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Tell Sex he’s off his rocker, and so is anybody else who thinks I’d ever let some fuckwit two-bit thug get the jump on me.
Too bad ordersareorders.
That never changes when you’re in this line of work, even when you’re not answering to Uncle Sam under military contract anymore.
“Another hotel then? Whatever, I guess if I have to pay out of pocket—”
“Nope.” He cuts me off. “You’ve said plenty about that fancy new place in the family now, and I hope you found it comfortable when you dropped by yesterday.”
Inwardly, I’m groaning.
“The house has a gate, security, and damn near belongs to its own zip code. You’ll be safer there than you will be at any hotel or Airbnb. And you’ll be the first to know when Mr. Strauss decides the coast is clear. Understood?”
I grit my teeth and force a nod.
I’m still slumped against the wall when Sex nods smartly, pivots, and walks away.
This is what I get for asking for a little goddamned karma, one little peck from Lady Luck.
Instead, I get house arrests—death by blue balls that would make Papa Smurf jealous.
Looks like I get to stay cooped up with Miss Unfuckable in the world’s saddest remake ofThe Brady Bunch.
* * *
A few hours later,I’m running along the docks, watching lazy yachts and sailboats casting long shadows in the slowly setting sun.
I lingered for a couple hours after taking in the news, pretending to clean my gear and guns until Sex found me again. He chased me off with a double scolding from James Nobel, an ice-cold robot of a senior officer heading up the company’s intelligence side.
My boots pound cement, faster and harder than usual after a full-blown workout. Like I’m still trying to outrun the vicious fate ahead of me.
Fuck, I’m not playing games.
If I have my way—and Iwill—Miss Delia won’t be riling me up again.
Even if I’m supposed to head home, orders were made to be bent, but not broken.
That’s why I stop off for a burger and hit the bar next door first.
It’s nothing fancy, just the perfect grease pit to find a girl to sneak in later. A stranger to take the edge off the obsession in my temporary home.
Obviously, it’s not the first time I’ve used sex as brain bleach. It’s a lot more fun than whiskey hangovers.
Just this once, I’ll let the night swallow everything.
Damascus.
St. John.
The girls I barely saved.
The cartel hit men who want me dead.
Ma and her drugs and her shiny new billionaire boy toy.
My tease of a princess with the peach-perfect ass.
Sooner or later, we’ll bust through the red tape and win ourselves some action. I’ll be jetting off with my team to be the world’s most vulnerable, highly paid garbage man.
