should be called magicians, the way we sometimes have to wipe a person from the face of the earth and make it seem like they never fucking existed. I don’t want his thought process to land on that end point where Dawn is concerned. He’ll never have closure if this turns into an obsession. The way I see it, if it ever gets to that, all it’ll take is for him to start blaming himself for his own past sins. I prefer for him to honor Dawn’s life than to believe her death is some type of cosmic karma for all the bad things we did, for all the gaping holes we left in our wake over the years. All because we follow the orders we’re given.

  But from the look in his eyes, I see that’s exactly where his mind is headed. I don’t have the heart to stop him.

  “Dawn’s death wasn’t an accident,” he whispers, kicking at some of his spent cartridges on the ground. “Remember how much she hated taking pills? She couldn’t stand the idea of losing control, even for a fucking Tylenol. Remember that?”

  I press my lips together in a tight smile. “I think so.”

  “And she used to hate how they felt going down. She had this crazy fear that one of them would get stuck in her throat, and she’d cough and freak out about it.”

  “I remember,” I tell him.

  “The coroner’s report says it was an accidental overdose of prescription pills in her name. But I saw a picture of the bottle in evidence. You know what? The name of the pharmacist on the bottle is bogus. There’s no one by that name on any US registered pharmacist database.”

  Shaking my head politely, I say nothing. For sure, it sounds suspicious, but I don’t want to encourage him too much.

  “Something’s not right about how she died.”

  I turn to face him. “I’m sorry she’s not with us. It’s hard to imagine. The thing is, in our line of work... sometimes families never have answers. Sometimes, you can be standing there right in front of a person and see exactly what’s happening, and even that is a lie.”

  We’ve had assignments where a kill order includes making the person’s death seem like it’s due to natural causes. There’s a hundred ways to do that. With pills, without pills, on staircases, even while they fucking sip on bottled water. If our employer or any entity with similar resources wants your death to look like it’s from a fucking paper cut, they can find a way to do it. This is the point I’m trying to get across to Bridges so he stops before all these questions drive him fucking insane. I know how cold it is for me to want to drop it. Dawn meant something to me too. But he’s the one with air in his lungs right now, and keeping it that way means more to me than anything.

  He nods knowingly. “I fucking know. I guess I should be grateful that someone out there let me have some closure by allowing someone to find her body.”

  “That’s true,” I answer as he moves behind his weapon again.

  “I just wish I saw it coming, that’s all.”

  “Me too.”

  “Ready to go again?” he asks, finally letting it go, at least for now.

  “Yeah.”

  We spend another hour practicing. When we’ve used up the time slot, we dismount our weapons and start to wrap up.

  “I’ll look you up when this job is finished,” I tell him as we walk back to our vehicles.

  “See you on the flip side.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  This is the life we signed up for. Live for God and country. Follow orders. Kill on command. Die young.

  3

  Thorne

  The first time I see my newest pet project from the edge of the woods near her house, I can’t take my eyes off her. A barely legal, sexy as fuck little redhead, and her grandma. Having to watch someone who’s so easy on the eye is a gift. Little Red—my nickname for her. I’d like to believe it’s good karma. A lot of the tougher grunt work has been coming my way the last few jobs I had. But then again, I completed these missions successfully. Still, this assignment will help balance out my portfolio.

  I hope.

  Rose Adams is my type to a tee, a real pleasure to watch in her natural habitat.

  Physically, every one of her qualities were made for me. Red silky hair. Bright green eyes. A pouty mouth. Lush curves. Big tits. A small waist. One hell of a view from the back.

  That first day, I observe her helping her grandmother in their flower garden. I pay attention to every curve on her body through the thin t-shirt and Daisy Duke shorts that she’s wearing. The swell of her breasts and the imprint of her pussy are on full display when she bends over to tend to some seedlings. It’s heaven and hell watching her. I’m in heaven picturing my hands on her hips as I fuck her, but I’m in hell too, knowing that little fantasy can never happen. I have to adjust my cock a few times in my civilian camo pants as I take her in.

  In the evening when she goes to waitress tables at a strip club, I only have eyes for her. The uniform she wears is a short dress that fits her like a second skin, and high heels that show off her legs and can bring any man to his knees.

  But the longer I keep my eyes on her, the more I realize this girl is not just a sexy package. She walks into a room and nothing escapes her. When she’s not at her grandmother’s side, her eyes betray the sadness she carries around day in and day out. She’s been through a lot in her short years. But in spite of that pain playing on her pretty face, she doesn’t miss a thing going on around her. She seems to be able to anticipate things going on around her long before they can affect her.

  I just have to hope she isn’t anticipating me.

  Another thing that intrigues me about her is that she’s fiercely protective of her grandmother. There’s a night that they’re sitting to dinner where the older woman loses her balance. Before the elderly woman has a chance to hold onto anything, Rose is at her side, supporting her weight, making sure nothing happens to her.

  As I watch her, I wonder where her parents are, and the pit in my stomach makes me groan as I’m reminded of my own. They’re long passed away now, but the closeness I had to them as a child was gone before I hit my teens. My chest tightens and anger rises in me again, as though I’m reliving the day they sat me down and told me I wasn’t theirs.

