“Since when do you have a key to my apartment?” I barked, turning from the nearly ruined breakfast.
“Since when do I need a key to go anywhere?”
“You did that without a key?” Hazard asked, amazed.
“Hell yeah, half-pint. I’ll teach you.”
“No,” I declared.
“Why not?” Haz argued.
I should have burned the French toast. “You don’t need to know how to break and enter.”
“Skills are skills,” Ghost said, dragging out one of the stools to sit down.
“I said no.” I maintained, putting the warm breakfast on a plate, adding some butter, and getting the container of maple syrup. I measured it out in a small cup because Haz couldn’t be trusted with the entire bottle. He’d probably try and eat the entire thing.
Once that was done, I transferred it all to the island along with a low-sugar, high-protein yogurt and some juice.
“That for me?” Ghost asked, leaning over.
I smacked him in the back of the head.
Hazard leaped off the counter and slid between me and the granite to get into the seat. “I’ll share with you, Ghost.”
“My guy.”
“He’s not your anything, and don’t even think about eating off his plate,” I threatened.
“Kieran,” Hazard admonished.
I handed him a fork. “Eat.”
He pursed his lips, so I kissed the top of his head. “Please.”
Haz started shoveling it in, lips smacking. “Don’t worry, Ghost. Kieran will make you a plate.”
“I will not.”
Hazard, the little shit, stabbed a piece of his toast and held it out, syrup dripping onto the counter. “Okay, then I’ll share.”
“I didn’t even know you could cook,” Ghost told me and leaned in like he was going to eat off of a fork thatwas not his.
The sound of my gun cocking stopped him. His eyes rolled sideways. Clearing his throat, he sat back. “You know what. Thanks for the offer, half-pint, but I brought my own snacks.”
Reaching into the pocket of his black leather jacket, he pulled out a bag of nuts.
Haz turned back to me. “You’re a hitman, Kieran. Not a heathen.”
It happened before I could stop it. My eyebrow shot up. “You thinkI’mthe heathen?”
“Oooh, so I see you two talked,” Ghost said above the crinkling of the wrapper as he tore it open.
I turned back to the stove, tossing three more slices of French toast onto the griddle. They didn’t have time to soak up as much egg, but it served him right.
“Yeah,” Haz said, speaking while he chewed. “He told me about what happened to you guys all those years ago.”
“Did he now?”
