by Celia Aaron
She pressed on the side of her nose, as if wanting to pinch it shut, then walked inside and closed the door. When I heard the click of the lock, I tried the handle. It didn’t move.
“I’ll get a few things, but I won’t be far.” I walked back into the main section of the store and grabbed various food items from the shelves—bread, dented cans of food, peanut butter, bottled water—though I glanced at the bathroom door every so often. Charlie seemed to be taking her time, so I picked up a few more things I thought she might like and headed to the front of the store. A glass case held some cheap burner phones.
“One of those,” I told the gum chewing checkout girl. She slid open the back of the case and pulled out a box, then dropped it into my basket. I kept my head down and backed away from the counter.
A man passed down the center aisle, headed for the back. He wore a stained white tank top and low slung jeans, his pale skin pocked with craters from heavy drug use. I tensed, ready to take him down if he approached the bathroom.
He shuffled a little farther and stopped to look at the store’s selection of canned meats. His greasy yellow hair hung in his face as he picked up a can and stuffed it into his pocket.
The bathroom door opened, and Charlie walked out. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, and her eyes found mine within a split second. Even with the small bandage across the bridge of her nose, she was a stunner. The greasy addict looked up, and he stopped his petty theft to stare at her. At my Charlie. I strode toward her.
She moved past the tweaker, but he turned and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him. “Hey pretty.” His hand moved to her ass and squeezed hard enough to hurt.
I pulled out my gun as she groaned in disgust. Then, before I could make another move, she’d stomped his foot, driven her elbow into the side of his head, and stabbed him in the thigh with something I didn’t recognize. He screeched in pain as she hurried past him.
“Holy shit. What was that?” I holstered my gun as she took my arm and pulled me toward the cashier.
“Nothing.” The word left her lips in a breathy rush. Pink colored her cheeks, and a glint of pride showed in her eyes as she gave the greaser another glance. He still sat on the floor, probably with no idea what the hell just happened to him. I was almost as confused as he was.
The cashier was already on the phone, telling someone about the “altrication” she’d just witnessed. Police, no doubt. We needed to disappear.
I reached for my wallet and dug out a hundred-dollar bill. Tossing it on the counter, I hurried Charlie out the door. “Keep the change.”
The drunk on the curb added a wave to his toothless grin as we rushed past.
“Get in.” I opened Charlie’s door for her, then tossed the food—basket and all—onto the back seat before running to the driver’s side. Slamming the door, I raced out of the parking lot and joined a line of cars waiting at a traffic light.
Red and blue lights flashed in my rear view as a squad car pulled up in front of the store. Once I saw an officer get out of the car and go inside, I jumped the curb, cut through oncoming traffic, and hit the on-ramp. Charlie squealed and grabbed the handle above the door as we raced away from the scene of our most recent crime.
I sped up and pulled in front of an 18-wheeler, using it as cover for any cars approaching from the rear. We’d gotten away clean, and I didn’t expect any more trouble, but I’d learned over the years that caution was the key to surviving.
The image of the tweaker on the floor resurfaced. What had she stabbed him with? Something that looked like a plastic handle. And then it clicked. She’d taken a toilet scrub brush handle and somehow worked it into a weapon. Jesus. “Do you want to explain to me the moves you put on that asshole back there? And the toilet brush?”
She shivered and shook her head. I flipped on the heat and reached across her to snap her seat belt into place. My knuckles brushed the soft tips of her breasts, and my erection made its presence known once again.
She pressed her palms to her cheeks and stared out the side window. “I just got lucky. That’s all.”
“Bullshit, Charlie. The way you took him down in a hot second wasn’t luck. And the MacGyver shit with the toilet brush? You’ve been trained.” And it was fucking hot as hell. I wanted to pull over and make her talk, do whatever was necessary to loosen her lips. Though my approach with her would be quite a bit more enjoyable than my usual methods. I wanted her panting, begging, and most of all, moaning my name.
