The Messenger (Professionals Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Who was on the phone? Back in the basement?"

  I hesitated, taking a breath, wondering if I had made a mistake.

  Calling him.

  Siccing him on her ex.

  I'd acted out of rage at seeing her hurt at his hands.

  But, I reminded myself, he had been planning to kill her.

  Slowly.

  Painfully.

  It had been the right move.

  Even if admitting that to Jules was going to be one of the hardest things I had ever done.

  Even if by admitting it, Jules would never look at me the same again.

  I took a deep breath, keeping eye-contact.

  "Bellamy."

  There.

  It was out.

  Jules had never - as far as I knew - met Bellamy. But that didn't mean she didn't know who he was, what he was, what he did, why Quin wanted him on the team.

  Because, well, Bellamy had a title like all of us did.

  Bellamy was known as The Executioner.

  -

  Flashback - 30 months before -

  "Stop it."

  Gunner's voice was growly and threatening as it often was, making Jules' head jerk up to find him standing at the front of her desk, hands curled into fists, fists resting on the surface. Everything about him said Be intimidated.

  Maybe a small part of her was.

  It was hard, at times, not to be.

  Not just with Gunner, but with almost everyone in the office. They were all just from such different worlds, acted in ways that sometimes didn't make sense to her, used language that made her feel like some eighty-year-old trying to translate the slang of their great-grandchildren. And each one of them had skills, had dark, murky pasts, had the ability to make actual people completely disappear, make crime scenes impossible to pin on someone, make scary men with guns agree to deals they didn't want.

  They were a scary bunch.

  They were a constant reminder of her very normal upbringing, of her lack of street smarts, of her naivety about some of the uglier parts of life.

  She was a fast learner, luckily, and had picked up so much so quickly.

  She found out that while Quin sometimes got snippy, he was never ill-intentioned. Just demanding. Just someone with high expectations.

  Lincoln was a sweetheart who genuinely loved women. All women.

  Smith was quiet in a severe way, but never so much as raised his voice at her. Not even when she tripped up a few times in the first weeks after she'd started in the office.

  Finn was also quiet and compulsive, but shy, even if he sometimes gave her the creeps given that he was usually called in to make bodies disappear.

  She hadn't met Ranger yet, but accounts of him seemed to suggest he was more standoffish than aggressive.

  Miller had been quick to help her around the office, never with a mean word.

  And Kai, well, Kai was just a sweetheart.

  But Gunner, Gunner still managed to intimidate her. She tried her best to hide it, never to shock back if he growled, never cringe when he went off on some curse-filled rant.

  Maybe a part of it had to do with how he looked. He was tall and burly, covered in tattoos. He carried himself like he would beat the hell out of you if you so much as stepped in his path.

  But he was the one who still made her have to work not to show her fear.

  And leaning over her desk like he was, glowering down at her like he was, growling at her like he was, she couldn't seem to stop the way her stomach knotted, the way her shoulders squared, preparing for whatever was to follow.

  "Stop what? I'm color coding files," she told him, waving the multi-colored stickers in front of him.

  "You know what," he insisted, brow raising like he found her exasperating.

  And, to be fair, he probably did. Seeing as he always raised his brow at her like that. Something about her had simply rubbed him the wrong way since the first day she started. Or maybe he just didn't like anyone. Which was a definite possibility. He didn't exactly have a ton of friends.

  She tried not to take it personally.

  Her job was to keep his files straight, bring him coffee, not be his buddy.

  She did her part.

  She figured she would adjust to his abrupt way of dealing with her eventually.

  "Clearly, I don't," she said, shrugging.

  "What was going on with you and Kai?"

  "Me and Kai? Nothing."

  "Bullshit." The word cracked across the empty space, enough that she couldn't stop her head from jerking back slightly like she'd been hit.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "I walk out, and he is helping you file. After bringing you salad for dinner. After clearing off your desk while you were talking to Quin."

  "He's a nice guy," Jules insisted.

  "He is," he agreed, nodding. "And you need to stop fucking with him."

  Her brows drew together at that. "Fucking with him?" she repeated, hoping the curse didn't come off as unnatural as it felt to her. Gunner was the type to respond to harsh language since he used it so freely himself. And while she wasn't a fan of cursing like some dock worker, she understood that, with him, she needed to do it to have impact.

  "Yes, fucking with him. Don't play dumb, duchess. We both know you aren't."

  Well, that was the closest thing to a compliment he had given her. And while it was only a scrap, her pride stole it to feast on.

  As pathetic as that maybe was.

  "I'm not playing dumb, Gunner. I don't know what you're talking about."

  "For reasons completely fucking beyond me, that kid has a thing for you. And I'll be damned if I stand by, and watch you lead him around by his dick because you like having him do shit for you. Get a fucking boyfriend. Leave Kai alone."

  Her mouth opened and closed, a fish seeking oxygen.

  But it didn't matter that she couldn't find the words to say anyway.

  Because Gunner had tore out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  She lowered herself down into her seat, taking a deep breath, trying to fight the frazzled feeling on her skin, the same sensation she remembered feeling all through her childhood and adolescence when an elder scolded her.

