DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  “What?”

  “Bubba, where is he?”

  “Who?”

  Blue licks her bottom lip and steals a quick glance at me, using her reverse psychology bullshit. “He must like it the hard way.”

  She begins to stand, but William quickly backtracks. “Wait, wait…who are you looking for? I know a lot of people.”

  “Got a last name?” The question is directed to me, and I don’t answer it outright. My silence is all Blue needs to continue on. “The name is Bubba. He’s in your territory of drugs in Pittsburgh.”

  “I don’t deal in drugs.”

  Blue scoffs. “Wanna try again?”

  “What do you want money?” Blue remains silent, not even giving his question an answer. “If you want cash, I got it, but why do you need to know someone’s name?”

  “Personal reasons,” she claims. “And don’t worry, we won’t tell that you ratted.”

  “I don’t do business with redhead terrorists—“ He flicks his eyes to me. “—and assholes that throw cheap shots.”

  “Let’s hurry this up,” I snap, leaned up against the large desk that he pushed my wife onto.

  I allowed Blue to try it her way, claiming less clean-up with all the blood I’d spill. Somehow, the fact that there is a bonfire outside next door is why we’re not doing it my way.

  Fuck that this is my thing or issue, my second family somehow just took over, and the more time that passes on without an answer, the more I get pissed off.

  “Relax,” Blue says. “William and I are going to have some fun.”

  Blue is a profiler, someone who can read and study the verbal and physical habits of an individual.

  So if she believes she’s going to get some information out of this clown by rubbing his cock, who the hell am I to say otherwise?

  Except I’m not about to watch them fuck in here.

  The moment my mouth opens for me to take over, the door to the office swings open and Emmy saunters in with that fuckable red dress of hers.

  “I couldn’t find anything,” she announces, sauntering in my direction. “Let’s go.”

  My brows furrow. “Go?”

  Em glances over at Blue, who has stopped to look over at her, and my wife slowly turns her head to me, brow perked. “Having fun?”

  “No.” She twists to leave but I lean over and reach for her wrist, pulling her back and between my thighs. “What?”

  She glares at me through her beautiful brown eyes, and I know what’s going on in that pretty little skull of hers.

  She believes I’m enjoying watching Blue fuck around with another guy. That whatever she does—dumb or not—makes my dick hard.

  “What crawled up your ass, Emmy Lou?” I mutter, keeping my hold on her. “You look…annoyed.”

  “On the contrary,” she retorts sweetly, relaxing her expression. “It’s expected.”

  “The stupid shit Blue wants to do is entirely up to her. I’m just the watchful keeper to make sure nothing gets out of hand like you wanted.” Her jaw shifts, trying to keep her temper in check, but I’m in the mood to watch it explode.

  It beats watching Will get off.

  “How noble of you. Can we go now?”

  “He’s not dead yet, so no.” She reaches for me, but it’s not to touch me.

  No, it’s to pull my Glock out of its holster.

  She knows better than that. You don’t handle another person’s shit.

  However, I don’t become too concerned about it until she points it at Blue and Will.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Em?” I growl as she moves away from me, shifting her body so that she can see me out of the corner of her eye so I can’t stop her.

  Blue doesn’t move, staring her dead in the eye in a challenge to put a bullet in her. Their little rivalry—more on Emmy’s part than Blue’s—has been an ongoing thing for almost a year because of what I did.

  And if I didn’t know any better, I’d assume Emmy will pop a cap in the side of Blue’s head.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” Em says, her tone cool and collected.

  I’m not going to be responsible for getting someone killed on B723 because of the stupid mistake I made.

  We all recognize what this is—the three of us.

  Blue didn’t and still doesn’t notice the truth. She has no clue the shit she put herself in the middle of. No indication that I’m married to the blonde in front of her. That my wife, as beautiful as she is, has an ugly pettiness about her, and I’m sure the idea to rid B723 of Blue is a clicking thought in her head right now.

