When I make my way toward the door, Minnie hops down off the sofa and stretches before following me. I found her all alone on one of my adventures, as I'd call them when I'd go exploring around the estate.
She'd been scared and crying. I scooped her up and brought her back to the house. Grams had a special vet come out to look her over. He'd told us she was underweight but appeared fine overall—and that she was a lynx.
We ended up keeping her. I don't think we really knew how big she'd get, but she's no normal house cat, coming in around sixty pounds. Rest assured she is no longer underweight.
Minnie's tail flicks when we enter the parlor. She's not a fan of Mr. Gem either.
"Afternoon," I say, greeting him.
"Theodora, you know I don't much care for the cat." He is sneezing already. "Would you mind?" I want to say I actually do, but I bite my tongue.
"Are we going to be that long?" Minnie starts to circle me, rubbing up against my legs.
"You know it's not legal for you to have her." A small gasp leaves me. Why would he say that now? Right in front of her. A low growl comes from Minnie, likely sensing my distress. She always knows when I'm upset. She stuck to me like glue afterGrams passed. I cried most of my tears into her neck. "I was only letting you know in case you have guests in the future."
Oh. I marginally relax. "Minnie, get a treat," I tell her. She flicks her tail but doesn't move, her eyes trained on Mr. Gem. She normally always listens. "Minnie," I say, giving her bottom a light tap. A loud huff leaves her before she strolls out of the room.
"So," I say, standing there. If I sit, then it will take longer.
"Are you planning to take a trip?"
Oh, crap.
I'm the world's worst liar, but I give it a go, nonetheless.
This is dedicated to my closest friend. I'll lie to everyone's face if I have to. No one will stand in the way of me leaving to get her. Even if I have to feed him to Minnie.
Joking. She has better taste.
Chapter Two
KILLIAN
Patience has never been a problem for me. I could wait for days when it comes to a target. I’m not sure when shit changed, but now I find myself getting irritated and on edge. I’m a bigger asshole than normal, and I was already a giant one, as I’ve been told many times by many people.
I can’t be too bad because my inbox is always full of requests for another job for me to do. I watch the dumb fuck kiss his secretary that he just got done fucking on top of his desk. If she doesn’t get gone soon, this is going to be a twofer. But I make myself wait. I don’t enjoy killing, not for free anyway. If you’re good at something, you should get paid for it.
Disgust rolls through me as Amy, the secretary, adjusts her dress. My piece of shit target is out here cheating on his wife and not even wrapping his dick up. I'll never understand how these schmucks let their dicks lead them around. At least I'm no longer hungry. I'm sure the wife will be happy he's gone. He's got a big life insurance policy on him.
When the secretary takes a step back from my target, I pull the trigger, not caring if the blood splatter sprays onto her or the fact that he wasn't done putting his pants back on. This must be what it means to get caught with your pants down.
I quickly dismantle my rifle before making my way across the roof and down the fire escape ladder. Jobs in the city are both a pain in the ass and convenient. It's easy to get lost in the shuffle of the crowds till you make your way to the edge and finish your exit plan.
Yes, they'll be able to track you, but that's why your real escape setup is still not done. I hop into the truck I stole this morning and hit the highway. I don't pull out my phone and power it on until I have a few more miles behind me. This isn’t my first rodeo, and it surely won’t be my last.
This was a government job. If I do get grabbed, it won't take long before I am let loose again. That's not only a pain in the ass, but you also lose hit money. It's not but a couple of seconds before my phone starts to go off. This is not the normal phone line, at least not for the typical texts and phone calls that are sent.
"The fuck," I mutter when I see Tristan Vanderbilt's name. It's been a while since we touched base. We worked together at one time. I wouldn't call him a friend. I don't have those. But I do have a level of trust with him, and I'm getting the sense he wants a favor, and he wants it now. I do owe him for a chunk of the tech he has supplied me. Fuck, I hope there isn't an issue with that.
I send off an alert that my job is complete before tossing the phone out the window. I don't pull out another until I hit the mountains. I ditch the truck in an old mining station and toss my shit into the back of the SUV I left here before changing the plates out. Lots of planning goes into these jobs. Hitting the target is probably the easiest part, if I’m being honest.
I pull away from the truck before getting back out to wipe it down before setting it ablaze. You can never be too careful. I don't want anyone tracking me. Not even the government, and that's who I do most of my jobs for. I freelance from time to time. Shit gets boring, and you need a change every now and then.
I go east, deeper into the mountains until I hit another highway before I finally stop at a gas station in a small town. I pull my hat lower before entering, not spotting any cameras. I get a Coke and a couple of protein bars. It will hold me over for now.
The clerk pays me no attention, focusing on the small screen and watching a game as I toss the bills onto the counter and don't wait for change.
I let out a deep breath when my alert goes off again. Only a few people can force one through.
