Killer Crush

by Ella Goode

  I thought maybe he was a contractor or someone who couldn't find a job so they hopped from one thing to another, picking up any odd jobs they could. But he never found what he wanted so he came back to school. The time for filling in the blanks for him on my own is over. Now I need him to tell me his story so we can decide how to move forward. He’s going to have to give me the words.

  “I was a-” He pauses for a moment. I wait. “I was a hitman.” My eyebrows lift. I had a feeling it was going to be something like this. I thought he’d say spy, but he just threw hitman right out there. As though running around killing people was just another day at the office for him. “I’m retired,” he adds in quickly. “I didn't set those cameras up to kill you so it doesn't count.” A laugh bursts from me. I don’t know if it’s a real one or if I’m becoming hysterical.

  I drop my head to his chest as more laughter comes from me. This is crazy. I’m in love with a hitman. A killer. Maybe my dad was right. I am naïve. Daman is too, though. Just in a different kind of way.

  For some reason that thought makes me feel a bit better about our situation. My heart aches, thinking about what led him down such a path. A retired hitman at the age of twenty-five. How does a hitman even retire? Do they have a 401k? My mind is running wild with so many questions until I feel Daman’s hand rub along my back. My laughter quickly fades away. I lean my head back a little, kissing his neck. He sucks in a breath.

  “Reassure me,” I tell him.

  “I do not regret the people I killed. In fact, knowing now that you’re in this world, I’m happy they do not share this earth with you.”

  “That’s really sweet in a messed-up way.” I sigh against his neck. His nose drifts across the top of my head. He does it when I sleep, too. Always breathing me in. “Daman, would you use your skills for me?” I pull back, dropping my head to look up at him.

  “I’d do anything you ever ask of me,” he says instantly.

  “Check all the cameras. My best friend lives in that apartment.”

  “I will do it now.” His nose flares. I can tell he’s trying to fight his anger. “But I think it’s you he’s after.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Daman

  “How come we’re going to follow him? I thought that little metal thing I stuck under his fender was a GPS tracker,” Quinn asks. Her leather-gloved hands are wrapped around a pair of binoculars which she has trained on the front door.

  “It is, but it’s always better to have eyes on your mark. A tracker can fool you. He could lend the car to a friend or it could’ve gotten towed.”

  She lowers the binoculars. “Oh, I didn’t think of those things.”

  I take them from her. “Why would you? You were learning other, important things.”

  “Is there some hitman school you can go to?”

  “No. It’s mostly trial and error except if you mess up, things can turn out bad for you.” A familiar frame walks out of the front of the apartment. I drop the binoculars into Quinn’s lap. “He’s moving.”

  She slams the glasses against her eyes. “He’s not getting into his car!” she announces. “He’s walking somewhere.” She lowers the glasses and asks, “What should we do now?”

  “Wait.”

  “Wait? I thought we were keeping our eyes on him so we don’t get fooled and end up in a bad situation.” She sounds kind of excited about that.

  “We want to keep some distance from him or he might notice us.”

  “I need to start keeping notes. There’s a lot to learn in this hitman business.” She trades the binoculars for a phone and opens her notes app.

  “Babe, you’re not going to be doing this again so there’s no need for notes.”

  Her cute nose wrinkles. “Right. Of course not. Was it so bad? Doing that work?”

  I like how she calls it work, like it was something normal. “Not really,” I admit. “There’s a lot of people that we don’t need walking around. Take your handyman. Your bed isn’t the first one he jacked off onto.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me.” She sticks her tongue out and gags lightly.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that.” I tried to turn it off but she wouldn’t let me. She wanted to see what he was doing. At least the security footage was grainy and in black and white. His back was to us and all we saw were his hand motions, but it was obvious what was going on. Quinn was silent for a long time after the handyman left her apartment. I made her soup and warmed up some milk for her. Finally she asked me if I still had all my tools from my old job and how much it would cost to hire me.

  Obviously I am doing this job for free. I would’ve done it without her request. What was unexpected was that she wanted to be involved. I don’t know if she wants to pull the trigger or just stomp on his nuts but I’m happy to help her carry out either plan.

  “It was gross and violating but I’m glad I saw it because now I know why you do what you do.” Her face is set in a serious line.

  I reach over and squeeze her knee. “I did it for the money, babe. This is a righteous cause.”

  She turns determined eyes to meet mine. “It is, isn’t it? Every woman should have the right to, I don’t know, at least hurt these creeps.”

  “At the very least.”

  “We should do that.”

  “Do what?” I start the car. The handyman has come back from throwing away something in the trash. I’ll get it later. He’s now getting into his car.

  “Oh he’s leaving. Let me open the app.” I had her download the program I use for tracking. These days with all the connected apps and locator satellites, it’s easy to follow people. The best practice is to bug their phone because people almost never leave their cell phone behind. I made Quinn turn on her location finder for me so that if we were ever separated I could find her. I slipped some devices into her bag and pockets of her jacket, and in the soles of her shoes. Better safe than sorry, I think.