  They were never my birth parents, after all.

  I was adopted.

  They adopted me, and yes, I had their unconditional love all during that time. But for a kid to find out he isn’t his parents’ flesh and blood at the age of eleven or twelve, it’s life-altering. It fucking twists you up inside and does permanent damage, if it isn’t handled properly. It does something to you. It shakes your core belief system, and makes you question every fucking thing after that. You think everyone is lying to you, and sometimes, you can’t be sure if you’ll ever trust yourself or believe another human being ever again.

  My knuckles go white around my scope as I recall that I spent the next few years lashing out at the world, rebelling against everything. They passed away during my teens, long before I could deal with it like a man, long before I could thank them for giving me something so many troubled kids never had—twelve damn good years and a childhood where I could really just be a kid with no worries. Every so often, the guilt hits me hard. I’ve been back home to Lafayette to visit their graves a few times. It’s fucking hard to stand there, looking at their headstones, knowing we didn’t patch things up before they died. That’s all my fault. I was an ungrateful fuck, a little brat, and I wish someone had knocked some sense into me so I could appreciate what I had before I lost it all.

  Some movement at the side of Rose’s house pulls my attention back to the job, but I relax when I see it’s Rose grabbing something from her car. So far, her routine is predictable. There’s no real rhyme or reason I can see on why I was assigned to these two people, but I don’t question my orders.

  Fuck.

  That ass.

  I shake my head and adjust my bulge again, f
eeling a tinge of regret that I can’t ever bend her over and fuck that sweet ass.

  It’s too bad that I only get to watch.

  She’s my assignment. That means she’s off limits.

  4

  Rose

  My phone goes off as I grab a folded towel and step out of the shower. It’s my bestie, Trish’s personalized ringtone. Since her teaching job let out for the summer, she’s been calling more often. Her timing isn’t great today, though. My shift starts in a few hours. I still need to eat before I leave. Throwing on some clothes, I towel dry my hair and turn on the blow dryer, and I’m instantly pissed. I do this every time, thinking I should probably cut all this hair and do away with this forty-minute ritual with the damn blow dryer. I haven’t been able to bring myself to schedule an appointment with my hairdresser lately, which is why this tangle of thick red mane is all the way down past my butt. I look in the mirror, studying how it frames my face. My chest starts to ache and I take a long breath. It kind of reminds me of a picture of Mom when she was younger.

  The phone screen lights up again, and I see Trish’s name on the screen. This time, it’s a text message, so I quickly check to see if it’s anything urgent.

  Trish: Hey girlie. When are you off next?

  I reply with,

  Me: Hi. I’m free as a bird on Tuesday. Why?

  Trish: Want to do dinner with me and the hubby?

  Me: Oh yay, third wheel night. Can’t wait.

  Trish: Don’t be like that. Luke misses spending time with you too.

  Me: Hang on. Let me phone you.

  As I finish up drying my hair, I’m itching to tell her that as much as I enjoy them, I have a limit as to how much PDA I want to witness when I go out with my friends. Trish, Luke and I spent a lot of time together in high school, but back then, they weren’t dating. Hanging out with them now means watching the happy couple snuggle up, share inside jokes and innuendo whose meaning I’m not privy to, and overall, be a constant reminder that I’ll forever be single.

  I’m not girlfriend material. I won’t do dating or relationships. Trish says that my past prevents me from opening up to most people. She doesn’t know how true it is. She knows that I lost my parents, but I’ve spared her the mental trauma of the details. But she’s right that other than her, Luke and my Grams, I trust no one.

  I feel my stomach twist up in knots in reaction. The life we have here is fragile. It’s built on a lie and I can’t afford to have the bottom drop out by letting my guard down with anyone else.

  The phone buzzes again. Jeez, she can be persistent. It’s Trish’s reminder to make good on my promise to call her back. Putting away my hair dryer, I do just that. She answers on the first ring.

  “Hey,” I greet her.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “The hair needs tending to,” I groan. “But to answer your question, yes! I really miss you guys too,” I say sweetly. “And yes, dinner sounds great.”

  “Awesome,” she squeals like we’re back in high school. “What are you feeling like? Italian, Japanese, or Indian?”

  I can tell that she’s starting to get a little bored already and it’s only the beginning of summer break. She and Luke recently tied the knot and bought their first house together, all in the same couple of months. They have a baby on the way too. This year, they won’t be traveling like they’re used to, as the budgets are tight. That’s where I come in.

  “How about Malloy’s?” I ask. It’s a quaint little bistro with a decent menu that won’t break the bank. “Can we go on Tuesday, for around six?”

  “Works for me.”

  “Great. I’ll make a reservation. Don’t be late,” I tell her.

  “We won’t. We’ve been dying to have a night out with you. Hey, How’s Jeff?”

  Trish used to work part-time at the Speak-Easy, the gentlemen’s club where I still work. She was pretty good. My boss, Jeff still asks about her. Stripping helped her pay for college, and didn’t affect her when it came time to apply for her grade school teaching job. That’s why I like a city this size. It’s big enough for a person to disappear into and resurface as someone else, without attracting too much attention.

