It’s remarkable how much you get to know about someone when you’re on the run with them, and it’s even more remarkable when you find yourself drinking in every detail you can find about her.
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time alone the past few years. My life doesn’t give me much room for a social life on the side, and besides, that would just open up a dozen more risks to compromising my identity and landing me behind bars. Charity isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I would think about how nice it would be to have someone to confide in—I’ve never liked the idea of having to take a hostage, if I can even still call her that, and I don’t even know if I can truly confide in her.
She has surprised me so far.
I banked on the nonstop, fast-paced rush of the contract killing to keep her distracted, and that worked, but the past two days have been calmer. She has had much more opportunity to make a move of her own, especially during the times when I can’t keep a close eye on her.
We actually got some sleep, which is more than I was expecting.
I get my own plate and make my way over to the desk chair, taking a seat in it and cracking open a beer from the fridge.
“Sure you don’t want one?” I say, nodding to the beer.
She looks tempted, but she finally shakes her head with a smile. “I’m good, I think. This is really tasty,” she adds, pointing her fork at the food as she chews.
I chuckle as I dig into my own plate. “You think so? Maybe I should quit this and graduate to the big leagues, working a line at a diner.”
She laughs softly, politely covering her mouth with her hand as she does, and I see a little pink in her cheeks. I know she’s probably ashamed of laughing about a fairly serious subject, but she has been full of surprises each day.
“So,” I say, changing the subject, “did you ever hear back from work about getting your shifts covered?”
“Yep,” she says after swallowing a mouthful. “One of my coworkers owed me a favor for covering her for a bridal shower last month, and we have a new hire who’s eager to get as many shifts as he can, so I should be good for a while. However long this is...you know, lasting.” She seems a little uneasy at that, which is understandable. Not even I can say for sure what the endgame here is.
I wouldn’t hold back anyone I trusted, but I have a lot of ground to cover before I can say I trust anyone. But letting her make phone calls has been a big step for both of us. Police haven’t swarmed the hotel yet, so I can only assume that she hasn’t been using the phone to call for help yet.
“And your parents?” I ask.
“I haven’t heard more from them since I told them I was driving out of town for an internship interview,” she says. “I told them I’d be pretty distracted the whole time, so they’re giving me some space, believe it or not. I’m sure they’re going to keep me under twenty-four hour surveillance if—when I come back, but for now I think we’re okay. Still, that’s only going to buy me a few days, so I’ll have to come up with something after that, if I- if we’re out that long.”
I nod, thinking. “If it comes to that,” I say, wanting her not to feel like she’s trapped with me long-term, “you can say you were offered the internship, but they wanted you to start immediately, and they put you up in a hotel until they can get you settled in somewhere more permanent. And when it’s time to go back, you can tell them the business changed hands last-minute, and they dropped the internship program.”
She flutters her eyes at me in mild surprise. “Wow. Do you just come up with cover stories off the top of your head like that for fun?”
I chuckle.
“Survival tactic,” I say before taking a quick swig of beer. “My stepfather was a cruel man. When I was small, I couldn’t resist him physically. When I did something he didn’t like, I had to either face the consequences from him or come up with something to appease him. Option Number Two left me with a lot less bruises.”
She goes quiet for a few moments, looking surprised and shocked all at once, slowing her chewing down. It’s a reaction I’m used to by now. I feel my stomach tighten. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me, and I don’t like dampening the mood.
“That’s all in my past,” I say with a smile, trying to keep her from getting morose. “He’s out of the picture now, and my mom and I are both trying to just move forward. I wouldn’t consider my skill in lying as a ‘perk’, but if it helps, it helps.”
“Here I thought I had a strict upbringing,” she says with a faint smile.
“What was yours like?” I ask, sitting back and leaning against the desk.
“My parents just…” She pauses, looking away for a moment and frowning. “I’m the oldest of six siblings.”
“See, that already tells me a lot,” I say, chuckling, and she smiles back at me.
“Yeah. I became the ‘backup parent’ after the third child, and it hasn’t really stopped since then. And on top of that, my parents have always been pretty strict with just about every aspect of my life.”
“Having to check in with them for disappearing for a few days at your age tipped me off, yeah,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s always like that. I don’t get it. I’ve been an adult since before I was a teenager, but they still treat me like a kid, you know? One of my sisters is just sixteen, and she’s allowed to run around with any guy she wants like it’s no big deal, but I’m twenty-one and they still act like I need a chaperone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. I can relate to growing up early, but I can’t imagine being handheld that long.”
“That’s the craziest part,” she says, shaking her head. “Growing up and slowly realizing most of your friends have way more freedom than you to do all the things you thought only irresponsible people do. One time, when I was seventeen, there was another guy in the homeschooling community who liked me. He asked me out on a date, but my parents said the only date they’d let me go on was having him come over to hang out with all of us as a family.”
