Page 55 of Gangsters and Guns


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When I enter my living room, I can already see a sticky note glaring at me, and I can’t stop my eyes from rolling. Plucking it off the counter, I recognize Alistair’s looping penmanship.

Dog walker is outside your door, leave Mischief in her capable hands.

Clenching my fist, I crumble the note and toss it in the trash. I give my apartment a quick once-over, ensuring no other little neon notes are awaiting me, before leashing my dog and heading for the door.

I throw on the short leather jacket that matches my boots and yank open my door. Sure as shit, a woman is perched on the opposite wall wearing black leggings, a sharp pair of Nikes, and a hoodie to match her shoes. Mischief immediately runs over to her, wagging his stump of a tail. A smile covers her face as she bends down to pet him. “Who’s a good boy?” she coos, scratching him behind his ears.

“You must be the dog walker?” I ask, handing over his leash.

“Yep.” She smiles proudly, taking the lead. “My name is Mackenzie. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. O’Brien.”

Her smile is warm and it reaches her eyes. I immediately like her. “You can call me Rory. It’s nice to meet you too, Mackenzie. Mischief sure seems to like you, and he’s a good judge of character.”

Before she can respond, my third alarm blares. Pulling out my phone, I turn the fucker off and see the time is six-thirty AM. I still have ninety minutes until the guys are due in. I’m so fucking ahead of schedule, it’s not even funny.

“Gotta go,” I say, tucking it back into my purse. “Want to ride the elevator down together?”

“Sure,” Mackenzie replies with a grin. Mischief trots happily between us, his tongue already lolling from his mouth. She presses the button for ground level, and the elevator begins to move.

“Been dog walking a long time?” I inquire, not wanting the ride down to be filled with awkward silence.

“No, actually,” she admits, her cheeks reddening in what I can only assume is embarrassment. “But I needed some extra money, and it seemed like a good gig. I’ve always loved dogs but can’t afford one of my own.”

I feel that, if she only knew how alike we actually are.

“It’s amazing how quickly things can change,” I say softly, looking through the glass doors. “One day you have nothing, then the next, everything is at your fingertips. Things will change for you too one day, you’ll see.”

Before she can get out another word, the elevator doors open, and I rush out, hoping I didn’t overstep my bounds. With some pep in my step, I hurry over to the second bay of elevators that will take me down to my car, and a few minutes later, I’m behind the wheel with the sound of a purring engine in my ears.

After messing with the navigation, I enter the address for the nearest Starbucks and exit the parking garage. Traffic is still relatively light this time of day, and by the time I get to the drive through line, I’m only the fourth car back.

I’ve always dreamed of ordering from Starbucks, getting some fancy drink that warms my hands and my soul. Seeing as it’s fall, it seems only appropriate to try my very first pumpkin spice latte, so that’s exactly what I order.

“Will that be all for you today?” the woman’s voice asks through the speaker.

“Yep,” I answer.

She rattles off my total and tells me to pull around as my mouth begins to water. The token smells of the coffee shop are ripe in the air, and I can’t fucking wait to get my hands on my first PSL.

It’s fucking worth it. Driving away, I pull out the stopper and bring the white lid to my lips, tentatively sipping the hot liquid.

Holy fuck.

It’s glorious.

Sweet yet savory, smooth and frothy… It’s everything I’ve ever imagined and more. Now I understand all the decor in the stores, and why everyone decorates for fall depicting pumpkin spice latte items. Because this? This is heaven.

Yeah, this may become a habitual part of my morning routine.

Turning up the radio, I jam out to some old-school Usher and head toward the office. I pull into my designated parking spot and turn off my car before lifting the door and stepping out. I’ve barely drank any of my latte, partly because it’s so fucking hot, but mostly because I was singing my ass off. The bass thumps in my Ferrari, vibrating my body while I dance on the seat.

Forgetting myself, I lean down, bending over the driver’s seat to reach my purse perched on the passenger seat when I hear a catcall behind me.

Fuck.

My thong-clad ass is totally exposed. Cursing the Dixen brothers, I try to ignore them and quickly shut my car.

“Nice ride, hot stuff. You like stick shifts?” a random male voice calls.

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