by Bijou Hunter
"Interesting," Harlow says, jotting down more words I can't read because of her sloppy handwriting.
"What if the dead girl wasn't given money," I suggest, "but was promised a role. I'm assuming she was an aspiring actress."
"Of course," Minka says from the floor while resting on her back and staring up at me. "So this director had a hard-on for Brad, and the power to bribe a chick to drug him. Probably told her it was a prank. What does she care as long as she gets her big break?"
"He'd also have the money to pay for the SUV and rent the cabin they took Brad to. All these cult members were losers with no sources of income."
"So the director is the guy you need to rough up for info," Harlow says.
"He's dead," Minka mumbles with her full mouth of another lemon slice. "I read his obituary when Tia was doing research."
"But how does Marx fit in?" I ask, sitting on the couch and checking my phone to see if Brad needs me.
"He could be the old dude's grandson," Minka says.
Harlow snorts. "Sure, and grandpa's dying wish was for him to finish the sacrifice in a dozen years."
"The cult didn't attack Brad until the book though," I mutter, trying to figure out what I'm missing.
"Marx could be a member of the cult," Minka suggests.
"Then why even write the book if the goal was just to kill Brad?" I ask. "He had plenty of chances before we were hired. Marx doesn't have a killer vibe, but he's definitely hiding something. He got really twitchy when I mentioned research."
"Here's an idea," Darla says quietly. "He was doing research for the book and discovered info that made him think the director was the head of the cult. He might have even found the others involved."
"Why keep it a secret? Wouldn't that bombshell have sold the book?"
"Yeah," Darla says, losing her enthusiasm.
Deep in thought, Harlow crosses her arms. "Of course, the bad guy in his masterpiece was dead which might be a bummer for readers. He also might be sued for libel by the dead asshole's estate.
"Maybe we're thinking like savvy people rather than a simple dreamer like Marx," Minka says. "The twerp craves success, but the book is about Brad, and Brad will get all of the attention. If Brad was dead, Marx could write a follow-up book where he solves the mystery and gets all the attention. It would make him quite a celebrity."
Darla decides to pipe in again but only whispers, "Or maybe he never intended for Brad to get killed and it was all about gaining attention."
"Does it really matter what he intended?" I ask, feeling an angry heat in my gut. "He sent that bastard to the hotel, and the guy took a shot at us. He wasn't shooting fucking blanks either, so Marx might as well have intended for Brad to die."
"What's our proof though?" Minka asks, killing our sense of accomplishment.
We sit quietly and think about our lack of hard evidence. All we have is circumstantial pieces of a puzzle. Even so, I know in my heart that Marx is the guy.
"Someone told the New York guy about our hotel and floor," I point out. "No one outside of our immediate group knew that information. Not the PR company or even the local security team watching downstairs. This guy knew well enough to get a room down the hall. That wasn't a last minute move either. So it's someone in our agency or Brad, Ruth, Nell, or Marx."
"Marx might have told someone," Harlow says.
"Someone put that heart into the Houston hotel room too. Seems unlikely that Marx is accidentally telling people things and they're sharing the info with the cult. It makes more sense for him to be feeding the cult info."
"So what do we do?" Harlow asks.
"Get rid of Marx and see what happens," I reply quickly, wanting the bastard dead within the hour.
Minka sits up and tugs at my skirt. "Or we could extract info and see what he knows before we get rid of him. That's your specialty."
"It was."
"Don't tell me you're going soft."
I look at my hands, unable to imagine them drawing blood again. They only want to feel Brad's hot skin. The thought of extracting information from Marx makes me shudder.
"I don't think I can do it anymore."
Minka forces my gaze on her and away from my hands. "I can do it, but it'll be messy. Might not be very successful either."
"Something changed in me," I whisper. "I've lost my killer instinct. I mean, I want Marx dead, but when I think of doing it, I freeze up."
"I don't believe Saskia Koval goes soft after a few weeks of fucking some hot guy."
"It's not the fucking, you bitch," I growl, ready to punch Minka's smug face.
"Yeah, that's the scary Saskia I know and love."
Realizing she's messing with me, I admit, "I don't want to do this job anymore."
"Then quit, but not until we find out what Marx knows."
"And if I can't extract the info?"
Unable to come up with an answer, Minka only frowns. Harlow is still writing notes on the board while Darla plays a puzzle game on her phone. Staring at the other killer in the room, I wonder if I can ever pick up my extraction tools again. Do I have the stomach to tear a person apart slowly, even if it means protecting Brad?
"I know you're in a weird place," Minka says, sitting next to me on the couch. "I've gotten emotionally involved on jobs and had trouble thinking straight. I do get what you're feeling, but Marx knows the answers. He's the key, and I'm sure he'll break easy, but trusting what he says is something I can't be sure about. You know how to read a person when they're stressed for info. That's your wheelhouse, and Brad is your man. So you need to suck up those bad feelings you're dealing with and tuck them away until the job is done."
Minka is right, but I feel sick when I recall the sounds of the drill, the smell of blood, and the cries of pain. I can kill to protect Brad, but I don't know how easily I can come back from the violence. Not after knowing tenderness and acceptance from Brad. Committing these violent acts to save the man I love might end up with me losing him forever.