  “Jeff’s good. He’s still missing you.”

  “Tell him I said hi.”

  I laugh. “You live twenty blocks away, lady. Swing by the club and tell him yourself.”

  “Hell no,” she shouts. “Luke will have a fit. And Jeff will probably try to squeeze me into one of those outfits and shove me on stage again.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I agree. “But shut up about squeezing your size two scrawny behind into anything. Have you seen my ass?”

  She laughs hard then huffs out a long, frustrated breath. “Wait until you see this baby bump. Nothing fits me anymore.”

  I haven’t seen Trish for a few weeks, so I have to try to imagine what a slender gazelle would look like with a little tummy. I’m sure she’s exaggerating. “Luke must be so excited.”

  “He is. I just wish he’d calm down with all the sex. I swear he won’t leave me alone. He’ll be at it all night long if I don’t tell him the baby and I need our beauty sleep. Then he wakes up and starts all over again.”

  “And there it is,” I groan.

  “What?”

  “TMI, girl. Way, way TMI. Tone that shit down a notch. Single people like me don’t want to be reminded that everyone except me is having sex. Tell it to your married friends.”

  “Shit, sorry Rose,” she tells me in a less than empathetic tone.

  “No, you’re not,” I tease her.

  “You know, you can take care of that little problem anytime you want to,” she says suggestively.

  Trish knows that I’m not dating, but it’s by choice. She believes that I’m just way too picky. Maybe I am, but that’s not the reason I’ve kept myself out of the meat market. I don’t want anyone to get too close. I don’t want to be forced to start over.

  “Maybe so, but that doesn’t change the fact that whatever happens between you and Luke in the bedroom needs to stay the hell out of my ears. I don’t need the visual,” I add, laughing a little.

  Grams calls me from the bottom of the stairs to come down for dinner. Grateful for the well-timed interruptions, I tell Trish I’ll call her tomorrow and mentally wipe the image of her and Luke from my brain.

  When Tuesday rolls around, I let Trish and Luke drag me to a new sports bar for drinks after dinner. This is so not my scene. Crowds put me on edge, and new places make me weary, so it’s zero for two already. We’re seated near a window, bringing it to zero for three, because now I feel even more exposed. At least the music is decent. The waiter who takes our drink order is nice to look at too. And he’s back with our orders in record time. Big servings of booze, beer and cocktails in flashy, oversized glasses and stemware. Impressive.

  I look around as we catch up on gossip and other updates, relaxing into the ambiance and letting the alcohol loosen me up.

  Luke lets go of Trish’s shoulder and leans forward. “You have a few admirers,” he informs me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  “I’ll pass,” I say dismissively.

  He runs a relaxed hand through his neatly combed sandy brown hair and raises his thick eyebrows. “Without even checking them out?”

  “Trust me, I already have,” I giggle. “Pass on all of them. Pass, pass, pass, and pass.”

  From a young age, I’ve taught myself to be attuned to my surroundings. Trish always used to say I have eyes at the back of my head. Luke says I was a trained spy in a former life. But it’s about staying alert and observing without being too obvious.

  “Pass on who exactly?” Luke tests me, but he should know better.

  I take a long sip of my custom drink. It’s a sex on the beach with pineapple and kiwi wedges on one side of the rim of my massive glass. It tastes so good that I hear myself moan without meaning to after each sip. If they keep up the serving sizes after their grand opening lau
nch period, they just might convert me into a regular.

  Leaning back in my seat, I smooth out the skirt of my black knee-length dress and prepare to answer Luke’s challenge, going from memory of what I’ve already seen. “Let’s see. The guy in the red shirt is too uptight. Black blazer sitting two tables away is a player. Navy and white striped polo shirt by the bar is faking it till he makes it. The two over there with matching black muscle shirts like to share one woman, and… who else?” I look around again. “Right. Dude with the cowboy hat and office boy drinking scotch are both regulars at the Speak-Easy, so that’s an automatic no. White shirt with the military haircut is a cheater. He took off his wedding ring while he was walking toward the girl he’s now sitting next to at the bar.” I can’t hold in my laughter when I see one more. “Oh, and stud muffin with all the ink down his arm, it’ll take me all night to tell you why he’s all wrong. It’d be like the way we’re wired to slow down to witness a car crash.”

  Trish and Luke can’t stop laughing either.

  “How do you do that so fast?” Luke asks after a minute. “Dismiss all the potentially eligible single men in a room before they say a word to you?”

  “Oh, they talk to her,” Trish tells him with a gleam in her eye. “Just not with their mouths.”

  “Why do you have to make it sound so dirty?” I whine. “I prefer to call it listening with my eyes.”

  Trish stares off at someone behind me. “Hang on. What about the mysterious one at the bar? He’s only been watching you since he walked in.”

  “Which one?” I ask and start to turn.

  “He hasn’t been sitting there for very long,” she answers. “Don’t look. Shit, now he knows we’re talking about him.”