How to Shield an Assassin (Unholy Trifecta Book 1)

by AJ Sherwood

  “I’ll do so. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Yup, you bet.” Carter hung up the call and saved the contact under Emura so he could find it again.

  The driver, a curious soul, asked, “Another job already?”

  “Looks like it. Reward for a job well done is another job, right?”

  She snorted a laugh. “Yup, that’s how it goes.”

  Carter stared out at the passing buildings and streetlights, mentally putting together a plan. The assassin known as Malvagio wouldn’t be easy to find. But Carter really had no idea how to breach Knowles without his help. Emura was right on that point—this wasn’t a one-man job anyway. It would take at least two people, and likely a team, to get in through Knowles’ security.

  The question was, how did he find an assassin?

  6

  Ari

  Ari was willing to admit he might, possibly, have failed to think this through.

  Normal might perhaps be outside of his skillset. The making pancakes in the morning, and teaching Remi computer hacking, and MMA—all of that was easy. After six months he still hadn’t figured out the magic for a little girl’s hair, but combing it seemed to work for now. And Remi was golden about being patient while he figured crap out.

  School. School was definitely the issue.

  His perfectly adorable little girl was sitting in the principal’s office with a belligerent look on her face, eyes squinting evilly at the mother of her assailant. The mother glared right back at her, looking very upper middle class. The principal—who had her grey hair in a bun and wore a cardigan—was either exasperated or alarmed in turns. Neither woman seemed at all pleased to see him, which was unfair, in Ari’s opinion. He hadn’t hit anyone. (Yet.)

  The mother, one Mrs. Pritchard, turned her steely-eyed glare at him, a visible tic at the corner of her mouth. “And where is Mrs. Benelli?”

  “There is no Mrs. Benelli,” Ari responded levelly. He was less focused on the women and more on his little girl as he took the hard plastic chair next to her. “Just me and Remi. Rems, what went down?”

  Tilting in her chair, she looked up at him, still mad enough to spit nails. “That idjut Davy tried to put a hand up my shirt—”

  Mrs. Pritchard tried to overrule her. “I’m sure you misunderstood—”

  Giving her a look that could kill, Remi kept right on rolling, “—and he’d already done it to three other girls and got a warning for it, and a timeout, but he did it to me ’cause he thought I was an easy mark. I showed him different.”

  Ari beamed at her proudly. “That’s my girl.”

  “Mister Benelli,” the principal started in a hard tone. “I do not condone violence in my school.”

  “Yeah? What’s your take on sexual harassment?” he countered easily, kicking back in his chair. He’d noted Mrs. Pritchard was now flushed with embarrassment. Didn’t know her son was a letch, eh?

  “Of course we don’t condone that behavior either,” Principal Walsh responded, irritated. “But the correct course of action in this case was for Remi to report Davy’s behavior, not attack him.”

  “Seems like it already had been reported, by other girls, and Davy didn’t care if he got a timeout or not. My daughter’s well within her rights to punch anyone who puts a hand on her.”

  Principal Walsh ground her teeth audibly. “I quite disagree, and she did more than punch him.”

  “Yeah?” That was news to Ari. Then again, he’d only been in the office for two minutes and still hadn’t gotten the full story yet. Looking at his Remi, he asked, “Whatcha do, kiddo?”

  “Widow combo,” she informed him proudly.

  Ouch. The ‘widow combo,’ as Remi called it, was an MMA combination of strikes—a three-pointer designed to take an opponent down quickly and ruthlessly. It started with a knee to the groin, slamming the opponent’s head down onto that same knee to break the nose, and then striking an elbow into the nape of the neck to take them down completely. Yeah, okay, widow’s combo might have been a touch overkill. “Is he out?”

  “Like a light,” Remi confirmed, still proud of herself.

  He didn’t want to dissuade his daughter from defending herself, but he’d apparently failed to give her limits when teaching her martial arts. That was his bad. Ari tried to mitigate this a little without sounding like Remi was in trouble. “Yeah, okay, I agree he had it coming, but kiddo? It’s kinda hard to get someone reported if they’re not awake enough to answer questions.”

