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1
Goldie
Rain pours from the sky, piercing my skin like tiny needles. The wind wails around me, warning everyone that tonight is not a night they should be out. If I were smart, I’d be in, too. The need for money has me out in this god-awful weather. In fact, I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had an actual meal or slept in an actual bed. Hell, even my clothes are limited to what I have on my body, plus a bag with my coat and a shirt. I probably should have worn my coat, but it’s hard to be stealthy in heavy wool.
Brushing the water from my face, I peer through the scope, watching my target. He’s old. Likeoldold. I didn’t know that when I took the job. Not that it makes a difference to me. A job is a job. But I do feel a twinge of guilt when I see him leaning heavily on his walker as he shuffles around his living room, turning off lights. He makes his way from the room to the hallway where he gets on the lift that will carry him up the stairs.
“Finally,” I mutter.
I’ve been watching him for the last two weeks. Each night it’s the same routine. Lights out. Ride the lift to the second floor. A quick piss. Then he’s out until six the next morning, probably because of the handful of meds his nurse gives him before she leaves. Five minutes later, all the lights are off in the house and he’s probably fast asleep.
I stand, stretching. Time to make some money. More importantly, time to get away from Wolfe. And this job? Well, this job should do the trick. At least, that’s what he said before hiring me. There’s something in his eyes that makes me leery of him. Something that warns he’s not finished with me yet. But I shove the thought aside. I’ll deal with it just like I’ve dealt with every other creep who’s thought they could own me.
These new houses are built so close together that I can move easily from rooftop to rooftop with little effort on my end. The similar floor plans are even better. All I had to do was fill out a form online, acting like a potential buyer. The idiots sent me the blueprints, telling me what modifications could be made to cater to their extremely wealthy clients. That made me snort when I read it. I’m guessing after tonight they’ll be changing their policy as to what information they just hand out. I’ve hit six other houses in this neighborhood over the last few weeks. This one is my last, and easiest.
I creep down the metal fire escape to the window leading into the old man’s study. His safe is in there, too. With any luck, I should be in and out in ten minutes. My hand shakes as I pull a glass cutting tool from my satchel. My old mentor would tell me to get the hell out of there and try again on another night. I can almost hear her voice now.
Listen to me, Goldie. Your body knows more than your brain. If something feels off, then it is. Disappear into the shadows and try again later.
“Red, you’re too dramatic,” I mutter into the air.
The thing is, Red knewexactlywhat she was talking about, which is why her death shocked the hell out of me. She was the only parental figure I knew in this world, and now she’s gone. It was ruled a suicide, but I know better. Red was murdered, and as soon as I get paid for this job, I’m going to use my earnings to hire someone to find out who killed my friend. And why. Even though Red was a criminal, she was liked by everyone she met.
The glass finally gives, and I reach in, unlocking the window. Slowly, I lift it and step inside. The scent of cigar smoke hits my nose, tickling it. The old man likes to smoke in here where his nurse can’t see him. Gotta respect his hustle. I brush at my nose, hoping like hell that I don’t sneeze. That would be my fucking luck.
Moving across the floor, I reach the closet where the safe is. Except, when I open the doors, the safe isn’t there. Instead, I find the little old man with a pistol in his hand. What in the fuck?
“Think I didn’t know you’ve been watching me, girlie?” He scoffs. “Tell Wolfe he’ll have to do better than that.”
I stumble backward as the man lifts the gun. I’m almost to the window when I’m knocked to the floor. A split second later, I hear the gunshot. That old fucker shot me! Gritting my teeth, I force myself to move.
“You better run! And don’t you come back. The next time you won’t be so lucky,” the man hollers after me.
Outside, the temperature has dropped several degrees, and the rain hurts as it pierces my skin. Pain makes it hard to breathe, and the steady stream of blood making my shirt warm and sticky lets me know just how fucked I am. Shit! Holding my shoulder, I make my way down the fire escape.
Wolfe is going to be so fucking pissed that I messed up tonight. How did that old fucker know what I was up to? I’m starting to think I should have dug a little deeper into who he was instead of just seeing him as a frail old man. A laugh escapes my mouth. Frail my ass. Frail like a freaking bomb!
I finally reach the ground and stumble against the brick. There’s no way I’m going to make it back to Wolfe’s house. Not like this. My best option is to take shelter somewhere. There’s a house a few blocks away that crosses my mind. I’ve only seen traffic around it in the mornings, making me think the owners work nights. It’ll have to do because my body is already slowing against my will.
Groaning, I push myself to move. One step at a time. That’s all it takes. Time doesn’t matter. Pain doesn’t matter. Just one foot in front of the other. Finally, the house comes into sight. As always, there are no cars out front and no lights on inside. I slip between the bars of the iron fence and make my way to the back. None of the windows or doors are unlocked, so I pull out my trusty lock picking set. A dog barks somewhere nearby as I work, but I’m not worried. That might be the blood loss making me cocky, though. Finally, the door opens.
I wait a beat in case there’s an alarm. When nothing happens, I step inside. I’m in a kitchen. A fancy-ass kitchen, to be precise. Even in the dark, the white marble countertops gleam. In fact, everything in here appears to be white. White cabinets. White appliances. White backsplash. White floor. Looking down, I groan. Well, notallwhite. Between the mud caked on my boots and the blood dripping, the floor is a mess.
I kick my boots off by the door. There’s a white towel hanging by the sink, so I grab it, holding it to my wound. Hopefully, there’s a first-aid kit in here somewhere. Once I patch myself up, I’ll clean the floor. I eye the fridge. And then I’ll make myself a snack. With a plan in place, I get to work.
It’s going to be all right, I tell myself.
And, somehow, I believe it.
Really, I should know better by now.
* * *
Oliver
My phone dings and I reach for it, ignoring the protests of Gretel, the woman sucking my cock. I pat the top of her head, which seems to satisfy her, and she resumes sucking with the spirited dedication that I enjoy so much. I shouldn’t check my phone while I’m in here. This is supposed to be my downtime, but one never knows when something work related will come up. And running Neverland, Chicago’s premiere brothel, is a 24/7 gig.
There’s an automated text from the security system at the house. Glancing out the window, I wonder if the storm triggered something, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. God knows people have been foolish enough to think they could try something before. I open the app for the cameras in the house, swiping to the camera in the kitchen, where the alarm was triggered.