  “I think he’s going to get groceries,” she says as we slide into traffic two cars behind him. She’s right. Ten minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot.

  “Should I go in?”

  I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. “He’ll recognize you. It feels dangerous to me.”

  “But it’s the grocery store. What could he do to me? There are cameras and other people and it’s really well lit.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you go in then.”

  I shake my head no. I’m not leaving her alone.

  She sighs. “If I wasn’t here, what would you do?”

  “Go in,” I admit. She’s right. If I were doing this job alone, I’d go inside. He could go out the back, although I doubt it because he doesn’t know he’s being watched. Still, it’s better to err on the cautious side. I unbuckle the seatbelt. Quinn claps her hands together happily.

  “I kind of like this clandestine shit,” she declares and scampers out the passenger side. “Do you think I’d be good at it?”

  “I don’t know.” I join her, slipping my fingers through hers. “This is all easy and tedious. The hard part is at the end.”

  “When you kill them.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it hard for you?”

  “In the beginning. It got easier as time went by. That’s why I quit. Because it got too easy.” I glance down at her, wondering what she’s thinking. “While there are plenty of scum of the earth that should be taken out, life’s a valuable thing. I didn’t like who I was becoming at the end there.”

  “Then scratch my previous idea.”

  “What was that? You never told me.”

  “I thought we could start helping other women by taking out the men that hurt them, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I won’t have the stomach for it.” She narrows her eyes at the back of the handyman. “Although when I remember what he did, I don’t think I care much what happens to him. Maybe the problem for you was that none of your kills were...what did you say? Righteous ones? Maybe if you had a real j
ustification, it wouldn’t eat at you.”

  “You won’t know until the time comes.” But maybe she’s right. Maybe if all my kills were righteous, I wouldn’t have to retire.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Quinn

  “Act natural,” I tell Daman. He glances down at me. It’s clear that I'm the one not acting natural. I'm going to guess my stiff posture and the fact that I’m whisper yelling at Daman are what’s giving me away.

  “Relax,” he says, leaning down and kissing me below my ear. “We’re just an engaged couple shopping for groceries.”

  “I don’t have a ring.” I look down at my hand.

  “Gloves.” He answers at the same time I remember that I have them on. Why did he have to say engaged? And not just that we are a couple. This is so not the time, Quinn, I tell myself. I’m on a case. A very important one. I can analyze what Daman said about us later.

  I want to know what this man is up to. Could he be out stalking other women, too? What if he comes here because he’s checking on one of the “women” he’s into? Do these kinds of people get infatuated with multiple subjects at a time or do they focus on one? There are so many things I don’t really know. It strikes me odd that he didn't pay any attention to any of Trin’s stuff when he was in our place. He was hyper focused on my things for some reason.

  We keep our distance from him but are close enough to see what he’s doing. Daman grabs a basket and starts randomly putting things inside. “Don’t stare,” he says as he kisses the top of my head, spinning me around. I think the move was on purpose, Chris having looked this way.

  “We should go.”

  “Why? What’s happening?” I try and turn around, but Daman doesn't let me.

  “You’re very noticeable.”

  I roll my eyes at him. He always thinks everyone is checking me out. It’s adorable how pretty he thinks I am but everyone is not looking at me.

  “I got this.” I pull from his hold but I don’t let his hand go. I look around, not seeing Chris anywhere. “We lost him!” I half shout. I throw my hand over my mouth. Okay, I’m really terrible at this. “Sorry.” I throw both my hands up, stepping back. I graze the side of a book display at the end of the aisle.

  Daman pulls me back so that I don’t fall into it but it’s too late. I watch in horror as the entire thing falls to the ground in what seems like slow motion. I don’t even try to stop it because there’s no use. Books tumble everywhere. This is a grocery store. Why the hell is this display here anyway? I’ve been sabotaged by the very thing I love.

  Everyone around turns to look at us. Chris comes around the corner, his eyes locking right onto mine. My stomach drops as I stare into his dark green eyes. What I see there sends chills through my body.

  “Quinn?” He says my name, taking a step toward me. I can’t see Daman but he must give Chris some kind of look over my head because he takes a step back. Anger flashes through his eyes for a brief second before he focuses back on me.

  “Hi,” I say because I have to say something. He said my name. Plus I’m supposed to act natural. “I’m such a clutz.” I try and laugh it off, but it comes out forced. Chris leans down, picking up the metal rack that held the books.

  “Don’t worry. We got this.” A store employee rushes over.

  “You should put this at the end of the aisle. She could have been hurt,” Daman says.

  “Yeah, I keep telling them to move it.” The woman’s eyes meet mine. She waves her hand at me. “You’re not the first to knock it over. Maybe this time they’ll listen to me. Don’t worry about it.” I think she thinks I’m embarrassed. Normally I would be but right now I’m more worried about the creep standing in front of me and being caught. I shouldn’t feel fear with Daman here but after what Chris had done in those videos it’s hard not to. Even though I know that Daman would kill him without hesitation. Is that what I really want?