  Remi blinked up at him with her chocolate brown eyes, mouth forming a perfect o. “Rats, I didn’t think of that.”

  “Yeah, maybe consider that next time,” he counselled, relieved she saw his point. “You know, leave it at a blow to the groin if he’s weak enough to go down with that.”

  “Mister Benelli,” Principal Walsh snapped, looking horrified. “I don’t want her hitting anyone at all!”

  “And I don’t want her in a position where she has to defend herself,” he responded mildly. “Look, Principal, I know you got rules here. And I agree with most of ’em. But my little girl had another guy’s hand up her shirt, which is non bene. And if he’s a repeat offender, I can see why she laid the guy out flat. She can’t trust the teachers to stop him. So, if you don’t want her hitting people? Maybe you should make sure the boys aren’t doing bad-touches.”

  Both Walsh and Pritchard looked horrified by his logic. Ari briefly toyed with pointing out he routinely killed people who pissed him off, but figured that was too hardcore for elementary school. Also not helpful in this case. “Make you two a deal. I’ll teach her to hold back, you teach Davy not to sexually harass the girls.”

  Walsh, at this point, had her head in both hands. “Mr. Benelli. By any chance, are you a soldier?”

  “Was, yeah.” Briefly. Before he got kicked out for insubordination.

  “That explains a great deal,” Walsh grumbled to the top of her desk. “I’m afraid I have to suspend Remi for a week for violence.”

  “Yeah, that’s okay,” Ari assured her. It likely would take him a week to teach Remi the appropriate amount of force to use in different circumstances.

  “And Mrs. Pritchard,” Principal Walsh continued, tone hardening, “While I am sorry Davy was hurt, I’m afraid Remi did have a point. We have tried multiple ways of disciplining your son without any effect. He is also suspended for a week, and if he touches another person inappropriately, I’m afraid I’ll have to expel him.”

  Mrs. Pritchard was not happy—she was nearly purple with anger—but she managed a tight nod. “I understand.”

  “Good. Thank you both for coming in.”

  Glad to escape, Ari ducked out with Remi close on his heels. He now remembered why he’d ditched school more often than not. Taking Remi’s hand, he held onto it as they walked to the parking lot. “You’re lethal, kiddo.”

  She grinned up at him, pleased at this praise. “Am I like Black Widow?”

  “You sure are getting there. You just gotta remember, Black Widow only uses full on force against guys trained to take the punishment.”

  Remi nodded agreeably. “I’ll remember that next time.”

  “Okay.” Ari took his first easy breath in the past half hour. Getting called into the principal’s office was never a good thing, no matter what age a man was at. Although, he was proud of himself for getting them both out of there as he had.

  See? He totally had a handle on this whole parenting thing. “Let’s get ice cream, then you’ve got dance.”

  Still holding onto his hand, Remi did one of those ballet lunge things. “I like ballet.”

  “Yeah, honey, I know.” It was a little expensive, what with the tutus and shoes and tights and all, but it helped her balance and developed her core strength. Worth it, in his opinion. Besides, Remi had so much fun with it, he loved watching her.

  They got ice cream at the local mom and pop shop on the corner, basically killing time. Remi was all over the place, as usual, talking about
anything that occurred to her. And a lot occurred to her, most of it random and disconnected. Some kind of switch had flipped in her head about two and a half months into their relationship. An it’s alright now, and she turned almost overnight into this child who chattered and cuddled and was at ease with him. He much, much preferred this chatterbox over that silent child who flinched at everything.

  There were still days he felt lost—like he had no idea what the fuck he was doing—and he knew he needed to get back in the game soon and take some jobs. But at least for the rest of the month he’d just focus on Remi. If today was any example, she wasn’t quite ready to face the wide green world yet.

  Or, he should say, the world wasn’t ready for her.