She pressed her lips together in a look that I was beginning to understand meant “I’m not saying shit.” My flower’s thorns were already dripping with the blood of her enemies.
“Who did you intend to use your toilet brush shiv on, anyway?” I checked the side view mirrors for anyone approaching. The freeway was clear, so I sped up and started making good time to Cape May.
“Not you.”
“Uh huh.” I shot her a skeptical look, but she kept her face turned away from me.
After a tense silence, I tried a different tack, one I wasn’t comfortable with. But if opening a vein would get her to talk to me, to trust me, then that’s what I’d do. “When I was a kid, my dad was the number one contractor for the bosses in Philly and Boston. He’d get a call, disappear for a few days, then show back up—most of the time, flush with cash.”
She turned her head the slightest bit, listening.
“My mom was long gone by the time I was a teenager. She chose a bottle. I don’t blame her anymore. I did for a long time, but eventually I realized how hard it was for her living with a killer and a boy who was destined to follow the same path. So, it was just my dad and me. I taught myself how to cook, took care of him when he came home all banged up, and eventually became next in line to fill his shoes.” I paused, waiting for her to reciprocate.
When she didn’t, my insides twisted. I was telling her things I’d never whispered to another soul. All in the hopes of getting her to share some of herself with me. It was dumb and probably wouldn’t work. I cursed myself silently as the tires hummed against the road.
“Is he still around? Your dad?” She’d turned to face forward, her beautiful profile made for portraits.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.” She started to reach for my hand on the gear shift, then stopped and plastered her palm on her thigh. “May I ask what happened?”
No quid pro quo with her. But I didn’t care. I wanted her to know me, to see me as something other than a killer. Maybe the man I wanted her to find didn’t exist, maybe I’d murdered him bit by bit with each life I’d taken. I still had to try.
I took a deep breath and told her something that still sent a sliver of hurt through me, like a splinter I couldn’t remove. “One night, we went on a job together. It was supposed to be simple, a low-level hit on a snitch.” I replayed the night in my mind as I spoke. “I was twenty-two, a killer in training. Dad hadn’t let me pull the trigger yet, even though I’d been with him on a handful of jobs. I told him I was ready, to give me a chance. Each time he’d say no, and I’d bitch about him holding me back. He’d say ‘If you start down this road, you’re committed to it, and second chances never come cheap.’” I sighed, regret pressing the air from my lungs. “Now, of course, I realize he was trying to save me. Taking your first life…”
“It stays with you.” Her low voice trembled, and she finally faced me. “Can’t forget it.” She clutched her fingers together until her knuckles turned white.
I reached over and ran my hand down her wrist to her hand. What happened to you?
“That night, we went on the job, and I was convinced Dad was going to let me take the guy out. But he didn’t. He told me to stay in the car, and then he said something I’ll never forget. ‘The first one is the hardest. It gets easier every time, Connie. It numbs your soul until you don’t have one left, until killing a man is as automatic as breathing, as taking a piss. Because you’re hollow. Like me.’” My dad’s haunted eyes, the clean cut of his t
rench coat, the smell of his aftershave, all came back to me in a painful whoosh. “He died that night. The snitch got the drop on him. Popped him in the back of the head.”
The road turned into a two-lane highway hemmed in by trees on either side as the weather began to catch up and darken the sky.
Charlie squeezed my fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
“I heard the shot, knew it wasn’t from Dad’s gun. I ran inside, found him lying on the floor. The snitch was my first kill.”
She laced our fingers together, her warmth flowing into me, giving me the courage to continue.
“Thing is, I knew my dad. There was no way a coked-out thug could have taken him out, especially not with a bullet from behind. Not possible. Which only led me to one conclusion. Dad did it on purpose.” The pain of that thought had dulled over time, but never truly disappeared. The splinter still stuck beneath my skin.
“After that you were alone?” Charlie ran her thumb back and forth across my scarred knuckles.
