2
Quain Beaumont
Luke fucking Boothwas the most frustrating man I’d ever met. I’d dealt with all kinds of people, from the Irish mob to the Russian bratva, and even the Reyes Cartel on occasion, but no one was quite like this jackass. He was so brazen, as if he didn’t care what he said or who he hurt in the process. I didn’t get hurt, especially not by words, but whenever he said something, he intrigued me even more—I wasn’t here for that. Even though New Gothenburg was my hometown and I still lived here, I had one job when it came to this asshole.
Protect him.
I didn’t ask questions I didn’t need answers for when it came to Luke. I had everything I needed from the district attorney who’d hired me to keep an eye on him. What I did know was that Luke Booth was this attorney’s son and he’d taken off from LA when he was sixteen. He moved in with his deadbeat uncle in New Gothenburg and had been here ever since. The elder Booth knew his son was part of the Kings, but that didn’t seem to concern him. He didn’t want Luke protected from the bikers—even though he’d once gone after the clubs—or the mafias he tried to take down. His biggest concern right now was the same cartel I’d worked for previously, the one that belonged to Thiago Reyes.
When Ardan, a Society assassin who also belonged to the Killough Company, came into town, I’d thought he’d been after Luke. I didn’t like the idea of taking out a friend, but a job was a job. Assassins like Ardan and I had work to do, and Ardan would have done the same thing. Luckily for both of us, he hadn’t been after Luke.
Now I sat with Luke in my expensive car, dripping wet from the rain that pounded against the windshield, and I hated that I’d felt sorry for him being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Ihadfollowed him, because making sure he got home safely was part of my assignment, but what wasn’t in the guidelines was making sure he didn’t get a cold.
Calling KC had been my only option. I knew Luke wouldn’t have left his bike out in the rain, and I didn’t blame him. The suburbs close to Dixon River weren’t safe, and with a pretty bike like that, anyone would take the chance to steal it.
Luckily for both of us, KC didn’t take long to get here with the truck. He pulled it up next to the bike and stuck his hand out the window of the rusted red Ford that used to belong to my dad with a wave. I shook my head at him. Luke was already out of the car before I could say anything, and he and KC met with a handshake.
KC was about Luke’s height, which was amusing considering he was only seventeen years old. He’d turn eighteen in a few months, but he was built like a monster. Tall and bulky, he was good with his hands when it came to vehicles. This wasn’t the boy I’d adopted, at least in the sense of appearance. The KC I’d first met was short and thin enough to be blown over by the wind, but he’d also been quick and could disappear within a crowd. This seventeen-year-old KC couldn’t. The only thing that reminded me of the KC I’d first met was the dark red hair.
I didn’t bother to step out of the BMW. It was easier to let KC and Luke do all the work of getting the bike onto the bed of the truck. They were obviously talking, and while I didn’t know about what, I trusted my son. He knew who Luke was and why it was important he watched what he said. I could hazard a guess they were discussing the bike because KC was waving at the engine with awe.
By the time they had the Ducati secured and had jumped off the truck, they were both sopping wet. KC gestured to my car, and Luke nodded. With another handshake, Luke left him and walked toward me again. This time when he hopped into the passenger seat, he was drenched.
I glared at him, and he grinned, shrugging.
“Sorry?”
I doubted that was the case. Muttering about his stupidity, I started the BMW and followed the truck out onto the road. We traveled on the highway and over another bridge to get to Vert Island, the small device on my windshield beeping as we passed the toll station, and finally arrived at my mid-century modern home. It was a five-bedroom beauty I’d paid for with cash. Most people I’d met who didn’t know my real identity assumed I must own a line of salons, and while I was as trained as any normal hairstylist, it was easier to make a lot of money with hits.
Taking the job to protect Luke made sure I could do both—be a hairstylist and an assassin; although, I hadn’t killed anyone since I took the assignment. I had no idea what his father was worried about. Sometimes I caught an itch to kill, though. Murdering was what I was good at, and it was better to be paid to take some criminal out than go on a killing spree like a serial killer.
Luke let out an impressed whistle as I pulled the car into the driveway. At least it wasn’t raining as hard on Vert Island as it had been near Dixon River. “This belong to KC?”
I chuckled. “You do realize KC is seventeen, right?”
“Fuck off.” He turned wide eyes at me. “He’s built like a fucking linebacker.”
“That’s appropriate because heisa linebacker on his high school football team.” I smirked and opened the door, stepping out of the car. KC had driven the truck around the side of the house and toward the back garage we kept for his projects, which was large enough to fit ten cars—eleven if one or two were small. “And he’s my son.Iown this house.” I shut the door before he could react and chuckled to myself.
Luke was quick to follow me out of the car and closed the door too hard. I glared at him as I walked toward the front door of my home. He was right behind me.
“You can’t make this much money from a salon.”
“Why not?” I asked over my shoulder as I unlocked the oak door. The house had been built with stone and glass, and thick bulletproof windows replaced some walls. My bedroom, which was upstairs, had three walls of glass so I could stare out into the extensive green backyard and crystal pool. I never brought strangers home with me, so I’d never fucked in that bedroom before, but it was something I’d always wanted to try. I’d make sure KC wasn’t home, and I’d leave the curtainss open while a man fucked me against the glass, my body pressed flat against it as he drilled his cock into my hole.
The thought caused a shiver to run down my spine. Fuck, I wanted that so bad. It’d been too long since I was screwed against a wall. I’d had some quick hookups at the local bars, but nothing much more than that—not while my life revolved around Luke and keeping him safe. How did I go from being a killer to a babysitter?
Right.
Money.
Lots of it.
I shook my head and opened the door, walking into the foyer. The living room was straight-ahead, attached by one step down into it, while the kitchen was immediately to the left, wide and spacious and the perfect space to cook when I had time. Cooking made sense to me in a world of irritating people and jobs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made a large meal for me and KC. There’d been no time to relax since I’d started chasing Luke around. The guy didn’t know how to sit still.
Luke whistled again, staring around at the white walls, lilac U-shaped couch, and the wide-screen TV that filled the wall above the fireplace. Now that he was under light, the thin silver ring in his nose glinted. I’d always hated facial piercings, but it matched his personality and I liked it on him. “Christ, this is nice.”
“Of course it is.” I sniffed at him and took off my jacket. The nights had started to cool to the point of needing warmer clothes; even when it was summer I was always colder than everyone else. My dad used to joke that I had cold blood. I was an assassin after all, so maybe he had a point. I murdered without remorse.