  They went to dance class. Mrs. Nelson was a genuinely nice woman who had been teaching dance for twenty years. She cut him some slack for being a single dad, always taking five minutes to put Remi’s hair up in a bun before class started. He mostly felt awkward, sitting in the chairs off to the side of the long room. Pink tutus weren’t exactly in his wheelhouse. But Remi loved having him there, and he was still new enough at this parenting thing, he didn’t want her to think he’d gotten tired of her or some shit. It was easy enough to sit there and look at jobs on his phone, keep his ear to the ground.

  They were learning pirouettes today, which Remi got down before any of the other girls. Ari felt a little smug about that. His Remi was a natural athlete. It made teaching her MMA really fun. She’d be terrifying in another ten years.

  Class ended, the girls dispersed. Remi routinely spent ten minutes after class practicing what she’d learned, just to make sure she had it all down, so Ari didn’t move. Mrs. Nelson, used to her, waved at Ari as she ducked into her office in the back of the building.

  Ten minutes came and went, so he left the chair, intent on moving things along. “Come on, princess. Time’s up.”

  “I don’t have this down yet. There should be more of a wooosh feeling.”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling the wooosh, but you can practice at home if you want to keep going,” he informed her. “The kitchen—” From the corner of his eye, he saw the door open, and he automatically tracked who had just entered. He knew the face well, even though he’d never actually crossed paths with the man in person. Whirling, he drew and leveled his Glock at the mercenary who had just walked in, keeping Remi behind him. “Harrison.”

  Splaying both hands to his sides, Harrison said evenly, “Hey, Malvagio.”

  Ari felt Remi put both hands on his waist and lean around him to get a look at the man. Harrison looked good, five-foot-ten of muscle and lethal grace. Salt and pepper highlights streaked his hair in the high faded sides, gelled-back top strands, and the stubble ringing his mouth. His skin glowed with a healthy tan, indicating he’d been somewhere warm recently. Rumor had it he’d started out as an Army Ranger before leaving. Now he was the mercenary people hired when they absolutely had to have the job done right the first time. Ari appreciated not only the professionalism of the man, but the rugged beauty he sported. For the first time in a long time, Ari’s libido piped up and waved a flag of approval and interest, which was interesting.

  It was just a shame he might have to kill him.

  Mentally, Ari swore up a blue streak. How in hell had anyone—even Carter Harrison, who was admittedly very good at his job—found him? Ari had taken special pains to move into this small southern town without leaving a trace of his whereabouts, and he’d let it be known he was taking a few months break. He did not appreciate anyone showing up like this and blowing his cover, not to mention seeing Remi’s face. He never wanted the underworld to be able to ID her. Although if he had to pick someone to stumble across them, Harrison was at the top of a short list. The man had a thing about kids, too.

  Still, fear coursed through his veins like molten lava and left a bitter aftertaste in the back of his throat. Ari was abso-fucking-lutely not ready for someone aside from Ivan and Kyou to be around his daughter. His finger on the trigger spasmed with the need to pull it and not take any chances. Only Ari’s common sense kept him from doing so. Carter hadn’t done anything (yet) to deserve a head shot, and he didn’t want Remi to see someone killed in front of her. Still, it was hard to curb the instinct.

  “Daddy,” Remi whispered in a carrying tone, “is he a good bad guy or a bad bad guy?”

  “Totally depends if he’s carrying right now, sweetie,” Ari answered levelly. If the man had the stupidity to be packing in front of his little girl, Ari’d put a bullet in his leg. Just for the principle of it.

  Harrison grinned down at her, as if he found her charming. Which was the correct response. Remi was charming. Harrison lifted his shirt hem, showing he was clean, then turned and lifted the back up enough to show he hadn’t tucked something into his waist either. The jeans were a slim fit, not disguising any muscle, and making it clear he didn’t have something strapped to his ankle, either. “Not packing,” he reassured them both in a mellow baritone.

  Only slightly relieved, Ari lowered the gun, aiming at the floor, but he didn’t holster it. Not yet. Harrison didn’t actually need a weapon. He was a weapon. He kept an ear out for Mrs. Nelson, who was still in the office, aware they had maybe five minutes to hash this out before they had to move. Or draw the wrong attention from the class of kids coming in next. “Why are you here, Harrison?”

