“For now.” She smiled sinisterly as Casey walked up behind him, wearing that goddamn hat. “Ju swee desolay.”
Casey kissed her on the cheek. “Why are you apologizing?”
“For this.” Frankie barely had the time to hop back before she shot an inch of plaster off his cast. “Sorry, Frankie.”
Chapter Ninety-Two
They stripped off each other’s clothes in the shower, mud and gore swirling down the drain. Bruises were already blooming over Vincent’s ivory skin, faint but promising shades of purple and blue. Frank carefully traced the soap across his face and down his body. Vincent’s eyes were closed, one swollen, and the moment he was clean he would be put straight to bed.
While Frank had been busy helping Bella pack the required wardrobe for driving a corpse to Ireland and kidnapping his disloyal friends and family, Vincent was supposed to have been out burying Malkolm and Karl. Instead he was calling Joe, inviting him to a “post-retirement garden party” and requesting he bring an extra shovel. Not only had Joe arrived to provide the authoritative voice needed to finally convince V that burying bodies was unquestionably part of his job description, Joe had also brought a panel van and casket along with all the documentation needed to get Deaglan over international borders. He even brought flowers, for Bella's loss more than the multiple funerals, and received a nearly sincere thank you from her and a highly uncomfortable embrace from Casey for his trouble.
As if sensing that Frank's thoughts weren't where they should be, Vincent mumbled, “Were you scared for me?” He was too exhausted from digging graves to even stand on his own, but somehow found the strength to demand attention.
Of course Frank had been afraid, but he had made a calculated decision to go for Casey first, and it wasn't due to any sort of favoritism; Frank may not have wanted to live in a world that Casey wasn't part of, but there was no question that he would die without Vincent. He'd taken that time to reflect, and in that second he truly trusted Vincent to take care of himself. And V had. He'd taken care of all of them. “No, baby. I had faith in you.”
A genuinely contented smile spread across Vincent's bruised face. It suited him far better than the arrogant one he'd been wearing all day. “The dogs did help. A little.”
“Especially Kiki, no doubt. ” She'd been lazing on the sofa since she got home, taking up just enough space with her tiny little body to displace Hugo. Charlie had the privilege of the guest bed where they could keep an eye on her. Her back leg had had to be amputated, but she was in good spirits, and their veterinarian expected a full recovery.
Frank wondered how much of the outcome Silva could have anticipated when the old man first decided how and when he wished to die; everything from getting them back to work and solving their marital conflicts to Bella inexplicably falling for Casey, the Canadian’s fortunate timing, and even Deaglan, coming to comfort Bella for her loss, and giving his life so Casey could provide her the comfort that Deaglan never would. They had decided to name their son after him, though Bella had never intended to christen the child at all. It was Casey’s idea, and one that Frank found quite morbid. “I don’t think I’m Casey’s favorite assassin anymore.”
Vincent snapped open his eyes, as if preparing for praise. “I am?”
“I meant Bella.”
“Oh,” he said with a pronounced pout.
“Vincent, you splattered Malkolm all over his face. Why would you be his favorite?”
“I saved his life!”
“I was about to. And I’m sure the angle had nothing to do with the fact that he accidentally shot me.”
“Only I’m allowed to accidentally shoot you.”
Frank grabbed him by the throat. “Accident or not, you will never shoot me again.”
Vincent shifted his weight just slightly, and before Frank could consider whether he was being too rough he realized why. Their clothes were bundled against the drain, and the shower had begun to fill. They were standing ankle deep in water, and Frank hadn't even noticed.
Watching the water drain, safety at the flick of his husband's foot, Frank couldn't fathom how he had ever perceived Vincent as weak. He stared into his face, that gloriously battered and perfect face, and would have drowned at his feet to repent.
But Vincent had another idea. He licked his split lips, lifting his chin to give Frank a better grip and making no mention of his hesitation. “Or else...”
“Or else, you will go back to using blanks like a novice and I shall be forced to baby you.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed. If he wasn't held by the neck and covered with bruises, he might have looked mildly threatening. “That wasn't the or else I was referring to.”
“But I do so love to see you pout.” He turned off the water. “Now, get in bed. Or else.”
Epilogue: Three weeks later
I froze at the bottom of the stairs, half awake but fully aware that what I’d just stepped in was blood. There was more of it by the front door, a streak against the wainscoting, drops throughout the hallway.