  “It looks like you’ve lost your damn mind,” I answer, keeping myself where I am because if I move, she might be stupid enough to pull the trigger.

  She’s on edge, needs a drink, and my dick as a good distraction.

  Em glances over at me. “See…you don’t know me at all.”

  Looking back to the couple in the seat, she lowers the pistol and shoots.

  Willam’s scream rattles my ears as Em strides in Blue’s direction, palming my Glock and rips her out of the chair.

  Keeping her safely away, Em replaces herself where Blue was sitting and shoves the gun underneath his chin.

  “I want a name, Romeo,” she grounds out, straddling her short legs over his lap that barely touch the hardwood floors. Her dress is riding up her thighs, just like Blue’s did, but I care about it this time. “Bubba Walters. I need his crew.”

  I move, about to slap this woman’s ass for being a fucking lunatic, when Blue steps up purposely to stop me.

  “Chill,” she mutters. I don’t even have the chance to tell her to fuck off because the asshole starts up his shit.

  “You fucking cunt!” Willam howls in her face, spit flying from his mouth. “I’m not telling you shit.”

  Emmy leans closer then licks his cheek, slow and painfully erotic, making Blue chuckle softly in front of me.

  “She learned that from me,” she whispers, illuminating how proud as fuck she is.

  I, on the other hand, am fuming.

  My blonde could give a flying shit that she’s purposely making me watch her tongue another man.

  “Don’t taunt me,” I hear her mutter. “This turns me on.” I scoff as William attempts to lean away, but the pistol Em has underneath his chin still warns him that she’s not fucking around.

  Neither am I.

  She has less than a minute to get an answer that he’s not searching for before it’s my turn to haul her perfect ass off the entitled prick.

  “Get away from me!” he carps out, attempting to shimmy from her but obviously fails.

  He’s disgusted or scared of her, which works, except I’m still not a fan of the string that just snapped in Emmy’s personality.

  “Give me something, Romeo.”

  William narrows his eyes. “That fat fuck? Dude died.”

  “How?”

  My brows furrow; she knows how. Or she’s trying to add some color to Bubba’s world and associates.

  “Got burnt up. He’s been replaced. Listen, I—“ Em thrusts the gun deeper into his flesh and pulls out her phone, propping her elbow on his shoulder, and begins tapping away at it.

  “I don’t believe you. Location or something else that’ll help me—pick, now.” She rolls her hips, letting a moan illicit off her lips, and I can’t tell if it’s fake or fucking real, but my cock just twitched to it. “Or…don’t. You’re extremely handsome, William. Too bad I wasn’t here for other reasons. Maybe I can record it.”

  My hands fist at my sides. This reverse bullshit has gone on long enough, and I want my fucking wife off this ass clown now.

  “She’s a necrophiliac,” Blue claims out loud for Will’s ears. “And she only gives her victims one chance.”

  “But you don’t have to,” Emmy surmises, laying an arm on his shoulder. “I can make it quick for you. You won’t feel a thing.”

  Motherfucking God.

  I’ve never heard Emmy’s voice s
o seductive and innocent all at the same time.

  I love it and hate it.

  I’m torn between letting her have her own damn space and being someone that can hand her own shit, just like I would anyone on B723, or staking my claim now.

  She’s suddenly got me all sorts of fucked up. I can sometimes rear back and place my shit aside but then, in times like this, I’m brimming over the edge of allowing all my emotions and actions to spill.

  “I’m telling you the truth,” William claims, his brows knit as though he’s in pain or about to take a shit. “He’s dead.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Yeah, yeah…I don’t give a shit about him.” He sucks in a weak breath through his teeth. “Fu—I can’t…breathe.”

  “I figured I’d leave you here until the Feds come for you. You see, I went through your laptop, found some emails about a dozen or so twelve-year-olds that you bought. I mean, we can predict what you’re trying to do with them, can’t we, Romeo?”