29
~ Brad ~
Not Going to Happen
Saskia is gone only an hour before I begin pacing. To hell with rational, I want her back at the house. She is happier here with me. I think of how emotional she's been the last few days and know she needs to return to me. I offer a path away from her life as Little Maven.
"It's good for them to get out," Rafael says, watching me pace on the front porch. "Women need to talk about women stuff like shopping and their periods."
I frown at him and he shrugs. "I don't know what they talk about. Makeup, maybe."
"We compare notes on our lovers," Nell announces while passing by the door.
Rafael and I frown together. I don't want Saskia talk about our sex life with her friends. I'm less concerned about being compared to Rafael. He's a big guy, but so am I. Wait, now I'm wondering how I come out of the competition.
"My woman needs more girlfriends," Rafael says, looking at the rustling trees. "Back in Kentucky where she grew up, Harlow had a lot of friends. It's good for women to have someone to talk about us with. If they can't bitch about us to their friends, they'll complain to us. I'm not looking for any conversations about how I forget to put the seat down or never wash my plate."
"Why not just remember to put the seat down or wash your plate?"
Rafael narrows his eyes. "You're a little bitch, aren't you?"
"Or do I adapt better to their needs than you?"
"Let's play nice and say we're both right."
Giving him a nod, I begin pacing again. Time slows down while I wait for Saskia to return. Rafael comes and goes, checking monitors and making calls. He jogs around the property with the dogs following him. I refuse to leave the porch until Saskia is back in my arms.
All the waiting makes me tense as hell by the time her gold SUV pulls down the drive. Rafael is already packing up to leave and doesn't even wait until Saskia parks her car before he's out of the door. They signal each other, and I sense they know something I don't.
"What?"
"Do you remember how I said Marx was a suspect?"
"Yeah, kind of hard to forget," I say, mimicking her by crossing my arms. "He called earlier, and I ignored his message like you said."
"Well we now think the director of the show, Fred Lorn, was the man behind the cult."
"Fred is dead," I say, frowning harder when I hear the rhyme in my words.
"Yes, but we can dig into his life to learn if he's connected to Marx or the others like Stein."
"And this is why you're being distant?"
Saskia shifts from one foot to another before finally taking a step back. "If we go after Marx, we'll need to know who else is involved. We can't assume the danger will end for you once he's gone."
"By gone, I assume you mean dead."
"Yes, unless you want us to have him arrested if we find something. That would mean you'd have to testify against him."
Frowning, I don't know what I want to do with Marx. I only care about Saskia standing away from me. I step closer and cup her jaw. Saskia doesn't want to kiss me. She even pulls away, but I hold her still with my other hand. My lips taste hers. A single moment of heat passes between us before she shuts it all down.
"No," she mutters, breaking free of my grip and ducking under my arm. "I need to stay focused on the job."
"And you can't do that if I kiss you?"
"You make me weak. To handle Marx, I need to be Little Maven."
"Handle him?" I ask, thinking about what she means. "What if I say we find something on him and call the cops? No handling him necessary. What then?"
Saskia refuses to look at me, even after I erase the distance between us. "What then?" I ask again.
"That's not the right call. Marx might go to jail and still send people after you. We don't know how he communicated with the guy from New York. We don't know how many people are in the cult or if they're here in Texas now. He knows the answers, but he won't tell us willingly."
"You don't want to do that anymore," I whisper, taking her shaking hands in mine. "You aren't Little Maven anymore."
Saskia yanks her hands free. "I have to be to finish this."
"Then I'm firing you. It's not your job anymore to finish."
Her gaze meets mine, and I see her shutting down her feelings towards me. Saskia loses all of the warmth in her expression, and her hands stop shaking. She's hiding away all of the good inside her, so she can return to a life of blood and pain. A life she doesn't want anymore but will endure to protect me.
Not going to happen.
A startled Saskia gasps when I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.
"Very caveman-like," she mutters, hanging limply from me.
"You'd do the same thing to me if I was being reckless."
Saskia doesn't answer as I carry her into the house. Mom and Nell look at us, exchange amused glances, and return to watching TV.
"That's my boy," Mom snickers.
I hear Nell laughing as we disappear into my bedroom. After slamming the door shut with my foot, I walk to the bed and rest Saskia on her back. She stares at me with a pissed expression.
"What's next, big man?" she growls.
Ignoring her anger, I remove the gun strapped to her hip. Next, I crawl over her while keeping her arms pinned next to her head.
"You're done with Little Maven."
"Says you, but I say I need to finish this thing with Marx."
"Let the others do it."
"NO."
Pressing my forehead against hers, I stare into her dark eyes. "Yes because I love you, and I know what's right."
I see a glimpse of the real Saskia behind her stubborn exterior. She wants to be loved. More than that, she trusts that I do love everything about her including her flaws. Yet Little Maven is what she knows.
"When your mother died..."
"When I killed her," she corrects in a cold voice.