I cringed, giving her the most sympathetic look I could muster. “Little bit of a cockblock.”
“Well,” she backpedals quickly, blushing, “I wasn’t thinking about any of that, but yeah, something along those lines. I just don’t get it. My siblings act out all the time, and I’m always the one being as responsible and mild as possible, but I’m the only one my parents ever seem to come down on so hard. It just makes me feel like I’m working hard for nothing but giving them something to nitpick, you know?”
“That...sounds exactly right,” I say, eyebrows raised. She pauses at that, furrowing her brow, then raising them.
“Yeah, I suppose it could be.”
“I’m not the best person to talk to about parents and good intentions or otherwise,” I say, finishing my food at the same time as her and standing up, “but I can relate to needing to get away. So with that in mind, I’ve got an idea. We’ve had a rough few days, and I think you’ve earned a break.”
She stares up at me in confusion as I take her plate. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say, “that we should indulge some of that teenage rebellion you never got to work out.”
“Oh, so aiding and abetting a contract killing isn’t enough teenage rebellion?” she points out with a smirk, and I wink at her.
“I’m thinking something a little more down to earth. We passed a nightclub on the way here, just around the corner from the hotel. What do you say we go for a walk?”
She looks shocked, and she doesn’t seem to know how to reply for a few moments. Her cheeks are blushing, and I get the impression that she’s interested, but she’d never normally agree to something like this.
“I’ll make it easy on you,” I say, pulling on a jacket. “I’m going, and I can’t leave you alone, so you’re coming too. You don’t have to drink or dance, if you really don’t want to. Worst case scenario, you get to hang out somewhere new and let me buy you whatever non-alcoholic drinks you want.”
“I mean, when you put it that way…”
“Great!” I say, grinning. “Let’s get you ready. I don’t think the bar is going to be very high for a club in a city of less than a hundred thousand.”
Half an hour later, I’m trying desperately not to laugh at how comically uncomfortable Charity looks on the barstool next to me.
The club, if you can call it that, is about what you’d expect from a small city. It’s nothing flashy, but it isn’t abysmal. The floors are sticky, and there aren’t really crowds to speak of so much as a smattering of people who happen to be able to find time for a little downtime on a weekday night. But the DJ is doing a decent job of not making me feel like I’ve stepped back in time a few years, which is more than I can say about a lot of them.
“See?” I say, leaning against the bar and smiling at Charity. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re not addicted to hard drugs...yet.”
“Now you’re just making fun of me,” she says, giggling.
“Okay, but really,” I say, turning to face her and glancing at the bartender. “You’re twenty-one. I’m guessing you haven’t actually had your first legal drink yet?”
She hesitates, and my smile grows.
“Okay okay, let me think,” I say, putting my hand on my chin and looking at her thoughtfully. “Let’s go with something sweet. How did you like the champagne? Are you sensitive to the alcohol taste?”
“It was alright,” she says, looking nervous but interested. I nod.
“Rum,” I decide after a moment.
“What does that taste like?”
“That’s not as important as what you use it in,” I say. “I’d suggest a Pina colada for a starter drink, but that’s not exactly a club drink. How about a mojito?”
She gives me a blank stare.
“It’s minty,” I explain.
“I do like mint,” she offers, somewhat at a loss, and I crack a smile, getting the bartender’s attention. A few minutes later, he sets a frosty mojito in front of a wide-eyed Charity, who peers at it in wonder.
“It’s not very strong,” I warn her. “Club drinks never are.”
She takes a tentative sip, and she keeps her face unreadable.
“It’s...not bad,” she says reluctantly. “I can definitely taste the alcohol.”
“May I?” I ask, holding out a hand, and she hands me the drink to give it a taste. “Wow,” I remark as the strong taste of rum goes down smoothly. “Good bartender. That’s a little stiffer than I’d start you out with, so you’re good if you can deal with that.”
I order the same as her, just to make her feel better about her first drink, and we start downing the drinks while I explain the differences between white, spiced, and dark rums. She seems amused by how much variety there is, and I get a kick out of explaining basic drinks as if it’s a science.
Once we reach the bottoms of our drinks, I’m not feeling much, but I can see the pink in Charity’s cheeks not going away, and she’s smiling more than usual.
“How’s that drink treating you?” I ask, chuckling, and she flutters her eyelashes, looking down at it.
“Oh wow, I drank that kinda fast, huh?” she says, and I can’t help but laugh. “What? Am I supposed to drink slower?” As she speaks, the DJ changes the song to a new track that I like, and I get an idea.
“Drink however you want,” I say. “We’re not driving. And we’re not dancing, either—we should change that part.”
“Wait, what?” she says, but I’m already standing up and taking her hand, pulling her onto the dance floor. “Oh my gosh, wait! We’re not dressed for dancing!”
