The sun peeking through the alleyway danced across the familiar face in front of him. Ardan lowered his knife with a frown. “Quain?”
Quain glared at him, his short dark hair sticking up in all directions. He knocked Ardan’s arm away from him and straightened his jacket. The attire didn’t suit him. While he wasn’t a suit man like Ardan, he preferred finer clothes, from black pants custom designed to cotton shirts. “Ardan.”
“What was that?” Ardan snapped, waving around the alleyway. Quain was another assassin like Ardan, but as far as Ardan knew, he’d been on an assignment for the last four months. He didn’t expect to see Quain here.
Quain glanced around the alley and clasped his hands in front of him. “I respect we both have to work, but I don’t appreciate you homing in on my target.”
Realization dawned on Ardan and his jaw tightened, as did his hand around his knife. He never thought there would come a day where he’d need to put a knife through Quain’s gut, but Mancini was his. Anger surged through his veins, making his skin hot. “He’s mine.”
“I respectfully disagree.” Quain stepped forward and raised his chin. While he was considerably shorter than Ardan, he made up for it with his speed and agility. Quain was deadly. “I’ve been trailing him for months now, and I won’t let you touch him.”
“Months?” Ardan held back a snort and composed himself. “I haven’t seen you.”
“I’ve been here. If you didn’t notice the hairdressing salon beside the barber shop, that’s mine.” Quain sniffed in disdain, gaze sliding down Ardan’s chest like he was assessing the threat. “Luke is mine.”
“Wait. What?” Ardan took a step back with a frown. “Your target is Luke Booth?”
Quain’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “Obviously.”
Ardan laughed and raised his leg, returning the knife to his boot. “He’s all yours. I’m not here for him.”
“Then care to explain why you’re outside his shop.” Quain crossed his arms over his hoodie, brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I’m looking for Mancini. He came to New Gothenburg early this morning and I thought he might have been in contact with a motorcycle club. Kings are the only ones with any connections to the Society, so I thought I’d check out the businesses. Booth’s name rang a bell. He’s the son of the LA district attorney.”
Quain’s stiff posture relaxed and his face softened. “I’m aware. Hence why he’s my target. Why are you looking for Mancini? When he wants to become a ghost, he disappears, you know that. He’s only found when he wants to be. Even the Society has trouble contacting him when they need to.”
“You overestimate him,” Ardan said.
“Or you underestimate him because you want to hate him.” Quain grinned. This charming personality was the Quain that Ardan knew. The banter and the friendship. “I haven’t heard about Mancini being in town, but if he just got here, there’d be no chatter yet.”
Ardan nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets, glancing toward the end of the alley where people walked, no idea about the two dangerous man who lurked in the shadows of the buildings. Not even Booth knew who stood beside his shop. “If a hitman wanted a safe haven, where would he go in New Gothenburg?”
“That’s not a hard guess. The Courtesan Hotel. It’s owned by the Harlots and Madam Winters—”
“I’ve heard of her.” Not many of them hadn’t. The Society had a list of people not to piss off, and on that list was Sloan, Odin, some Russian mafia guys, and Natalia Winters, Madam of the Courtesan.
“Yeah, she’s a classy woman with a steel grip. She runs this world with sex.” Quain shook his head. “The Courtesan is a whorehouse with a lot of influential players. She knows powerful men and their dirty secrets. So the Society made the Courtesan a safe space. A no-kill zone. If I was Mancini, I’d be going there. There’s some pretty people there too.”
“I’m not after pretty people. I want Mancini.”
Quain smiled. “Really?”
“Not like that.” Ardan huffed.
“You’ve hated him since he killed Leonardo Folliero. I never understood why. You never knew the guy.”
“It doesn’t matter. The boss has given me permission to take Mancini out after he killed a couple of our customs agents.”
Quain shrugged and slid off his hoodie, revealing a purple shirt of the material Ardan was used to seeing him wear. A silver chain swung from his neck with the movement. “You have your quarrels. I have mine. Just remember, I put a bullet into the head of the man I loved. Don’t think I won’t do the same to you, if you come anywhere near Booth.”
“Yes, I did hear about Dean.” Ardan cocked his head. “It’s a pity. He was a good hitman.”
“That’s what you get for breaking the Society’s rules.” Quain didn’t sound even an ounce sorry about taking Dean out. While he might have been a good hitman, he was a lousy boyfriend, even if Quain did love him. “Keep out of my way, Ardan, or I’ll have a bullet with your name on it too. Not even your mob boss employer will be able to save you.”
Ardan’s lips twitched, and he cupped Quain’s cheek, laying a kiss on the opposite one. “It was good to see you.”
Quain grinned, all young innocence that fooled even the most suspicious men. Not Ardan, though. He’d worked alongside Quain for too long. “You too. We should get a drink again soon.”
