He let himself out, and I stood there for a long moment, listening to the echo of the lock clicking shut.
I walked to the far window, the one that overlooked the street, and waited until I saw him exit the building, just to make myself feel better. He strode across the sidewalk to his unmarked car and paused, looking up as though he knew I would be there. I flinched, but it was too late to hide. He smiled and tipped his fingers to the brim of an invisible hat.
Suddenly, my apartment didn’t feel safe anymore.
Chapter two
Halo
“Damage Control”
Thepierwasquiet,but not peaceful quiet or night-after-the-storm quiet. It was the kind of quiet that only followed death. This was a final departure place for many people. Here, the scent of gun oil and blood mingled with the persistent aroma of stagnant water and fish. I scanned the dock, looking for blind corners and possible exits. The habit was so ingrained in me that I did it as naturally as breathing. I always had an exit strategy first, even when I wasn’t worried about a situation. I clock every angle without thinking, just muscle memory to find one way in, two ways out.
Call me overly cautious.
I parked my bike at the edge of the lot, kicked the stand down, and killed the engine. I set the black helmet on the seat and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket, listening to the faint tick and pop as the engine cooled behind me. Fog was rolling in from the bay like something out of a noir film, and the wind off the water tasted like rust on my tongue as I fought off a yawn.
The black Escalade was already waiting at the end of the dock, right where I knew it would be. I always thought these meetings could be handled via email, but I also acknowledged the dangers of technology. It would roll over and betray you as fast as any man.
As I approached, two guys stepped out of the vehicle: the muscle. One of them had a jaw that could probably crack bones like a hyena (and he had the smile to match), and the other appeared coked out, descriptiondescriptiondescription.
But the real threat was the guy who next emerged from the car. He always dressed like a cruise ship villain: with the suit and tie and shiny shoes and that little pocket handkerchief. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He talked like he owned the world, and some days he convinced me he did. The only thing missing was a glass of champagne. Instead, he was gingerly sipping out of a thermos. He was a big kid with a lot of money, guns, drugs, and power. Playing dress up, having temper tantrums that ended in killing whoever had pissed him off.
Matteo Ricci.
“Halo,” he said, like I was an old friend, “you’re early.”
I shrugged, having nothing to say to Matteo. I always hated the way he tried to make small talk before we got down to business. Back in the unit, none of us talked before we did the job. Orders came down clean, no flirting around what was to be done or how. But this guy didn’t know anything about that life.
Matteo always wanted to pretend we were equals, but we weren’t. He played chess with bodies. He’d tried to buy my loyalty for years, but I only worked for the Almighty Dollar. I didn’t care who had it; I didn’t have any ties to anyone. I workedallsides, and that’s exactly what made me desirable as a hit man. I kept everything clean, private, and professional. I had shed my entire identity before I became this killer, known only by the codename they’d given me when I was serving: Halo. I had doneeverything to ensure that the old me was gone. The only person who really knew me was my sister, but she had chosen a very similar path, and no one but her understood what it was like and what I’d been through.
At my lack of response, the guy with the hyena mouth flipped back his suit jacket, revealing a gun at his side. I didn’t flinch when the gunmetal glinted. I’d seen worse, cleaned worse. Hell, I’dmadeworse from scraps. Matteo’s men could afford diamond grills and gold flakes in their whiskey, but they carried cheap guns that might as well have shot water instead of bullets.
“I’m here,” I confirmed.
He smiled, but his eyes stayed flat. “I’ve got a name.”
I didn’t ask for it, but Mr. Coke Sniffles approached me with a paper in his hand. I reached out, flipping it around to see the photo of a woman. Probably in her thirties. Brown hair tied back, wearing a pair of jogging pants. Soft eyes. She stood in front of a freshly painted coffee shop that said GRAND OPENING above the door, and she wore a crooked little smile, as though she didn’t feel like she belonged in her own picture. She clutched a disgruntled orange cat against her chest.
“Her name is Eden Black,” Matteo said, taking a loud slurp of his presumably hot coffee.
I didn’t react visibly, but Matteo wasn’t watching for reactions; he was listening for hesitation.
“A woman,” I said, more statement than question. I hadn’t been asked to take out a female target since my time working with the military. The last woman I’d been sent after wasn’t supposed to be a woman at all. Intel was wrong. Her hands were shaking when I found her. Orders were orders, but I still remember the way her eyes looked before I pulled the trigger. Since I had started doing work for civilians all of my contracts had been on men and I was more than fine with that.
“She saw something she shouldn’t have,” he said. “We had to clean up a leak last night… one of our own. We thought it was quiet.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.” He adjusted his coat. “She saw our guy’s face and his car, and now she’s a problem.”
Matteo was sharp, but his men were sloppy, cocky, and stupid. There were a thousand places in the city to execute someone withzerochance of a witness. Now some girl was going to lose her life over it.
“She go to the cops?”
Matteo’s grin thinned. “Sort of. Enough to get our attention. Luckily, we have a guy on the payroll; he intercepted her call. If he hadn’t, we’d be having a more serious conversation. He has a feeling she won’t let it go – stubborn, he said. Soshe’sgotta go.”
I glanced at the photo again. She didn’t look like the type of girl to be trouble. She looked like someone who’d apologize if you bumped into her. She looked… warm. Maybe it was just the photo they’d chosen of her, likely ripped from social media when they were trying to find easy and free information.