The house was silent except for the ticking of Alan's clock, the only light coming from the kitchen. There was a sudden shrieking followed by a loud thud that made me jump. I quietly grabbed the rifle from by the door, ignoring the rush of adrenaline, steadying my breathing and walking slowly with my gun raised even while everything in my body screamed for me to run and save my family.
Frank was hunched over the sink, his back to me. I could see the blood on his blue shirt, stained dark purple like mine had been the night we met. It went all the way up his arms, his sleeves rolled up to show the blood smearing his skin. Without turning around, he said, “I’ve told you about pointing guns at me.”
I glanced down at Charlie and Hugo, sitting side by side, blood on their faces and paws. Frank raised the kill from the sink, a gigantic hare that the dogs had practically already skinned. Kiki was in the other side of the sink, bloodier than the bunny. I lowered the gun.
“Charlie caught it.”
“Charlie’s only got three legs.” I patted her on the head and set the rifle on the counter.
“It doesn’t make her redundant.” He kissed me good morning. I took that as him thanking me again for saving his life. I took most things he said that way.
“You shouldn’t let them out on their own. They’ll dig someone up,” I said as I got the mop from the closet. We’d decided we may as well keep the place. Having bodies on the property would’ve drastically decreased the asking price.
“They weren’t on their own, I was with them.”
I handed him the mop. “Then you can clean up their mess.”
He rinsed off his hands, letting me take over with the dog once he’d filled the mop bucket. We’d have to hose off the other two outside.
“Why’d you let them chase it into the house?”
“I was preoccupied. Casey called.”
I scowled. I still hadn’t forgiven them for abandoning us in our time of grave digging need and forcing me to bury three corpses. “What did he want?”
“They adopted a kid in Portugal.”
“What?” I gasped. Kiki took advantage of my surprise to nearly take hold of the rabbit. I pushed her back into the bubbles. “They got a kid?”
“A little girl. Got her ‘secondhand’ as Casey put it.”
Secondhand. Casey certainly had a way with euphemisms. At least he didn’t say that the kid had fallen off the back of a truck. Or just come out and admitted the truth; that Bella stole her, just like she’s stolen Casey from Frank. “Doesn’t adoption take time? Criminal background checks?”
“You try making Bella wait for something.” He had a point about that. She hadn’t even waited the nine months it took for the other kid to finish cooking. “This one’s three. Sylvia Margot. They’ll be here this afternoon.”
I scoffed. We’d only just gotten rid of them. And now they had a kid. They really should’ve started with a goldfish. “Why here? Can’t they go stay with Maggie?”
<
br /> “To watch the dogs.” He nodded toward the rifle to remind me.
“Oh, yeah. Work!” Casey had agreed to watch the dogs for us while we worked our way through Silva's book. Mark number one's photograph was stuck on our fridge with a rainbow flag magnet Casey bought us as a housewarming gift. Just six months ago using something of Casey's to display our mark in all his soon-to-be-dead glory would've been completely unthinkable, but now it seemed almost normal. At least as normal as we were ever gonna get.
“Silva was from Portugal. That’s where the guns were made.”
“Guns?” Driving with a carload of guns and a three-year-old would almost make a better sitcom than Weekend at Deaglan’s.
“We are going to need them.”
Joe had plenty of guns for us. He’d told me there were caches in nearly every country. But there was one weapon Joe refused to offer. “Do you think Bella got me a rocket launcher?” I beamed, nearly jumping up and down.
Frank’s scowl was so heated that Hugo went and hid under the kitchen table. Only Charlie stood her ground. “Yes,” he groaned, and he started mopping up the rabbit. “I am quite certain of it.”
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I want to sincerely thank Stephanie Hart for reaching out to me after reading Chance Assassin, for being my voice of reason and my voice of insanity, for being my beta for Les Recidivists when it was still a disaster, and most of all for being my friend.
A huge thanks to Vita and Bryan Hewitt, for once again making a beautiful cover out of my unsightly sketch. To my sister for that dream she had, and for my mother for supporting me through everything and not only reading, but actually enjoying my silly gay hitman love stories. To Elven Hillman for being ready to step in at a moment's notice. To SueC for her honesty and supportive feedback, and to Lisa T for helping once again to get word out.
And last but certainly not least, for my readers. Thank you.
Les Recidivists (Chance Assassin Book 2) Page 43