  But while Gunner was surely a few years older than her, he was not her elder.

  And he was not her boss.

  And he had no right to speak to her that way.

  She'd be damned if she let him do so again.

  "Was Gunner yelling?" Kai's voice asked, moving out into the reception area with her, his hair down where it had been up when she'd seen him a few minutes before.

  "Yes."

  "At what?"

  "Me," Jules told him, standing again, her spine set to steel, determined not to let his little outburst ruin her night. Or her love of her job.

  "He was yelling at you?" Kai asked, voice taking on an edge she hadn't heard before. Almost, maybe, like anger.

  She looked over at him, wondering if maybe Gunner was right. He was sweet on her. She'd figured he had just been sweet. It was possible she was wrong. She hadn't ever been great on the picking up on subtle signs thing.

  "Yeah. We had a disagreement."

  "I'll talk to him," Kai insisted, already moving toward the door, intent on catching up with him.

  "What? No. It's fine."

  "It's not fine," he insisted, turning back, giving her an almost hard look. "It's fine if you two disagree, but it is not fine for him to yell at you loudly enough for me to hear it in my office. Case closed, Jules."

  With that, he stormed out as well.

  Things with Gunner never really recovered.

  And because she didn't know quite how to handle the idea of Kai being sweet on her, she chose the easiest option.

  Denial.

  EIGHT

  Jules

  Kai was having not-Gary killed.

  Those words didn't seem to go together. Not even in my mind.

  Kai was all love and light and goodness.


  And while the stories of Bellamy could say the same, everyone else knew the truth. There was a well of darkness inside that went deep.

  Maybe the truth could be said of Kai.

  Even if that made my stomach feel swirly and uncomfortable.

  I had no right, of course.

  I worked with killers.

  Quin, Smith, Lincoln, Ranger, Finn. They'd all been in the military, had all killed people. Likely many people. And while she never went as far as to say it, Miller had most likely done so as well.

  I don't know why I figured Kai would be the exception to the rule in the office.

  Maybe there was blood on his hands.

  In this case, of course, the blood wouldn't be directly on his hands.

  He was bringing in Bellamy.

  He was contracting the job out to an expert.

  "Kai..." I heard a mix of worry and maybe even a hint of disbelief.

  "He was planning to kill you, Jules," Kai told me, closing his eyes for his exhale, like he was trying to push an image away. "He had been pulling out all the items in the kitchen when I came by. If I was so much as five minutes later..."

  "You weren't," I comforted him, placing my gauze-wrapped hand on his arm, watching as his gaze went there, held for a long moment before coming back to my face. "How was he going to do it?"

  "Jules... no."

  "Tell me. How was he planning on killing me?"

  "It doesn't..."

  "It does," I cut him off. "It matters."

  "He beat you over the head with a pipe. He slammed you into a wall. From the looks of your wrists and throat, he choked you and bound you. Why does this one detail matter after all of that?"

  "Kai..."

  He sighed at that, and I knew I had gotten what I wanted. "He was going to suffocate you with a plastic bag."

  I felt those words land, sink slowly in, swirl around a bit while I mulled the implications of them, while I swallowed back the terror of them.

  Five minutes.

  If he had been five minutes later, I would have had a bag over my head, desperately trying to fight as my air got lower and lower.

  "He must really have resented me," I mused aloud, somehow feeling the need to share the thoughts - not something I was overly prone to doing. But with Kai, I guess it was different. Because he had been on this crazy ride with me. Because he had seen me at some of my lowest lows. Because I knew I could trust him not to share this with anyone else.

  "Jules, no. He's just a sick..."

  "No," I cut him off again, shaking my head slowly. "He did. He really despised me, Kai. The way he talked to me," I went on, swallowing back the bitter coating on my tongue. "He wasn't cold and detached, just annoyed that I was a loose end he had to tie up. He wanted to hurt me. He wanted his words to cut me. And he knew me, so he knew exactly what to say. He threw me in the dirt-floored basement soaking wet because he knew how much I hate being dirty. On top of all that, he wanted me to suffer to death. Not just die. Death doesn't have to be slow and agonizing. But he wanted that for me. This was personal to him. He really hated me."

  I wasn't sure why that bothered me.

  I had always been somewhat unshakeable in my idea of my self-worth. Not because I was cocky, but because I knew what I was worth. I knew I worked hard. I knew I was smart. I knew I was loyal and dedicated and attentive.

  And because I knew all that, I felt I deserved a good man. Because I thought I was a good woman.

  It shouldn't have gotten to me that he hated me.

  But it did.

  It wiggled inside, making my heart feel low and heavy, making my stomach sink.

  If someone who had shared my life with me for so long, who I had given all of myself to hated me so much... what did that have to say about what I had to bring to the table?

  "Look at me," Kai's voice cut into my admittedly somber pity-party. "If he hated you, that was on him. Not you. You're amazing. Anyone who has met you knows that, thinks that. You can't be faulted for his terrible taste." He paused, watching me, reading me, and I knew what he was seeing. That I wasn't convinced. That I was about ready to use my own pride as a piñata, beat myself up, watching as little endless bits of insecurity fell out. "Don't be that girl," he demanded oddly, making my brows crease.

