by Audrey Faye
My partner growled. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
It had everything to do with anything. “I saw you two up on the roof before we headed out on the road this last time. You were sleeping on the porch swing with your head in her lap.”
The sweetness of that moment had never left me. Or the sadness in Rosie’s eyes.
Carly rolled in a flash, and suddenly there was a pissed-off face three inches from mine. “Wait, you think you’re doing this for me? What the hell kind of fucked-up bullshit is that?”
My anger rose to meet hers. I pushed on her shoulder, giving me distance—and a clear look at her face. “I’m doing it for you, and for me so that I don’t need to hide under my flannel anymore, and for a bunch of people who love us and need us to find lives where we don’t put them in danger every day. So deal, okay?” I took a breath, but I wasn’t done yet. “You saved my life three years ago. Now it’s time for me to live it.”
“We have been living it.”
So much hurt—gods. Oceans of it, riding just under the edge of her fury. “We did something that really mattered, and I’ll always be proud of it.”
Her breath stuttered, in and out. “But you’re done now.”
The stars got all wet and melted into a runny river. “I am.”
“Okay.” Carly pulled her sleeping bag up around her ears, a cocoon against the world. “I’d like to be alone now.”
I didn’t believe that at all—but I left anyhow. I’d let a certain gypsy know where to find her.
This verse wasn’t mine to write.
18
I set down the box of supplies next to the woman with a clipboard in her hand and a hat that said BOSS in big letters on her head.
A couple of the band members grinned over at me. All of us, just following orders.
Lelo had declared herself tour manager and there wasn’t a damn thing I could have done to prevent it. Fortunately, the kid herded cats like she was born to it. This was the best-organized tour I’d ever seen, and we hadn’t even pulled out of the parking lot yet. The band jumped when she told them to, and in the last two weeks, I’d seen her steamroll bar owners five times her size. It probably didn’t hurt that she had Lesbian Assassins emblazoned across her chest in sparkling gold.
I looked at those same words painted large across the side of a reconditioned school bus she’d scared up from somewhere. “And how are we paying for all this, again?”
“T-shirt purchases and advance ticket sales.” She looked up from her list and grinned. “I’m a marketing genius.”
I wasn’t going to argue with her. She was the genius behind the really bad recording of our first live performance of Gasoline Hearts—the one that had turned us into a YouTube sensation. And apparently sold a metric crapton of t-shirts.
I hummed the opening bars under my breath.
Lelo grinned.
I stopped singing—that song still had the power to mess with me, big time. “Are we feeding everyone at your place again?” The kid had also taken on the role of band den mother. None of us were going to fit into our slinky dresses in another week if she kept stuffing us full of home-baked deliciousness.
The women in the band thought they’d fallen into heaven.
“Our place.” Her smile was softer this time, and a lot more uncertain.
Damn—I needed to stop screwing that one up. I offered up the best apology could think of. “I left my slippers under the bed.” And half my flannel wardrobe in the closet. Commitment, hermit-crab style.
Lelo rolled her eyes and scribbled on her clipboard, muttering something about buying me new slippers.
I let her do it. Den mothers like to feel useful—and I kind of liked the idea that I might never have to go shopping again.
“Hey, kids.” Rosie’s voice rang out behind us, sounding definitively cheery. “Sexy bus,” she added as I turned around.
It wasn’t her I was looking at. I hadn’t seen Carly in two very long weeks. She looked… wistful. Sad. Uncertain. And strangely determined.
I had no words. Even my muse was silent.
Rosie nudged the dominatrix with the clipboard. “You guys almost ready to head out?”
“Maybe.” Lelo looked up from her checklists long enough to throw a saucy grin at the sexy gypsy. “Jane wrote a new song about the two of you.”
I winced—it wasn’t even done yet. “It still needs some work.”
Carly stuffed her head down into a huge, wooly scarf and looked sheepish. “Is this one going to embarrass me again?”
Probably. “My muse is kind of bossy.” I took a deep breath—I knew what it was to want live under the radar. “We could take the other one down off YouTube.”
Lelo looked like I’d stabbed her.
“Don’t you dare.” Rosie glared at me, and then at the woman at her side. “I think half its views come from a certain person who ate all my cheesecake this morning.”
Carly turned five shades of flustered pink. “I saved you some.”
“You did not. And I bet you can sing every word of Gasoline Heart.”
My partner protested, loudly—but she didn’t disagree.
One sexy gypsy, holding an assassin’s feet to the fire. And making my heart sing. That song was the very best of what I had to offer the world—and to the woman who had saved me.
Carly glared up at Rosie and then looked at me, and her eyes softened. “I’m glad you’re writing lots of new stuff.”
The band needed something to sing. “It feels good.” Except for the part where I’d left my partner grasping at thin air. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, feeling desperately awkward in my new, stupidly happy life. “Do you know what you’re going to do yet?”
Carly sucked in a long, slow breath.
I let the question ride. I was done being a wimp. Turking thought the only way we could matter was by being assassins. Our biggest weakness had been believing him. Believing anything different was going to take the flexing of a bunch of muscles neither of us had used in a long time.
I was trying my damnedest to give mine a workout.
She finally shrugged—and gave Rosie’s fingers a squeeze and let them go. “I don’t know yet. Not all the parts, anyhow.”
Nothing moved.
Carly looked at me one more time—and then, slowly, her hands shaking more than a little, unwound her scarf, unzipped her jacket, and spread it open so I could read the t-shirt underneath.
It said Lesbian Assassin, in spangly gold.
And stamped across it in big black letters—RETIRED.
Thank You
I know, I know… you want to know what happens next! Carly needs a few weeks to decide, folks. :) So this is the end of the story for now, but the assassins will be back one last time in a short wrap-up, the Lesbian Assassins Stocking Stuffer. Look for it a few days before Christmas.
To see what’s coming next from me, head to audreyfayewrites.com and sign up for my New Releases email list. You can also find me on Facebook. And if you’ve been kind enough to write my assassins a review, please read this note :).
If you’re a reader who likes to graze widely, you might enjoy Destiny’s Song, the first book of my new Fixers series. The next release in that series will be out in February.
May there always be teal boots on your feet and a story in your hands,
Audrey
