Goddammit, James.
“You want me to kill James Zhou,” Darius said, still holding onto his calm.
“Will that be any trouble?” Felicity asked. Her politeness was another threat.
She knew where Miranda lived. She knew about Kit.
She knew Darius. Every dark contour of his mind, from the time he was a teenager desperate for money and control. She knew that she could leash him with the few people he cared about.
Other people’s lives were incidental.
“Frankly, he’s more trouble alive,” Darius said, letting his own smile bleed back into his voice.
“I knew I could count on you, dear.”
Darius turned away from Terry’s rigid corpse, scanning the rest of the room. Finding nothing. Most of his arsenal was already moved into the new house. All Darius had was what he had on his person and in his car—and as much time as he could haggle for. “I need seventy-two hours to stage this.”
“I know it’s a complicated job,” Felicity said warmly. “You have twenty-four.” The phone beeped as she hung up.
Darius exhaled, his mind cold. Panic settled into well-worn grooves of necessity.
Twenty-four hours had to be enough.
26
proper, logical anxiety
Flipping another grilled cheese sandwich, Kit felt extremely useless. A pile of sandwiches already gleamed on the cutting board. Maybe prepping the entire loaf of sourdough was excessive, but Kit didn’t feel like making a side dish.
And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
Bishop had already identified the two unknown sketchy guys from last night’s photos. He and James were in the half-set-up office, researching them. So far, nothing exciting.
Fuck. Kit really needed to get that sexy GED tutor. At least if he ever wanted to be more useful than basic clerical work and even more basic cooking. What did he contribute to this messy relationship—easy hole and emotional support?
Kit exhaled through his teeth. Flipped the sandwich again, then flipped it back because he hadn’t let it sit long enough. All right, cooking and file sorting and emotional support were useful. Except he wasn’t even good at those.
No.
Kit poked the sandwich with the spatula. No pity party today. Kit refused to tumble down those familiar mental paths.
He was good at working for Bishop, especially considering his lack of training. When he wasn’t throwing a tantrum aboutBishop’s crime of asking reasonable questions. So, yeah, Kit needed to chill on the office drama, but otherwise, surprisingly competent.
He was good at hiding from his past, too. That was a skill.
He was getting better at loving people, even if his taste in men was decidedly questionable.
Most importantly at the moment, Kit was fucking amazing at grilled cheese sandwiches. Add garlic. Then more garlic. Then more garlic, just in case.
As he climbed his lime green stepladder to put the garlic powder away, Kit’s phone buzzed. He conscientiously turned off the stove, then wiped the grease off his fingers before checking the group chat.
Darius:Work thing came up, I’ll be out for the weekend.
Darius:Holden – can you finish clearing out the apartment fridge for me?
The reply appeared as Kit watched.
Devoted Admirer:sure
