Things are so…quiet… when I’m not out. It’s why I prefer the black widow lifestyle, as opposed to taking hits from a list. It keeps me on my toes. A challenge. The kill is the easy part. I prefer to play house more.
Parker wasmyvendetta, but he wasn’t the only reason why I do what I do and enjoy it.
She nods, picking up her pen and going back to her scribbling. One. Two. Three. Four—Five. I count the ticking of the clock.
“We can circle back over things for as long as you need, Ivy. Until you’re ready.” At a thousand bucks an hour, I bet we can take as long as I want.
She slams the diary closed with her iPad. “I’m wiped. Should we go for a drink?”
My shoulders straighten, eyeing her skeptically. Has she done this before? The worst part is I once again can’t remember to be sure. My memory is about as shit as Jord’s partner choices lately.
“Sure.”
She stands, grabs her Hermès bag, and gestures to the door. An inch or so taller than me when upright, but about two dress sizes smaller.
A strangled laugh leaves my throat. “Okay, I thought you were joking, but I guess not.”
I push up from the chair, buttoning up my coat as I hook my bag over my shoulder. “I don’t know if I should be the one worried now…”
Her giggle follows behind me. “Nope, unfortunately it's still just me.”
“Just to be clear—” I stop beside her. “You’re off the clock now.”
After locking the door, she breezes past me and down the long corridor. “Of course.”
Damn. She must be desperate for friends.
Half an hour later, we pull up to a run-down bar on the corner of the busiest part of the city. I think it’s pirate-themed, but honestly, I can’t tell. I don’t care what’s in it as long as alcohol exists here.
We order four drinks, two to double park, and for the first time in a long time, I feel air in my lungs. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s welcoming. I love my friends, but any time they’re around, they want things from me. They want me to cry, or scream, or talk about my feelings. It’s become exhausting.
“How’s your drink?” Belinda asks, peering over at my glass.
My finger circles the rim continuously as I stare into the creamy hot steam. “It’ll do.”
She chuckles.
We sit. Four drinks become ten as we lounge in the darkest booth of the room.
“You never mention your childhood,” Belinda slurs her words, and I tilt my head to the side, scanning her closely. She's older than she looks, but her mouse-blonde hair is the kind that never misbehaves, and her skin has never seen a blemish.
“There’s not much to tell.” I trace my glass with my finger. “My father was my best friend. When my mother passed away, he and I did everything together. He took me to work, made me sit in during board meetings, and every birthday, he’d buy me a new tiara.”
My chest fills with warmth the longer I think about him. I guess she was right. I didn’t think much about my family, but itwasn’t because they didn’t treat me well, but because they made me weak.
“Ah, I could see it. I mean, I knew you didn’t have Daddy issues.” I try not to focus on her judgment and shuffle up my chair. “What happened to him?”
I blink, holding my breath. “He’s dead.” A brick slips out of place in my mind and shatters against the pavement. The unknown has bled into every single aspect of my life.
He would be dead.
He would have been brutally murdered the minute I escaped.
Thankfully, she leaves it, and before we both know, we’re stumbling up from the bar, and I’m squinting at my phone to speed dial Daniel.
He answers of the first ring. “I'm outside.”
Ha! Perfect. Daniel. My savior since the very beginning and Nonna made sure Leon and I needed handlers.
