“Why is it that the gorgeous ones with the killer bods are always the most dangerous?”
Britain
Partneringwith Rebel had Brit’s heart pounding hard, while she stayed focused on her marks.
The Hurly brothers were as exciting as a doormat. One stunk, the other kept burping. She was grateful neither was farting.
Based on the way they were leering at her, she doubted a kitchen explosion could have moved their sorry asses off the uncomfortable wooden stools.
First, they made small talk. She didn’t act overly interested, but she wasn’t rude either. Just a few words, a little eye contact. She kept her head dipped, raised her eyes, hoping they bought into her submissive look.
Tonight, she was packing heat. Under her arm, tucked in its holster, was her Glock. Like a security blanket to a baby, her weapon calmed her.
What she loved the most about this mission was having a partner. Her strikingly handsome man sat no more than twenty feet away. Despite the attentive waitress and the patron looking to hook up, she was confident Rebel had her back.
She snuck a glance over her shoulder. Though he’d worn sunglasses, he was staring in her direction. Heat spread through her, the rush of adrenaline becoming her go-to drug. Dressed in ripped blue jeans, a black shirt, army green jacket, and boots, he’d tucked his blond hair into a knit cap, kept his bright eyes concealed behind his shades.
So sexy. So mine.
Like her, his Glock was tucked in his shoulder holster, but he’d brought along a second firearm in his ankle holster. Rebel also had a knife in its sheath on his belt.
“Your husband sounds like a loser,” the burper said, his gut protruding several inches in front of him.
“It’s not just the cheating. He won’t work. I’m busting my ass with two jobs and he keeps stealing my dancer tips for his coke habit.”
The tatted guy patted her thigh. “It’s okay honey.”
Her skin crawled, but she forced herselfnotto swat his hand away.
While tats could be sexy as hell, his were in all the wrong places. A skull on his cheek, a flock of birds covered his chin, a woman’s face was inked on his neck, and the words Nightmares and Bad Dreams were written across his forehead.
“Here’s the kicker—” she glanced from one brother to the other— “he’s sleeping with my best friend.”
“Jesus, he sounds like a slimeball.” Fat Guy let out a loud belch. “Sorry, three bowls of chili are talkin’ back to me.”
Ew. Yuck.
“I told him I want him out, but he won’t leave,” she said. “He thinks I’m at work, so I know she’s with him. In my bed.” She tightened her hands into fists. “I need him gone.”
Burper’s eyes widened. “Dead?”
“As a fucking doornail.” She leaned close. His rancid breath made her want to gag. “I got ten grand. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. Do you know anyone who can help me?”
The brothers eyed each other for several seconds.
C’mon. Say yes.
“We’ll do it,” said Tat Guy.
She let out an audible sigh. “Thank you.” After a pause, she continued. “He used to meet his coke dealer at some abandoned chapel in Falls Church, but the dealer ghosted. My husband’s desperate for more blow, so I know he’ll meet you there at, like, two in the morning.” She told them where the abandoned church was located.
Then, she smiled at them.
“You are one pretty lady,” Fat Guy said. “I would take good care of you, if you were my girl.”
“That’s so sweet,” she said, swallowing down the bile.
Tat Guy puffed out his chest. “Maybe she likes me.”
