“Fuck!” I rest my hands on my head. “Fuuuuck!”
“What? Whaaaat? You destroyed the rifle. That’s what you’d do if you have to leave it behind.”
“I couldn’t leave the weapon I needed to plant on Ivan.”
Connor gapes. “What? What? I sound like a canary. Since when were you going to plant it on Ivan?”
“The coroner was going to discover the cause of death. A bullet to the head, not the chest. If Ivan killed Massio, then it wasn’t Endo who did it, and then all Dad’s men wouldn’t trust Ivan anymore. Ta-da. Problem solved. One hit. Two down.”
“How genius of you,” Connor mocks, because obviously, the plan went to shit. Also, I didn’t tell him mainly because I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. I would need to sneak back into the mansion, which is under watch by both the police and Ivan, plant the rifle, and exit unnoticed.
Connor shakes his head. “Ivan has an alibi.”
“He could’ve hired someone.”
Connor sits back. “You. He could’ve hired you.” His eyes widen. “You would’ve gone down for it.”
“The rifle was on him. My prints would have been wiped. The only thing left would be speculation that he hired me.”
“You think Walter stole your rifle?” Connor asks.
“Forget Walter.” I limp to the bathroom and drop my pants so I can get in the shower. I wash in under a minute and throw up bile before I step outside to brush my teeth. Connor hands memy boxers and a suit. While I dress, I hear him opening the back of my closet, where I keep weapons.
He returns with my Walther, a holster, and a few other helpful trickers, such as a steel wire and some blades for a close-range, quiet approach. Our return to Selnoa will require close contact with many enemies. One never knows when I’ll need to slip a blade between someone’s ribs.
“This is pretty exciting,” Connor says as he holsters his own weapons. He likes Nighthawks. They’re golden. Flashy. Obnoxious. Loud. Very Connory.
“You can’t go, Con. It’s dangerous.”
“That’s exactly why I’m going. I’ve been knitting winter socks next to Uncle Cass’s bed. Waste of my talent.”
“To be fair, Icoulduse your talent.” My brother is brilliant. He doesn’t give himself enough credit. Or any credit at all. My dad messed with Con’s head, and Con isn’t as resilient as I am. He’s delicate. Not like a flower. More like a detonator. Don’t flip the switch.
“What are you going to tell Endo?” he asks.
“The truth. That my rifle is in police custody and I’m going to retrieve it.”
“What the fuck?” Connor’s eyes are saucers.
“Yes.”
He snatches my phone and reads the article. “How did this woman get your rifle?” He snaps his fingers. “The hooker you said you paid.”
I pause, give it a moment, then decide I’m going with his version for now.
Connor’s shoulders slump. “I never understood your rules about civilians and civilian targets. Who the fuck cares about some hooker? If your prints aren’t on the rifle, even if hers are, nobody is going to believe this woman is a professional hitman. Hitwoman.” He purses his lips. “She doesn’t look like a hooker.”
“How do you mean that?”
“I don’t know. She looks like a teacher.”
“Maybe she is a teacher.”
“Now see, that’s hot.”
I pocket my phone and sit on the bed. “Help me with the bandages.”
He starts to unwrap my head. “There’s a hole in your head from where they drained the fluid.”