  He rocks his head back and forth. “No…it’s not…like that.”

  Emmy chuckles and swings one leg off his lap to stand. “I guess the naked pictures of them were just sent by mistake then.”

  “That’s…” His face is becoming paler by the second. “What’s happening?”

  Emmy pockets her cell and glances down at her watch, appearing not to give a shit at how he’s beginning to turn as white as a ghost. “Oh, I turned your pacemaker down. It’s barely operational. Unfortunately, I had to sit in your lap to link it up to my phone.” She shudders outwardly. “Disgusting.”

  “You…fucking—“

  “Call her a bitch, and I’ll fucking kill you right now,” I seize out, doing the same thing to her bicep and hauling her from the room when I tell Blue. “Watch him.”

  Emmy doesn’t stop me, allowing me to get us to the middle of the living space, where the party was in full swing hours before.

  When I release her, I find her looking at me like she didn’t just do everything I watched.

  “I went through all the files on his laptop,” she states, extending her arm to give me back my gun. “No emails, phone calls, or anything about Bubba. He’s not searching for his killer and—“ My chest presses into hers, ignoring the gun and whatever else she’s going to say.

  “Are you bipolar, or do you live two separate lives when I’m not around? Because what I saw in there wasn’t the Emmy Lou Rhodes I know.”

  “And how many missions have me and you worked on alone since…?”

  Since getting married.

  Zero.

  That she knows of anyway. There have been a few that I wasn’t appointed to that I’ve watched her do from afar. Sometimes we’re assigned solo missions, quick assassinations that don’t take but one perfect moment and a bullet of your choice.

  I don’t like the odds. So, I watch my wife while she works. I didn’t sign up to be a widow.

  Call it clingy, weird, odd, or fucking stupid, but I never claimed to be smart.

  “You’re all set,” Emmy continues through my irritation. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Don’t do that shit again,” I growl out, still thinking about her ass on his lap. “I mean it, Em.”

  “Why?” Her face twists in confusion, then realization. “Oh…you mean like a little whore.”

  A mirthless chuckle rumbles in my chest, and I turn my hands into fists again to keep from touching her because it won’t be to scare her.

  I itch to rip her fucking dress to shreds.

  I want my teeth sinking into her thighs to remind her to keep her damn body away from anyone who isn’t me. Especially on a fucking mission.

  “You’re far from that, Emmy,” I remark.

  “But that’s what you’re into, right?”

  “I don’t know, am I?” I cock my head to the side because I’d love to identify what she believes I’m into.

  What makes my dick hard and ready.

  And if she doesn’t notice that it’s her yet, I’m not sure how else to spell it out.

  “I don’t know what you want anymore. Camilla fucked you up so bad you can’t see straight.”

  “It’s none of your fucking business,” I emit through a clenched jaw. “But when it is, you’ll be the first I tell.”

  “Your phone buzzed last night when you were sleeping.”

  I stare at her, and when she does continue, I shrug. “Okay…”

  “It kept going off and off and woke me. I finally checked it to make sure Scarlett or your brother didn’t need you. It was your security system at the house. Camilla was there again, outside on your front porch.” Geezus fucking Christ. She inhales a deep breath, and her nostrils flare. I know that look. She’s about to break. “I just want you to be straight with me. If you…If you want to give her another chance, Bish, just let me know. I’ll sign—”

  “I honestly have no fucking idea why she was there, nor do I care,” I sneer through a blurring tunnel of self-preservation, remorse, and memories. “I’m tired of talking about this.”

  “I want to hear you say it.” She wipes out the only air I have solo and impedes it. Demanding for me to open up about my past. “I want to hear you state that whatever you feel for her doesn’t fuck us up.”

  “She didn’t screw us up, Ems,” I leer slowly and guardedly. “You did. I may have been slow with opening up, but you slammed that door in my face when you freaked out about us getting married, and I let you have that. Then months went on, I wanted to tell the boys that I had a beautiful wife and it was you. I was ready. I was scared fucking shitless, but eventually…crush or not, Emmy, it would’ve evolved if it hasn’t already.”