  That girl.

  Those were never good words.

  I stiffened at the idea of him using them.

  But this was Kai.

  So he got the benefit of the doubt.

  "What girl?" I asked, hearing the hesitation in my voice.

  "The girl who takes some guy's damage and takes it on as her own. People have all kinds of reasons for being how they are. Maybe his mom used to beat his hands with a ruler if his bedroom wasn't clean enough, and your preference for neatness reminds him of that. Maybe his mom was a career woman who valued her work more than time with him. Maybe he sees your ambition as that cycle repeating. Or maybe he is just a heartless bastard who hates women, enjoys manipulating and hurting, and even killing them. Maybe that was a sickness he was born with. But whatever it is, it's his. It's not yours. Put it down.You weren't meant to carry it."

  I felt stinging in my eyes, knew they would be swimming at any moment.

  I wasn't a crier.

  But Kai could do that, get to the heart of me. Why? I didn't know. I just knew it was true.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, I leaned forward, my forehead pressing into his upper arm.

  And I said them.

  The words I felt down to my soul.

  "I don't deserve to have you in my life."

  "Stop," he demanded, voice soft, hand giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Don't say that. It's ridiculous. You're tired. And - whether you will admit it or not - hurt. Physically and emotionally. You need to rest. You'll be thinking - and feeling - better in the morning."

  I didn't quite believe him, but pressed my lips together.

  Because this wasn't some new development, this idea of Kai being too good.

  It was something I had felt - known - for a long time.

  Nothing I had done in life made me deserving of the kind of unwavering love he seemed to feel toward me.

  It was - to be perfectly honest - intimidating. Overwhelming.

  I wasn't sure I had any right claiming it.

  It belonged to someone softer, sweeter, someone less rigid and ambitious, someone who knew how to relax and didn't run their entire life based off of lists and ideas of how things were supposed to go.

  I mulled on that as Kai's breathing went deep and steady, as his body relaxed.

  It wasn't for another twenty or so minutes after that that I lifted up my head, balancing on my forearm to look down at him.

  My hand moved out without even being aware of it at first, reaching upward, sinking into the short strands of his hair.

  I hadn't ever admitted it aloud, but it was a little secret inside my head.

  I loved his hair.

  Not so much like this.

  But how he liked it, how he usually kept it.

  Longer.

  Framing his face.

  Inky black and so soft looking that your fingers itched to sift between the silky strands.

  I had this odd fetish of enjoying catching him tying it up. Or pulling it down.

  Weird? Yes.

  Because I never liked long hair.

  I found it unflattering and stringy. It reminded me of dirty bikers or wannabe metal singers.

  It just wasn't my cuppa.

  But on Kai, I dunno, it always did it for me.

  Seeing it cut had been shocking, a jolt to my system. The shorter cut showed off his rather strong jaw. It made him look older and more professional.

  But that wasn't Kai.

  And I missed that Kai.

  The Kai before I did ugly things to him. Before I chose another man over him. Before I agreed to marry someone other than him, spend my life with someone other than him.

  He'd cut it the night before the wedding.

&
nbsp; I'd seen him on Saturday.

  I had dropped into work.

  He'd been there, long hair up in a loose bun.

  So he had cut it because of the wedding.

  It felt arrogant to even think that, but I was pretty sure it was the truth.

  I had made him feel like he needed to be something different.

  I wasn't sure I could ever forgive myself for that.

  It wasn't done intentionally, maliciously. I didn't get my jollies off watching someone like me from afar, and get hurt when I dated someone else.

  I had just been so wrapped up in my plans, my goals, my dream of how life was supposed to be.

  I was, by nature, practical.

  Not romantic.

  That was all Gemma.

  God saved all the romancey, roses and butterflies stuff for her while I got all the seriousness, the practicality.

  Not even when I was a teenager, when I should have been sappy and silly about boys, all I could think of was who was going to have the better future, which boy was going to get a good job, make a good husband, provide well for his children.

  I dated the boy most likely to succeed. Not because I felt my heart flip-flop over him, but because it was the most logical choice. We fit. On paper, we fit. He was most likely to succeed; I was valedictorian.

  I hadn't gotten all sentimental about the dating milestones either.

  The first date involved both of us explaining our plans and goals, what we wanted to do and by when.

  Losing my virginity wasn't fraught with worries and demands for his happily ever after. It had just been sex. A natural progression of our relationship.

  And when I had, stupidly, put all my eggs in one basket, only applying to Yale because that was where I was sure I was meant to go, where I worked so hard to get, and he got in... and I didn't... I didn't sob and rip my heart out because we broke up, both knowing it was useless to try to carry on a relationship from a distance.

  So he left.

  I rallied.

  I worked.

  Then I demanded a job at Quin's because it seemed like it would pay well, all the while telling myself that I would go back to school, would get my degree.

  But then there had been no reason to. Because Quin paid me more than I could ever hope to make unless I became some big time CEO. And that would likely take a decade. Well, probably two because I was a woman.