“Kidding. I had a local contact help track you down.”
When I open my mouth to call him a dick, he stops me with a jerk of his chin toward my building. “There was somebody watching the place, though. Any idea who that would be?”
He may as well have slapped me. When I try to speak all that comes out at first is a choking sound. Why are my arms numb?
My gaze cuts to my building. The shitty little place that I thought was safe, in spite of the peeling paint and the shady landlord.
“Hey.” Milo steps forward. “It’s all good. Took care of ’im. No ID on the body though, which isn’t surprising. Also not great news.”
And the fact that Milo already “took care of him” is supposed to be? I can’t suppress my shiver. My vision swims. “You’re sure it was my place? I’m not worth looking for.”
“The price on your head would beg to differ.”
The reminder chills me. “I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything.”
“Well, that’s what I aim to find out.”
“What the hell do you care?” And here I am back to eyeballing the gun in his hand. It’s not aimed at me at this moment. But it’sthere.
“The thing is, I actually believe you. You don’t have the vibes. And I don’t kill innocents.” It’d be a nice thing to say if I couldn’t hear the sneer in his voice.
“Then why do you sound so pissed?” For that matter, should I be relieved or terrified that the man sent to kill me runs on vibes?
“My friend, this situation is a fucking cluster. And I don’t like mess. In the meantime, consider me your babysitter. I’ve got a line on a safe house, so go up there and pack your shit. We need to leave five minutes ago.” He gestures with the gun, as if I’m simply going to follow because he said so.
Now we’re friends? I don’t think so. What’s he going to do if I don’t follow him? Kill me? He already threatened to do that.
“I’m not going with you.” Then I give him my back and cross the darkened street toward my building’s entrance. There’s a moment where I flinch and freeze, waiting for a bullet in the back that doesn’t come. Did my new “friend” clock it though? Something tells me he did.
On the corner, there’s someone smoking a cigarette; its orange glow flares in the shadows next to the building. My heart stutters as I pass, bracing again for some sort of attack.
Someone already tried to kill me tonight. Technically, two someones. If I can believe Milo, apparently there’s a damn waiting list.
It’s eighty degrees tonight, but reliving the past few hours has me shivering.
Seriously, who did I piss off? It makes no sense. After I spent four years as a rich man’s kept pet, he got tired of me, and then I came here. My life is the world’s most boring sad story.
Until things went south with that client earlier, the idea of someone hating me that much never would have crossed my mind.
Thankfully, I make it into the building without trouble. Except for the part where there are still heavy footsteps following me.
“I told you I’m not going with you,” I say again over my shoulder.
“That’s just great,” Milo says. “You want to turn around and say that to my Walther PPK?”
Ugh. How was I scared shitless of this guy an hour or two ago? Now I’m ready to drop and all out of give-a-damn.
We reach my apartment and I unlock the door, not even caring when he follows. He’s had ample time to shoot me in the back, and he hasn’t yet.
“You said you don’t kill innocents,” I remind him.
“I forgot to add ‘unless they piss me off.’”
Great.
In my temporary shithole, the few items of clothing I own are basically separated into two canvas bins. One for clean, one for dirty. I strip off, noting that I’ll have to send Dean an apology for his ruined suit. Aside from being one of my only sort-of friends, as a former basketball player he’s the only person I know tall enough for me to borrow anything from.
Milo wanders in behind me and stations himself against my door. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest. Thank fuck he holstered the gun. Ignoring him, I shuck my pants and head for the shower, needing to wash off everything about this day.