  “Evolve into what? You never even asked me on a date. You never—”

  “What are we fucking sixteen?”

  She scoffs at me. “No, I’m a woman that likes to feel like you wanted to put in the effort.”

  “I’m done talking about this.” I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “This is a long road that leads to nowhere. Camilla doesn’t mean shit to me. So keep convincing yourself that I’m all to blame.”

  “I’m not, but—“

  “You are. Man the hell up.”

  She sniffs through her nose. “Fuck it then. Yes, I messed us up too, but even afterward, you still stayed closed off and shut down.”

  “And you still kept me a dirty, dark secret that you allowed to fuck you.”

  “You don’t love me,” she bursts out as if she’s been keeping it to herself for years. “And I don’t love you. So when we’re finished with this shit, you can deal with your own messes from now on. I’m done.”

  Then she spins around, her warmth leaving my rigid body, and begins towards the door.

  I let her go. It’s better this way; I saying it to myself over and over.

  Thing is, I don’t wish to keep it to myself—us.

  I want to just be free of it.

  A month later…

  Four weeks is a lot of time to ponder. To reevaluate and bring yourself to some sort of conclusion on how you think you should change, act, and make your next move.

  Bishop already has a head start.

  Two days after we fought in the Hamptons, he took a mission that Ledger left openly assigned and went to Germany.

  I haven’t heard from him since.

  Numerous times I’ve picked up my phone, tempted to apologize.

  Other times I needed to call him out and corner him to tell me that he loved me in some capacity, whether it was more as friends or not at all.

  Having sex wasn’t practical anymore to my health, and the unknown is something that has been eating me alive ever since.

  However, the more I push him, the more obvious that he backs away. And maybe it’s in my nature to destroy and not create.

  Bishop doesn’t need or want someone so overbearing and childish as me because that’s how I’ve been behaving. I might as well have stomped my foot and demanded him run his every action by me from now on. I s
ure as hell wouldn’t choose me as a wife; how can I blame him?

  “Do you not like your food?” My eyes flick from my medium-cooked steak and garlic mashed potatoes to find my date, Alexander, at the other side of the table.

  Dressed in a khaki-colored coat and a white button-up cardigan underneath, Alexander is studying me with a perked brow. He’s more than likely waiting for me to give him the green light to call over the waiter for whatever I may need.

  It isn’t the food, obviously, it’s my situation.

  It’s the fact that I haven’t felt good in weeks and it’s all his fault.

  And mine.

  My stomach knots and wants to retch up all the contents in it. I’m getting headaches, feel fatigued, and I might sound like a whiny bitch, but when he’s not around, nothing feels right.

  As pathetic and stupid as that may be.

  Nonetheless, it’s given me time to ponder how to accomplish all of the things above.

  But that’s all I’ve done is think.

  I haven’t made any decisions yet and I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. I’ve murdered and buried our relationship. And even though the physical attraction is still there, it won’t make us last more than it has.

  “Everything is wonderful,” I convey, forcing a genuine smile to form on my face. “I’m sorry, work is—has been on my mind all day.”

  “You need a break, Emmy.” He lifts his wine glass and swirls the red contents. “You know...I have a business trip to Florida coming up. It’s nothing exotic or Paris even, but it’s water and sunshine. You wanna come?”

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” He takes a small sip of his Pinot Noir and licks his bottom lip.

  I envy a little of Alexander.

  I envy how he’s so open and honest.

  How, no matter the answer, he’ll still ask questions and obtain what he wants and needs even if it doesn’t work in his favor.

  “You’ll be busy.” It’s the only excuse I have. “And besides, I have a lot of things to do here.”

  I don’t have shit to do around here.

  “Alright…but if you change your mind, my offer is still open. Now eat your meal, Emmy, I’m sure you haven’t eaten all day.”