“Hmm. Was the guy dressed in a black suit and stood about yay high?” I held my hand just slightly taller than my current sat position. Roman nodded. “Ah, that’s Klaus. No wait, shit… Jürgen.”
“Why the fuck are the Germans doing coming in here asking about you, Ry?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t control whatzeGermans do, Rome.” I thought my fake accent was flawless. Roman’s expression suggested otherwise.
Taking the stool next to me, Maxim brought Roman a whiskey like the well-trained hound he was, while simultaneously ignoring my clear signal for another drink. “Do you even know who he is?” Roman asked.
I glared at Maxim a moment more before turning to my friend. “I’ve just told you, he’s Jürgen.”
“He’s a fuckingcleaner, Ry.”
I loudly slurped my empty glass. Maxim simply stared blankly in response. “Like… offices, or…?”
“Blyaaaaat. You’re such a prick, you know that?” Roman shook his head. “Who the fuck have you pissed off?” he growled.
“Is that a trick question?” Also, why would a contract cleaner liaison with this mysterious C? “It’s just a job that’s taking longer than usual. I’m sure they’ll disappear back under the rock from which they came once I deliver the USB thingy.”
“Is this the reason you’re sitting at my pub, adding to your unpaid tab and watching a picture of a woman on your phone? Because you’re in hiding?”
“I’m not hiding.” That was absolute fucking blasphemy. “And I’ll pay off my tab, you know I’m good for it.”
“Ryder…”
“And the blondeisthe job.” Technically true; she was just in my way, and I didn’t do witnesses. Rule number one of being a world-class thief: don’t get caught. And not getting caught meant keeping the number of witnesses to an absolute minimum.
Geraldine, or Greta, or whatever the fuck her name was didn’t count because she was too unhinged for anyone to take seriously anyway.
“So, the job is to what? Just watch her location?”
“I just need her to leave,” I explained.
Good old Geraldine had already let slip that the USB was in the house, tucked away in the bedroom. All I needed now was to tear the place apart properly. But it had been two fucking days, and I hadn’t caught either leaving. This was starting to become tedious, and I was soon going to have to resort to more unpleasant methods.
Which just wasn’t me, I was good—no,greatat what I did because I was clean.
In and out, with no one the wiser.
Rule number one and all that.
“Sure… That’s why you’re watching her.” Roman shoved his shoulder against mine, but luckily, he was one of the few people my fucked-up brain didn’t inconveniently short circuit with. Not that something as casually as a shoulder nudge would usually cause me to panic.
A brief touch from someone passing by? Absolutely fine.
Me touching them? Perfect, no problems what-so-ever.
A touch lasting more than a few seconds?
Violence.
“Don’t judge me, Mr Mafia Prince,” I grumbled, not feeling that familiar weight in my chest even though his shoulder stayed pressed against mine.
If it had been anyone else keeping contact that long, I might’ve done something irrational… like stab them a little with my favourite butterfly knife. Totally not an overreaction.
Flipping up my phone, I found Violet’s picture had finally moved. I jumped up, grabbing my leather jacket and downing the rest of Roman’s drink in one go.
“Where are you going? We need to discuss my offer,” he called after me.
I flashed him my award-winning smile. “It’s been a real pleasure, but I’ve got bills to pay and a job that won’t do itself.”
