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I do things for hire. I’m an elite ghost, I kill, trade secrets, bring bastards down or keep them safe. It all depends on the zeroes after the numeral at the beginning.
Problem is I took the wrong job, got caught in the system, and took the heat for Dowd’s New York number one. Getting sent to prison should have been enough but one of Sean O’Brian’s men was also in lock up and I saved him, which made me the perfect choice for this job.
A neutral player who, if I get the goods—Hellena—to Chicago, gets to walk free of mafia entanglements and have all boards cleared, something these men like. Them owing you can be dangerous. Sometimes more than if you owe them.
It should be an easy job.
And if the princess with the dark red curls, creamy skin, red lips, and amber eyes is a little appealing, it’s nothing I can’t handle.
I had a friend, Mercer, in prison. We always had each others’ backs. He got out before me, but like recognizes like and the man has skills and contacts I could use for this job. Not that I’d waste a favor on a girl whose life was shaped for what I’m delivering her to.
My chest tightens.
If there’s a twinge in me, like a muscle I haven’t worked out for a long time, something like conscience, then it’s nothing I can’t ignore.
I know what Oliver Dowd is. I know how he treats women, and a wife…it’s no life at all for the flame of Hellena O’Brian, with her fiery eyes and soft, kissable mouth.
We’ve been on the road about an hour and she sits quiet, the kind of quiet that won’t shut the fuck up, the kind of quiet that fidgets and moves with a life of its own.
“No one would spring for a plane ticket?”
The mild bite of sarcasm in her honeyed voice makes me smile and my stomach tighten. The confines of the car are a little tight because of her. Again, nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been attracted to women I can’t have before. And if her pull is a little strong, I just ignore it.
“My father has a private plane, but…” She breathes out. “I imagine your boss Oliver has one, too. What does that say about me?”
“He’s not my boss.”
“That’s right, you’re a third-party hire. One without balloons.”
I laugh softly. “Balloons weren’t listed in my duties.”
“A good third party knows when to bring balloons, Cal.”
“Quinn. Most people call me Quinn.” That’s a lie. Most people don’t even know I’m there.
“I like Cal.”
“Driving is smarter than flying. Less fanfare, I know, but under the radar is how they want it.”
Hellena falls silent a moment. “I’m not a princess. And I’m not in a hurry. I just…don’t want this.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel as we drive into the early evening. We’re clear of New York City now. And shadows begin to gather on either side of the road I’m taking off the highway.
“Hellena—”
“Hellie.”
I smile. A slice of heaven wrapped in hell, one who smells sweetly spiced and is too pretty for her own good. The name definitely suits her.
But I’m not here to get to know her, to lust or dream or anything apart from delivering the goods. So I temper my thoughts and try not to think about how fucking pretty she is, how I can feel the volumes of her below the surface. She’s a job, nothing more.
“Hellena,” I say, “we all have burdens to bear. My advice? Make the most of this one.”
3
HELLIE
Cal. I’m going to call him Cal.
