Page 51 of Business vs. Pleasure

Son of a bitch.

“Put it away,” NightPigeon mouthed.

“Fuck. You.”

“I’ll shoot them.” He waggled the barrel of his gun a little. “I’ll do it.”

God damn it. August should have made sure to bring nonlethal measures along, but the gas cylinders were bulky and the taser was a one-off that wouldn’t do shit for bystanders. He should have brought it, though.

“August?” Ricardo’s voice was tense.

August clicked his tongue twice.

“I’m on my way.”

August ought to tell him to stick with Darrow, but he wasn’t above wanting backup once crazy people started pointing guns at kids. Click-click.

“Five,” NightPigeon counted silently. “Four. Three.” His finger was tightening on the trigger. “Two.”

August put his weapon back in the holster beneath the left side of his jacket. As the muzzle of the other gun turned in his direction, he let out a breath of relief.

“For heaven’s sa—ah, finally!” The woman dug the key out of the labyrinthine depths of her purse and fended off her spawn’s grabby hands. “No, nope, I’m opening the door this time. Jimmy, you head for the shower. Larry, you—stop hitting your brother if you want to keep iPad privileges!” The door finally shut, none of them aware of just how close they’d come to being collateral damage.

“So,” NightPigeon said into the new quiet of the hall. “The rumors about you going soft are true.”

“Oh sweetie, I’ve always been soft,” August replied smoothly. “I’ve got skin like a peach.”

“Yeah?” The hitman motioned him closer. “Why don’t we test that?” He glanced at August’s ear. “I assume Mr. Torralba is listening on his way, so we’ll make this short and sweet.”

“Incoming.” Ricardo’s voice was flat. “One minute and counting.”

One minute. August could handle that. “But not in the hallway,” he said. “That would be so gauche.”

“It would,” NightPigeon agreed. “And no, I have a little welcome gift in mind for Mr. Darrow that will pair very nicely with your corpse, so it’s better if we finish things in his room.” He stepped back and gestured at the door, keycard still inserted in the lock. “You first.”

August considered his options. They were too far apart for a dive to be effective, but the second he was inside that room the other man could simply shoot him in the back. He probably would, in fact, so August would have to content himself with moving slow and diving to the side the second he was in. Hopefully that would correlate well to Ricardo’s arrival.

If it didn’t, the only comfort he’d be getting was the cold kind.

“Get a move on,” NightPigeon snarled as August swanned over to the door. “Or I’ll shoot off a few more toes before we’re done.”

“Rude,” August muttered as he grabbed the knob. Forty-five seconds…he turned the knob, pushed the door open a few inches, then felt the tension under his hand suddenly give way.

He fell to the floor just in time to avoid the shotgun blast that splintered the door right where his head had been. Well…he avoided most of it. Prickles of heat lit up around his right shoulder and the base of his neck, followed by the slow, hot seep of blood. No pain yet…that was bad, wasn’t it?

Not as bad as the pattern on the carpet beneath his face. Honestly, chartreuse wasn’t a color that should be used industrially except on warning signs, and what was that shape supposed to be? A boomerang? A banana? Why were there bananas on the carpet?

“August!” Warm, familiar hands clasped his arms, shaking him sharply. “August!” He let his husband roll him over onto his back, and—ah, there was the pain, excellent. It wasn’t all that bad, either.

“I’m all right,” he assured Ricardo, who was staring at him with murder in his eyes. He looked around for NightPigeon’s body. “Shit, he got away?”

“Not clean,” Ricardo said grimly, looking behind them. August craned his neck so he could see the splotches of blood along with the damage from the shot on the far wall. That was nice.

“Darrow’s gone too.”

That was not so nice. “Fuck.” August winced as Ricardo helped him to his feet, and it was only a little bit from the bites of pain in his shoulder. “We have to track him down before NightPigeon does.” Darrow had gone from being a useful distraction to a significant problem, and they couldn’t leave the job undone.

And they especially couldn’t let NightPigeon get credit for it.