“All the better,” I say, urging her out onto the floor. “Besides, it’s not like anyone’s watching.”
Charity blushes furiously as I move to the middle of the floor, and despite what I said, there are some people watching us with mild smiles or looks of jealousy. That gives me a little pride deep within me. The thought of being seen with this sweet girl and others being jealous that I’m with her makes me happy, and Charity seems to enjoy it too, whether she’s fully aware of what’s going on or not.
I take her hand, and I start leading her in an upbeat, fast-paced dance in the middle of the club. She looked like the type who would be good at it, but she surprises me with how easily she falls into step, like a natural.
“You dance well,” I remark after a few moments.
“You lead well,” she says without missing a beat, and I grin.
“This is one thing that isn’t your first, I’m guessing?”
“We had some dancing in the homeschool network,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “It was...uh...modest.”
“Oh really?” I say with a devilish smile, and I quickly step in to turn her around, holding her hips from behind. “Nothing like this, then?”
“No,” she laughs, blushing furiously and turning her head toward me. “No, not at all. I like it, though,” she adds in a lower tone, and I let out a rumble from my chest as I grind against her. The song changes to a slower beat, and I realize that we must be the only interesting people on the floor tonight, in the DJ’s point of view.
I’m glad for that. Charity deserves the attention she’s been deprived of too long. She deserves some appreciation.
I squeeze her hips and feel my cock pulsing against her ass as we move in a slower rhythm, and I lose myself in our shared heat.
“Hey,” she finally says, turning around and putting her arms on my shoulders, folding them behind my neck and looking into my eyes as we dance closer. “This is all really new to me, but...thanks for getting me out here tonight. I think I like it.”
I grin, and I feel a rare blush coming to my face.
“I think I like you, too,” I say in a low, husky tone, and in the dim, colored lights of the club, we let ourselves get lost in each other’s eyes. Nothing else matters in those moments that we sway together, and I can almost forget the dire situation that brought us together.
The song eventually ends, and we end our moment of enchantment to head to the bar and get another drink.
“Another mojito?” I offer, smiling at Charity as we lean up against the bar. She keeps a smile on her face, but when I look at her, I can tell something has changed.
Something’s wrong.
She leans into me and whispers.
“We’re being watched.”
My blood runs cold, but I keep my own smiling face looking at her, keeping the same act that she has going.
“Where?”
“Back of the club. He’s looking at his phone right now, you can look.”
For the slightest of moments, I let my eyes leave her to scan the room, eyeing the shadows. When a familiar figure comes into sight, my heart skips a beat, and I slip her hand into mine, giving it a squeeze and leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.
But when I kiss her, I whisper my own message.
“We need to leave. Now.”
She nods and giggles as if I just told a funny joke. She’s getting remarkably good at this cover story. I leave a $100 on the bar and head for the exit, and she keeps up with me at a leisurely pace, not drawing any attention to us.
As soon as we’re out of the bar, as I’m already formulating a plan for gathering our things and checking out of the hotel as soon as possible, I’m trying to hold myself together, because what I just saw could mean that the whole plan is unraveling around me.
The man at the back of the club wasn’t some detective or officer.
It was Gabe.
And we weren’t supposed to meet until much later.
Something is very wrong, and I have a bad feeling in my gut.
Charity
I wrap my arms around Jake’s waist and lean into his warm back, resting my cheek against his shoulder blade. As usual, I can feel the powerful muscles tensing and flexing jus
t under the thin fabric of his shirt, and it thrills me in a way I could never put into words.
He feels so strong, so capable, and it’s comforting to know that he has such a tight grasp on the situation around us.
Or at least, he seems to.
He notices things that go over my head. He reads the room, feels out every vibration, good or bad, and is decisive enough to make quick, difficult choices without much struggle. It’s almost as if he survives by pure instinct alone, always able to sense danger or trouble around the corner before it becomes a real problem. I can definitely understand how he’s been able to get by doing what he does.
It’s a nearly impossible life to lead. I don’t have to be an expert in contract killing or criminal lifestyles in general to know that much. He’s managed to fly under the radar, do ridiculous things, eliminate dangerous, important men, and yet still get by without getting caught. He seems to never lose his cool, even under extreme duress. When I’m out of my mind with panic, he’s smooth and in control. When I’m overthinking everything and honing in on all the millions of ways it could go wrong, Jake is in the moment, dodging obstacles and rushing back into the safety of the shadows.
I know, logically, that being close to him makes me a target. It makes me an accomplice. I’m guilty by association, and I’m not too naive to realize that the kinds of people Jake has to interact with in this seedy underworld wouldn’t hesitate to cut me down alongside him if I got in the way.
I don’t have the experience or the strength to fight back and protect myself from nefarious forces lurking in the darkness. But Jake does. And even though I know it’s probably crazy to trust him the way I do, I can’t help it.
The Assassin’s Heart Page 12