“Other than Nate, yeah. The bosses in Philly and Boston threw me a few shitty jobs. I did them. More work began rolling in. I made a name for myself, and I’ve been killing ever since. And that’s all I thought I’d ever be, a killer. Until…” I looked at her, trying to make her understand that things were different now. Those months spent watching her had changed me on a fundamental level. Turning my back on a contract, defying the boss—I never would have risked it until I saw her. One look at her face made me realize that maybe there was more, something beyond blood and money.
“I knew you were there.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “When you’d park outside and watch me.”
“Did I scare you?” I thrived on being a terrifying figure, the bogeyman that haunted bad men’s dreams. With her, I wanted to be something else—a protector.
“At first, yes.”
“But then…” I forced myself to stay silent and let her talk.
“But then I sort of, I’m not sure what the word is, but maybe I sensed you? I didn’t feel like you wanted to hurt me. Something about you being right outside made me feel safer. Safer than I’d felt in a long time. And I liked it. I wanted you outside. More than that, I really wanted you to come inside the shop. Though I worried the real you would destroy the fantasy I had going in my mind.”
“Did I?”
She peered at me from under her lashes. “When you stepped out of the car after the shooting began, you looked like…I don’t know.” Pink flared in her cheeks. “Better than I’d imagined. Dangerous.” She pressed her thighs together, probably didn’t even know she’d done it.
That little tell said plenty. Danger turned her on. I turned her on. Her words managed to inflate my pride and my dick at the same time.
“Even after you’d killed those men, I still felt like you’d never hurt me.” She shrugged. “Dumb, I know. See a guy kill two other guys in cold blood and I’m still over here thinking I’m somehow special.”
“You are. Trust your instincts.” I turned into downtown Cape May, the storefronts glowing under the ominous sky. Only a few more blocks to the house. “They’re accurate.”
“Not always.” She stared at the vintage seaside décor, the scrollwork and plate glass that marked old New Jersey towns along the shore.
“How so?” I needed more from her.
“I’ve just made some mistakes is all. Misjudged someone.” She wrapped her sweater tight around her and crossed her arms. “Someone who hurt me.”
“Who?” I wanted a name and an address. Hell, just a name would do. I’d found people with less.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She met my eyes, her gaze backed with steel. “He’s dead.”
16
Charlie
We pulled up to a gray shingled two-story house separated from the beach by a small expanse of sand and a narrow road. The Hamptons style home was one of the largest on the beach road, though its windows were dark and covered with storm shutters. Porches wrapped around both floors and gave a view of the open, angry waters of the Atlantic. The waves frothed as they crashed against the shore, and white caps rolled toward us on an endless loop.
After my revelation in the car, Conrad had gone silent, though I could sense him grinding his teeth. I’d wanted to know what he was thinking, but I’d been too afraid to ask. And I didn’t want to talk about Brandon. Not yet.
“Let me check it out first.” Conrad cut the headlights and pulled behind the house. “Stay put.”
“Whose house is this?” I peered around the back yard. The neighboring lots on either side remained empty, and I assumed the various scrub plants that grew there served as a barrier against flood waters.
“It belonged to Berty’s father.”
My blood turned to ice, and I grabbed his forearm. “This is Berty’s house?”
“Technically, yeah. Unless Vince claims it. Either way, neither of them will be by for a while.” He covered my hand with his. “They have a lot of business to take care of in the city. Hiding right under their nose is the safest bet at the moment. I promise.”
Panic crept up my throat, trying to choke me. “What if one of them comes here?”
“They won’t.” Conrad put his hand around my neck, cupping my nape in a move that was as much protective as possessive. “I killed Berty’s father, the old boss, two days ago. The new boss, Vince, is cleaning house and getting things in order. One of those things is Berty. They won’t be taking a vacation to Cape May anytime soon. This is the last place they’ll look.”
