“Six.”
Glancing at the clock, enough time remains for me to finish eating and change before we go. I wrap up the other half of my dinner for later and head to my room to change into a pair of black leggings covered with daisies, a light sweater, and my Chucks. It’s not exactly cold, but it’s not as warm as I’m used to either.
“Ready?” I grab her coat, and we leave.
Dropping her off at the church, I decide to park and walk to a coffee shop across the street, a chocolate tart and vanilla chai latte calling my name. Sitting at a table near the window, I’m able to keep an eye on the church entrance for when she’s done, and I play a game on my phone while waiting.
A knock on the glass pane startles me, and I jump in my seat. Mom stands out there with a grin on her face. I glance at the time on my phone and notice an hour has passed without realizing it. Cleaning up my garbage, I toss it before meeting her out front.
“That was fast,” I comment, and she shrugs. “Did it go okay?” I won’t push, but if she wants to talk, I’ll listen.
“I didn’t get up and speak or anything, but I took it all in, and it’s nice to know I’m not alone.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her in for a side hug.
“That’s great, Mom.”
We cross the street in silence to get the car and take the short drive to Woodlawn Beach. It’s usually less busy this time of day, and there’s an excellent ice cream bar at the entrance to the beach access.
“Do you remember the weekend after the hurricane when you were eight? All that sea glass we found.” She accepts her vanilla cherry Coke waffle cone while I wait for my bubble gum wafer cone.
“We tried to build the art piece like JTT from that movie. It was terrible.” Sharing a laugh as I’m handed my cone, we head to a bench just off the edge of the sand to watch the tide come in. It’s peaceful in a way we haven’t had in a long time, leaving me hopeful for Mom’s future.
CHAPTER 4
Vito
Driving past the ice cream bar while heading home for a few hours before the job with Bishop and Easton, I damn near cause an accident spotting my sweet sugar candy with an older woman as they’re handed ice cream cones. Pulling off to the side of the road, I park illegally and watch them as they sit on a bench, enjoying their treat.
This was not what I expected to see, but it sure lights my ass up because any chance to land eyes on Stella is a good fucking day.
Her interactions with the woman are familiar, if not a little clumsy. Like they’re getting reacquainted. The woman turns to face Stella, and I notice similar features, leading me to suspect they are mother and daughter. A background check would confirm this; however, she seems the sort to be annoyed by the invasion, so I decide to hold back on it for now.
They stay seated until their desserts are finished, then begin walking the path along the beach. Watching until they’re out of sight, I hop back into my truck and drive slowly until finding them again, and park a block or two up so I can gaze upon Stella longer.
By the time the street lights illuminate and the sun sets, I’ve followed them three times before they turn back around. Once I ensure they reach their vehicle and are on their way home, I covertly accompany them to their single-story dwelling and watch as they get inside, safe and sound.
Leaving is difficult. What I want to do is knock on their door and claim my woman. I’ve waited for so damn long for someone like her, and the craving has turned into obsession. After tonight, my focus will shift solely on her for as long as I please, and that is something to look forward to.
Instead of driving home, I hit my storage unit to grab what I’ll need for this ambush tonight. Bishop confirmed they have everything we’ll need; however, I prefer my own tools of the trade.
After unlocking the door, I slip in and relock it before tugging on the dim light in the middle of the eight-by-eight unit. All my weapons are licensed, but I’d hate for anyone to see what I’ve procured and try to steal them. The biometric scanner on the door makes it difficult to break in, but nothing is impossible nowadays.
Grabbing a large duffel bag from a shelf, I prop it open on the makeshift counter. First thing to go in is my HK416 assault rifle; this bad boy saw me through a lot of battles. I gather a few ammo cartridges for it, pocketing them in the inside liner. Next are two Glock 19s with enough ammo clips to initiate a siege.
Satisfied, I move on to hand weaponry. Strider knives are my favorites, so I pack four in the side pocket before searching for zip ties and a garrote that I haven’t used in years. Pops of memory from a fight in the dark mountains of Afghanistan flash in and out as I finish packing my gear. My team and I had been cut off from communication due to satellite movements in the area. We spent ten hours in the pitch black, took out an entire group of men holding a small village hostage, with not a single shot fired.
That was one of my most memorable missions, one unrestricted by rules. Our orders were to kill, not capture, after we received intel that this was the same savage group of men who set fire to an all-girls school, killing all 56 occupants after raping several of them. There were three more missions after that one, all with similar outcomes. Benevolent tycoons who thought their money would buy them out of any situation. Diplomats who believed they were above the savageness of war. And a group of doctors who had their feet cut off. That one was particularly heinous because they were there to help.
Securing my arsenal, I snatch a Kevlar vest on the way out. Pulling off the light before opening the door, I slip out as stealthily as I came in. With everything locked up, I head to my truck, the night quiet as I open the back door, lift the bench seat, and store my bag, then make my way towards the Kincaid brothers.
“Hey, man, thanks again for doing this.” Easton offers a hand, and I take it before he shares the details of how this is about to go down. “You’ll watch our backs from the top of that warehouse; we’ll do the dirty work.”
Frowning, disappointment wallops my chest. “So, no blood for me?”
They share a look, and Easton responds, “I mean, I didn’t think you’d want to take that risk for shit that hasn’t got anything to do with you,” standing taller as he straps on his vest.
Giving him an annoyed look, I mutter, “I like the action too.”
“Dude, are you pouting?” Bishop nearly chokes on his laughter.
