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With a quick movement, I peek over the railing to see if the stairway is clear. The slug that zooms past my head and embeds in the stair above me tells me it isn’t. Fuck.
Margaret jumps at the gunshot and squeezes my hand tight. “Thisisreal.”
“Very,” I growl.
“Who’s up there?” a man calls, his accent coated in Boston. “I don’t want to shoot you, buddy. But this is my contract, and I can’t let you take it out from under me like this.”
“She’s dead. Contract’s already been fulfilled.”
“Ah, fuck.” He sighs heavily. “You sure?”
“I put a bullet between her eyes. I’m sure. Better luck next time.”
Margaret shakes her head, her gaze on my pistol. Does she think I’d hurt her? The thought is like a burr under my skin that I can’t handle.
With a soft tug, I pull her to me and press my lips to hers. Softly, gently, with all the warmth a coldhearted bastard like me can muster.
She’s stiff at first, but then she closes her eyes, her fear draining away as I show her the real reason I’m here. For her. Always for her.
Footsteps sound on the stairs. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to see the body. Make sure I missed out. This one time, a guy told me he’d killed the target and turns out hewasthe target! The target had killed a member of the Brotherhood. Can you imagine? So now I double check.”
I pull back, and her eyes flutter open, the golden irises even more beautiful up close. “I understand,” I call.
“Yeah, he tried to shoot me, but I knifed him real good.” The steps grow closer. “So maybe it was a good thing he killed the first guy since I’m the one who got the body bag bonus, am I right?”
“Right.” I lean over and glimpse his greasy hair a little way below us.
“Too bad you already got this one, though. I was hoping to have some fun with her before--”
My gunshot rings out loudly in the closed stairwell. The hitman gives me a surprised look from a flight down before he tumbles over the rail and lands with a crunch below. No one talks about my Margaret like that.
A shiver courses through her, but I grip her hand tighter and lead her down the stairs. I pause at each landing and listen. The sirens are here now, the cops looking at the dead hitman. There’s too much noise for me to listen for more threats. I don’t like it.
I hurry her down the last flight of stairs, shield her from the gore of the asshole I just popped, then ease through the door to the parking garage.
“Come on. Quickly.” I pull her along with me to my black SUV and help her into the passenger seat, then run around my side.
I start the engine right as a matte black Mustang screeches around the corner ahead.
Shit. “Don’t move.”
“What? Why aren’t we going?”
“Don’t. Move.” I let the engine idle as Xavier steps out of his car, checks his weapons, then trots to the stairwell we just exited.
He pauses before opening the door and glances around. His gaze lingers on my SUV for a moment, but from this angle in the dim garage, he can’t see through the driver’s side window. My heart rampages in its cage. I don’t want to kill Xavier, but I will if I have to.
After another quick glance, he yanks open the door and plunges into the stairwell.
I drag in a breath.
“He’s here to kill me?”
“Yes.” I hit the gas, roll out of the garage without fanfare, and hit the highway.
“Why?” Her voice cracks on the question, and I reach over and take her hand.
When I see tears rolling down her cheeks, a piece of me I’d thought was long dead fractures.
