Page 89 of Trigger Happy Ending

I lied to him. I lied to myself, too. Because we did it again. And again after that.

We left our mark everywhere, multiple times. Soren in my bed. Me in his. Soren in my shower. Me in his. The kitchen counter. The couch. The terrace with the city alive below us. We’ve even fucked in the goddamn weapons closet, which feels on brand for us, honestly.

It's like neither of us knows how to be in the same room without touching each other. The next few days blur at the edges while we wait for the Miami trip to roll around.

But it isn’t just sex.

It’s the way he makes my coffee the way I like it (black, with a dash of cream). Or the way he leaves my toothbrush on the vanity, toothpaste smeared on. I do stuff for him too. He likes it when I trace his tattoos with my pointed fingernail and ask what they represent. He also likes it when I rub lotion into the healing gun shot wound, which normally leads to me rubbing something else.

But it's those little things, you know? Those small, seemingly insignificant gestures that actually speak volumes. That’s the part I don’t want to look at too hard.

We talk, but never about what this is, or what happens when it ends. Instead, we trade stories from our messed up pasts and get to know each other. He tells me things in pieces, never all at once. I do the same. He makes me roll my eyes. I make him laugh. Then he makes me come.

For a few stolen days, we do something dangerously close to living like normal people. He even takes me to a movie. An old theater downtown, playing the original Halloween. We sit in the dark with a family-sized popcorn (extra butter) balanced between us, our hands dipping into the bucket at the same time. Onscreen, Michael Myers stabs his way through suburbia while Soren and I laugh and plot all the ways we’d take him down in under thirty seconds.

It feels weirdly domestic.

Amongst these strange, yet comfortable moments, I call Cherry when I can.

She always answers on the third ring, voice flatter than usual, less jokes, you know? Like fear has frozen that bright spark inside of her. But at least she’s okay. Cherry's still seeking refuge in a hotel while Smyth’s been building her a new life, feeding her documents she’ll need when she eventually leaves New York. It's taken longer than I'd like, but Smyth has to do this quietly and carefully, with The Agency getting wind of his movements. Now that the panic has worn off though, the questions have started.

“I don't get it, Angel. If you can do this for me,” Cherry asks, “why haven’t you done it for yourself?”

I never answer her. But I think about it all the time.

Because it’s true, you know.

If Cherry can disappear and become someone else, then what the hell am I still doing here?

Chapter 38

Raine

Ican see why greed is one of the seven deadly sins. I’m standing on the middle deck of 240 feet of it. You ever been on a super yacht? They are more floating palaces than yachts. The Golden Wave is no exception. Sure, it’s luxurious, but it screams “I’m-a-greedy-man-who-needs-validation.” Because don’t they all? I’ve worked around enough rich men to recognize the traits: they never stop. They always need more.

More money. More toys. More women.

Bigger homes, bigger boats, bigger planes.

More, more, more until it rots them from the inside.

The tour was exactly what I expected. Four decks of decadence and over-the-top lavishness. Below deck, I clocked a cinema (looked like it has never been used), a temperature-controlled wine cellar (organized from red to white to champagne), a gym (total ghost town), and a few forbidden rooms kept locked. Torture chamber, sex dungeon, surveillance hub … Who the fuck knows. Whatever they are, Carson doesn’t want them accessible.

The tour group was small, just me and a few other girls from the Golden Claw. I was glad when it ended. All the fake smiling has hurt my jaw. I wish Cherry was here, but it’s better she isn’t. No distractions. Well, that’s not quite true. I have one pretty giant one, and it’s Soren-sized.

God, life was much less complicated before him.

I’ve spent every waking moment thinking about Soren, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s bad for me. He’s addictive, like a vape. Might taste good, but who knows what the long term damage will be? He is guaranteed to burn me from the inside out. I tell myself that once this mission’s over, and he’s given his freedom, I’ll go back to the way I was before him.

You're such a little liar, Raine.

Things were less complicated, sure … But I was empty. Lonely.

I might be uncomfortable with how I feel and life might be messy now, but damn, it’s fun.

God help me, I think I’m happy.

I chew on my fingernail and let the sunshine warm my skin. The sea breeze lifts my white pleated mini skirt into the air. Flustered, I smooth it back down and adjust my fitted tank, before looking back out over the railing towards the marina. He should be here soon. Footsteps approach me from behind.