  “Need help on a job,” Harrison admitted, finally bringing his eyes up to Ari’s. Those slate blue eyes held a shade of disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the myth with the man standing in front of him. “Far as I know, you’re the only one with the experience I need.”

  Ari knew he couldn’t stay out of the game completely, and he hadn’t been intending to really try, but this was sucky timing. He also had to appreciate Harrison’s nerve in still standing there, calmly, because he had to sense that Ari really wanted to put a bullet in him. It made him want to hear the man out. “This something I can just walk you through?”

  “Yeah, probably not. It’s a two-man job, at least.”

  “What are we talking about, man?”

  “Knowles.”

  Letting out a whistle, Ari rocked back on his heels. Knowles Museum and the Knox family did not play by the rules when it came to their collection, routinely pulling things out of people’s estates and forging provenance papers stating they’d always had it. They had enough judges, policemen, and money that they got by with it. Ari had taken a job about nine months ago to crack Knowles and slip inside. It was one of the few times he’d been hired not to kill someone, but to retrieve a diamond ring the target wore. It had taken him a solid month of planning to even get into the mansion, and if he were being honest about it, he'd never have made it in without the help of both Kyou and Ivan. Thankfully, they’d been able to avoid breaking into the vault.

  “Knowles is not easy to crack,” Ari acknowledged slowly. “Two-man job, you said. You coming out with something heavy?”

  “More like awkward, but yeah.”

  “What’s the pay?”

  “Ten mil.”

  Ari knew better than to ask any further questions, not without some sort of understanding between them. He’d already pushed Harrison a touch too far as it was. Harrison likely gave him a pass on that because Remi stood right there, giving him good reason to ask questions.

  The man still stood there calmly. Ari, in his shoes, would not have. Now that some of his initial panic had eased, Ari tried to consider this more rationally. Was he comfortable that someone aside from his inner circle knew about his daughter? No way in hell. But Harrison wasn’t ‘someone.’ The man’s reputation spoke for itself: he was a retrieval specialist who didn’t betray anyone. Could Ari trust that reputation blindly? Probably not. But he was alright playing this out a little longer, getting a better read on the situation. Ari could always shoot the man later if he was a problem.

  Besides, that payout…that was damn tempting. Ten million. Split two ways, five million. Damn, he could r
eally go for five million. A little rainy-day money for both him and Remi if they needed it would be good. Sliding the gun back into its holster, he suggested, “Let’s get an early dinner somewhere and talk this over. Remi, grab your stuff.”

  “Okay.” Delighted, she skipped off to the cubby holes to grab her backpack and pull on street clothes.

  Harrison watched her go, the tip of his tongue worrying his top lip. “You, ah, got someone who can watch her?”

  “My current relationship status is that last night I slept with the clothes I was too lazy to fold; does that answer your question?” Ari responded dryly. Pulling out his phone, he shot off a quick text to Kyou to look up Carter Harrison. “It’s fine, she’s not a snitch. Are you, princess?”

  “Rule two!” she agreed promptly, tugging on shorts over her tights.

  “Rule one’s don’t be an asshole,” Ari explained to the now bemused Harrison. “Rule two’s don’t be a snitch.”

  “You got many of these rules?”

  “Just those two so far. Although I think rule three needs to be don’t use deadly combos on the pleebs.” Ari waved away the man’s curiosity. “School. Long story. My name’s Ari. Use that.”

  “Sure.”

  7

  Carter

  Carter had heard the rumors, of course, that Malvagio wasn’t in the game at the moment. No one quite knew why, just that he’d moved to the southern side of the United States and was being extremely closed mouthed about his exact location. It had taken Carter a month to track the man—a very frustrating, harrowing, headache inducing month, as Malvagio had taken extreme care to make sure no one knew where he was. Finding him in the dance studio was more fluke than anything. Carter had been walking the street and just so happened to spot Malvagio through the big open paned windows.