AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The second was confirmation that the target was dead. Yesterday.
And the third came in three seconds ago.
New Target Acquired. Interested?
My fingers tightened on the cell phone. Conflicting emotions rushed through me. Unlike the whirlwind of chaos that afflicted me when Angel was near, I felt no fear, no trepidation during a hit.
Killing was what I was good at. What gave me purpose.
Angel was… a momentary distraction. A beautiful, sexy distraction.
But distractions rarely stuck around. And something told me she’d be the first to run if I ever showed her who I really was.
No, it was too risky. Reid and my gun were the only things I could count on in this world, the only things that would remain by my side when it all came crashing down.
As it had before.
As it would again.
It was time to put foolish thoughts away. Angel was mine for the night, but she would never be mine forever.
11
Angel
Deacon’s house was massive. If I wasn’t so exhausted and on-edge, I’d run from corner to corner, admiring the wide kitchen or the paintings on the walls or the balcony outside that overlooked a floral haven.
Humphries had no problems living that dream for me.
“Can you believe this guy?” he murmured, returning to the sofa. When he plopped in, the cushions dipped. Gravity slid me over to his side.
I scrambled up and returned to my original position on the opposite end of the couch. “What about him?”
“This house. This island. That boat. And that cigar shop? I mean”—Humphries leaned over, eyebrows arched and head tilted—“who opens a cigar shop in Belize? Belizeans don’t smoke cigars. We’re cigarette people.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s got to be a front for something.” A worried line wrinkled his forehead. “What if it’s drugs?” He clamped my hand, his pudgy fingers squeezing my wrist tight. “Angel, what if we accepted the invitation of a drug dealer?”
Denial burst to my lips, but I kept quiet and thought about it. Humphries had a point. The circumstances were too shady for me to play naïve.
And I couldn’t forget the way Deacon had punched Peter earlier…
Did regular guys throw punches like that? So calmly and succinctly?
Humphries dotted at the sweat on his forehead. “Let’s get out of here.”
“And go where?” I whispered. “We’re on a private island. Do you know how to steer a boat?”
His voice climbed to a worried squeak. “How hard can it be?”
The easiest option would be to run, from these feelings, from that intense, brooding man with the calloused fingers and big hands that were way too gentle for their size.
Humphries’ suspicions magnified my own niggling doubts about Deacon and his character.
Who was this guy?
I’d let my own little fascination with him cloud my judgment, and that was how I’d landed here, in the house of a stranger I’d met only a handful of hours ago.