  “Are you ready, babe?” Daman lifts our basket, giving it a small shake. “Or did we forget something from off your list?”

  “We’re good.”

  Chris stands there watching our interaction. He doesn’t try to introduce himself to Daman or say anything else to me. He only watches.

  “Guess I’ll see you around.” Wait, did that sound too inviting or friendly? Shit. I really am terrible at this.

  “See you soon, Quinn,” he whispers as we walk away. This was too real, being this close to him. Looking him in his eyes having been thinking about killing him for the past few hours. Was I really thinking about that?

  Daman guides me to the checkout line. In silence we get everything he put into our basket before he again guides me out of the store and opens the passenger door for me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when he gets into the driver’s side.

  “We don’t have to do anything, babe.” He places his hand on my leg. I shake my head.

  “Just seeing him close up.” I turn to look at Daman. “I need more. I get it, jacking off on my bed is gross but is it death worthy? Should we just hand it over to the police? Will he only get a slap on the wrist?” Question after question enter my mind.

  “This is not his first time doing something like this and it won’t be his last. What he did in your apartment was child's play.”

  “That was not—”

  “For him. Trust me. I know this without digging.” Daman leans over the center console of the car. “You have to dig into your mark. You give me a few hours and I’ll tell you everything I think he’s ever done or what he will do.”

  “You can do that?”

  He shrugs. “People are predictable once you get a feel for them.”

  “True. I know you’re going to kiss me.” He smiles, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his warm breath against my lips.

  “Have you changed your mind?” I lick my lips, my tongue grazing his mouth.

  “No, I’m just not sure if I can pull the trigger.” I kiss him. I want Daman to know it’s not him I’m questioning but myself. “I never said you couldn't do anything.” I lean back into my seat.

  “Seatbelt,” Daman reminds me as we head back to his place.

  “Now, I’m worried he’s going to do something before we find out more about him.” I groan. This is more complicated than I thought. Daman taps his phone. “We’ll keep tabs. I won’t let him hurt anyone.” He glances over toward me, his eyes locking with mine. “Because I know that will hurt you.”

  I smile. Maybe I shouldn't. The man I know I’m in love with is a killer. But he is my killer, and for some reason, that makes all the difference.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Daman

  “You’re staring at me,” I murmur. Quinn’s eyes have lingered on my face for the last few seconds. I’m usually the watcher and this attention feels odd. I wish I had a hat.

  “I’m trying to figure out if I like you better with or without glasses. Do you wear contacts when you’re working?”

  “Wait. You have a job?” Trin interrupts before I can reply.

  “I used to have a job.” I keep my eyes down on my plate. Anything about my past feels like dangerous waters. This is why I kept to myself before but Quinn felt guilty about not spending time with her roommate so here we are, having dinner together out in public. The middle of my back that’s hard to reach is itching even though I’m sitting with my back to the wall. I remind myself that a crowded cafeteria is not the place where most hits happen. There are too many witnesses. It’s far better to catch them at home where they won’t be found for hours instead of taking them out in the street where dozens of CCTVs can capture everything from the trajectory of the bullet to the flapping of your jacket as you try to escape, which is what happened to some hitman out of Texas. He’s on death row now but hopes to get out, I guess, which is why he isn’t spilling all the secrets he’s collected over the years.

  “Don’t ask, Trin,” Quinn says. “It was boring. Something to do with wiring and electricity. I make him tell me about it when I can’t sle
ep.”

  “You two act like you’re married,” Trin whines.

  “Married?” My head jerks up. Is that even an option? I hadn’t given it a thought because...well, who’s going to marry a hitman?

  Quinn rolls her eyes. “No one is getting married. College students don’t get married.”

  Ah, as suspected. It is not an option. I return to my burger.

  “Well, you guys might as well be married. I never see you anymore. It’s like I don’t even have a roommate. I’m lonely.” Trin shifts in her chair. “Since you’ve stolen Quinn from me, you should set me up with a co-worker. I’m ready to hear some boring bedtime stories. Who do you have?”

  I shove the burger in my mouth so I don’t have to answer. Quinn coughs into her hand, probably to cover a smile. “They all have plumber’s butt. It’s not pretty,” she tells her roommate.

  Trin makes a humming noise—halfway between agreement and disbelief. “So Quinn says you’re a landscape architect major. Does that mean you’re going to design gardens and stuff?”

  “Something like that.” I don’t have to work for a living. I have a nest egg tucked away in the Caymans big enough to support both Quinn and me, but I had to major in something. “I like growing things so it appealed to me.”

  “That’s oddly sweet. I can see why you like him,” Trin says to Quinn.

  “Actually I’m just using him for the great sex.” Quinn squeezes my biceps to let me know she’s joking. Actually, I don’t care if that’s the only reason she’s with me. At least she’s with me and if it’s because of the way I eat her out at night, finger her in the morning, or dick her down when she comes home from class, that’s a good thing. I’m happy taking what I can get from her. I finish the rest of my burger and ignore the nagging hollow feeling lingering in my chest.