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“Thirty,” he replies.
“Hmm…”
“What?” He hands me toilet paper, and I wince as I wipe. He motions for me to stand, and I do so on shaky legs. “You have a hairy bush,” he states.
“I haven’t found anyone good enough to shave it for.” I glance down. “My legs are hairy too. I need to buy a razor, which I can do now that I have a job.” I smile proudly.
“You don’t yet. Have you called Edward?” My eyes feel heavy, and my back starts to feel a little looser.
“No, but I will,” I say, yawning.
When I look down, I see I’m wearing a Harley Davidson shirt. “This yours?” I ask as he helps me back to the bed and instructs me to turn onto my stomach. I do as he says, and he places the ice pack on my back once again.
“Kyson?”
“What?”
“Do you plan to kill me?”
“I haven’t decided,” he says as my eyes struggle to stay open.
“What have you decided?” I ask.
“That you are trouble. A nuisance. And a pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, I think the same about you.”
“And you have a drinking problem.”
“I have a life problem. Sometimes that problem needs to be numbed.”
“What are you running from?” he asks.
“Him,” is all I manage to say before I can’t fight it anymore and sleep takes me.
Eleven
Kyson
Him? What does that even mean? I’ve got no fucking idea. I know from Kenzo’s search that she’s running from something, but I have no idea what. And she isn’t willingly share information.
I’m standing in the foyer of Pops’s house. He’s the man who trained us to be his own personal killing machines. He was a trainer for special ops but left to do what he does best—train killers, and we’re his first successful killers. So much so he didn’t need to find any others. He gave up training more and completely focused on us three. He’s money hungry as fuck, which only adds to his intense focus. I know he doesn’t like the fact that we don’t solely use him to get clients anymore, but he can’t do anything about it. Yes, he still brings us the occasional job, but it’s up to us if we choose to do it or not.
We were raised differently from a lot of other kids. The streets and each other were all we had. It was fine. We survived. And I think it made us stronger. But I think someone has told Pops I’ve been having feelings of wanting to leave, and it’s why he’s called me here today.
“How are you?” Pops asks, handing me a glass. I take it but don’t drink. He puts his own glass to his lips. “Let’s go into the sitting area. It’s just us. No one else is here.”
I nod and follow him. When he sits on one of his white sofas, I do the same opposite of him.
“You’ve been off.” That’s how he chooses to start, right.
“All my jobs have been completed to perfection,” I remind him.
“What about her?” He doesn’t have to say her name for me to know he’s talking about Kalilah.
“What about her?” I ask.
“Kenzo let it slip you didn’t kill her.”