"Yes, when you killed her, you didn't know what else to do except to be Little Maven. Now you have a choice. You can retire from the life your mother forced you into and begin a new life where your value doesn't come from hurting people. You're more than violence. You just haven't had a chance to embrace anything except what your mother shoved down your throat when you were too young to say no. Now you can say it."
"I don't want to say no. I want to end this shit with Marx so you'll be safe. We can't really build a life when you're living in fear."
"That's bullshit, and you know it. How many people have you pissed off over the years? Any of them could one day show up and ruin things, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be happy now. Torturing and killing Marx might be necessary, but not if you're the one doing it. You aren't the same woman who walked through my front door weeks ago. That Saskia could hurt Marx without caring. The woman I'm looking at right now can't do that without destroying something important inside her."
Saskia stares at me as our foreheads rest together. I don't know what she's thinking, but I feel the ice around her heart melting. She doesn't want to live a violent life anymore, but starting over is fucking scary.
Her lips lift up to mine, kissing me tentatively. Her head and heart struggle for dominance, and I worry the former will win as usual. Deciding to tip the scales in my favor, I deepen the kiss.
I roll onto my side and wrap her tighter into an embrace. No longer trapped under me, Saskia could run. A part of her likely wants to win for the simple fact that she's accustomed to winning. She doesn't run though.
"I love you," she whispers in between kisses. "I can't let you die."
"I'm not going to die. Not with you around."
"I can make Marx talk."
"I don't need him to talk. What I need is for you to escape from your mother's clutches. She's been dead for too long to still have this much hold over you."
"Without Little Maven, who am I?"
"You're my woman."
Saskia frowns at me. "You spent too much time with Rafael."
Grinning, I kiss her again. She relaxes in my arms as her cold exterior disappears.
"I really don't want to leave this house," she murmurs.
"I know that feeling."
"It's not healthy."
"And your old life was? Healthy doesn't mean shit. Happiness should be our goal. Are you happy here?"
Saskia smiles warmly. "Yes."
"You've changed, and I don't think you should force yourself back into that Little Maven box."
"You like being right, don't you, big man?"
"Of course. Don't you?"
"Yes, but you're the nice one."
"I want my woman protected."
Saskia sighs. "Way too much time with Rafael."
"He thinks you talk about your period when you're with other women."
"Of course he does. What do you think we talk about?"
"Dick sizes."
"You're getting warmer," she teases, laughing loudly.
Smiling, I still worry she'll change her mind. I even wonder if she's playing me so she can get her way. Her laughter is too genuine though, and my worries fade.
"You've protected me," I whisper, brushing my lips against her cheek. "Let me protect you now."
Saskia's expression shifts almost immediately, leaving bright fear in her eyes.
"I don't want to hold my tools anymore," she whimpers, looking at her hands. "I don't want to break people, but I need to protect you more."
"You can protect me by staying with me. My sexy butt kicking bodyguard."
Still rattled, Saskia grips my shirt. "I don't know if I can stop."
"Of course you can. You're strong and smart. You can do whatever in the hell you want."
Saskia's furrowed brow eases, and she smiles slightly. "I want to learn to cook, and Ruth is going to help me. Nell also said she'll teach me to knit. I want to learn things that have no
thing to do with my old life. I want to learn to play with the dogs without thinking of them as weapons to use against intruders. You can help me with that part."
"I'll help you with anything you need," I murmur, kissing her neck.
Body going limp and willing, Saskia moans as my lips suck at her flesh. Our passion gives her permission to submit. She's no longer alone in a cold world. Here with me, she's safe and loved. Discarding her past, she can reach for a possible future offering anything she desires. All she needs to do is hold on to me while dreaming of more.
30
~ Saskia ~
No More Little Maven Encores
Leaving behind Little Maven sounds easy, but I still worry about the target on Brad's back. Nighttime is the worst, but he tries to relax me. We eat popcorn while watching Ghost Hunters. Even with all the laughing I do, my thoughts keep focusing on Marx. He's been in this house and sat on this couch. The Sloane family rebuilt their lives, only for Marx to show up wearing a disarming smile and working a devious plan. I want Marx dead, but I can't give up being the new Saskia rather than the butcher created by an evil mother.
"You shouldn't laugh at their fear," Brad says as I giggle hysterically at the cowardly ghost hunters squealing over every noise.
When I don't stop laughing, he finally gives in and laughs too. "I'd be scared shitless if I was in a haunted house."
Brad's confession only makes me laugh harder until I can barely breathe. Ruth appears at the hallway and looks at us.
"Make her stop mocking me, Mom," Brad whines dramatically.
Ruth grins. "She's right though. Those shows are stupid."
I rest my head against Brad's chest. "I love them. In fact, I've never laughed harder in my life."
Brad's face loses his feigned outraged expression when he smiles at me. "I love when you laugh."
I hold his gaze and whisper, "I love everything about you."
"Wait until I reveal all my annoying habits."
Frowning, I say, "Oh, I thought you already had."
Brad narrows his blue eyes and gives me a dark, dirty look. My subsiding giggles start up again. He shakes his head at how I tease him. When we return to watching the show, I try not to laugh at the ghost hunters and mostly succeed.
