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Mickey lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck, girl. I already said I can’t go into details. You know what I’m talking about.”
“You mean… the job…” I say, trying to figure out how to ask without outright asking.
“Yes,” Mickey confirms. “Your part is done.”
I should feel relieved.
But my stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat. “So, that’s it?”
Jude is dead?
Or soon-to-be dead?
“Yes, and the client is pleased. I’ve set up an account for you and you should expect the funds in three to five business days. Once everything is… confirmed.”
My head begins to spin, and I have to lean against the corner store’s dirty wall.
The ramifications of what’s been done, what I’ve caused, slowly sinking in.
“You’ve done good, girl,” Mickey rumbles in approval. “Your father would be proud.”
Then why do I feel so fucking terrible?
Why do I feel like I’ve made a huge fucking mistake?
“What now?” I ask.
Not sure if I’m asking myself, Mickey, or the universe.
I wanted away from Jude. Protection.
But not this…
“You sit tight at home for a couple of days. Once the transfer has gone through, we’ll meet.”
I nod, a strange sort of tingling numbness coming over me.
“You still there?” Mickey asks after a few moments. “Did ya hear me?”
I take a shaky breath. “Yes.”
“Good. Get some rest,” Mickey orders then disconnects.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back.
Waiting for the world to stop spinning.
I knew what I signed up for. Fuck, I forced myself into it.
Forced myself to do things I would never normally do for Abel.
For his future.
So why does it feel like I’ve done something without fully thinking through the ramifications like a stupid child?
Someone asks, “Hey girl… how you doin’?”
I open my eyes to see a man dressed in flannel, jeans, and work boots covered in dry dirt sauntering up and leering at me.