I turned his words over in my mind, examining them for holes and failures in logic. I found none. He was right. My breathing calmed as I eyed the posh house with the million-dollar view of the ocean. No one would think to search for us at Berty’s property when we were doing everything we could to escape.
“I think.” I took a breath. “I think this might work.”
He smiled, just one corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’m glad it meets with your approval. But I need one thing from you.” He moved his hand down to my shoulder, his palm warming me through my sweater.
“What is it?” I swallowed hard as his gaze fluttered to my lips.
“I need you to stay put while I take a look around.” His fingertips brushed along my throat, the touch as light as butterfly wings.
“Yes.”
“Promise me?” Conrad waited with his other hand on the door handle.
He was suspicious, and he had a reason to be after the incident at the store. I’d wanted to have a weapon on me just in case, so I’d splintered the end of the toilet brush into a sharp point. I didn’t expect to have to use it first thing and give myself away.
“I won’t move.” I stared into his eyes, trying to inspire confidence in me. “Promise.”
“All right.” He opened the door, the sound of the rushing waves hissing to my ears, then slid out. “Sit tight.”
I missed his hand the moment he pulled away from me.
He disappeared around the side of the house. It was mid-afternoon, but the sun had long since been overshadowed by the clouds. A light drizzle fell. It would soon turn into ice as the front arrived.
Conrad reappeared and climbed the wooden stairs to the back door. He knelt, his hands at work on the door handle. After a few moments, he got to his feet and the door swung inward. He must have picked the lock. With a glance at me, he entered the house with his gun drawn.
Once he was out of sight, I twisted the knob on the glove box and looked around inside for anything that might help us or pass as a weapon. All Mrs. Chan had were some parking tickets, a car manual, and a tire gauge. I closed the glove box and opened the center console. Something black peeked from beneath a box of tissues. My eyes widened as I reached for the rectangular gadget. It had two simple buttons on each side and a bright orange warning along the front about high voltage.
“Damn, Mrs. Chan.” I closed the console and tried to stuff the stun gun in my pocket, but my jeans were too tight. Getting to my knees and
leaning into the back seat, I dug around in the basket of groceries and hid it at the bottom, hopefully to retrieve later. I trusted Conrad—probably far more than I should—but it never hurt to have a backup plan.
Right as I settled back into my seat, Conrad walked out the door and down the steps. He opened the back hatch. “It’s safe. Come on. I turned on the heat, but it’ll take a while to warm up.”
“Okay.” I stood and stretched, my arms and legs stiff from the drive.
“I’ll start a fire, help it heat up quicker.”
“Sure.” I opened the back door and looped my arm through the handles of the plastic basket.
“I got it.” He took it from my hands, the bag of weapons slung across his back, and led me up the stairs. The wind picked up, whistling along the eaves and cutting through my sweater with icy fingers.
The back door opened into a high-end kitchen. Granite and stainless steel shined, and everything seemed brand new, as if the range had never been cooked on or the fridge even opened.
“It’s nice.” I fought with the wind and won, shutting the door behind us.
He reached past me and turned the lock. “Best money can buy. Berty’s dad always did enjoy living the high life.”
I cocked my head at him as he set the basket and the guns on the wide kitchen island. “You say that like you sort of, I don’t know, liked him?”
He paused, as if thinking about it. “He treated me well. Kept me employed. But he wasn’t a nice guy. None of us are.”
I stared into his eyes, the blues sparkling in the low light. “You are.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not.”
“You are to me.”
“You’re different.” He rolled his broad shoulders and winced.
“I need to look at your shoulder wound. It might get infected.” My words ended on a shiver as my breath puffed out in a plume of steam. The air inside was almost as frigid as outside, but the low hum of the furnace promised warmer times ahead.
He shrugged out of his jacket. “Sure, but only after I secure everything and get you warm.” He swung it around behind me and draped it over my shoulders. “Don’t turn on any lights.”
