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“I was wondering if you had any…”
“Ah, peashooters.”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, blowing out a long breath. “No, but it might be I’ve got something. One and a half big ones. The big Gs.”
One and a half thousand dollars.
“Thank you. Really. From the bottom of my heart, but I don’t think that—”
“Let me show you the lay of the land, girl, before you start piping.” He chuckles. “It’s all that steam in your head. No, listen. It’s this contact—a cellular telephone number. Old Army compadre says there’s a rumor. An angel. A devil. Depending on what side of the barrel you’re on, get it?”
I parse through his words. It wasn’t easy at the beginning, eight months ago, but I’ve learned to speak his language. “A hitman?”
Fate is playing games with me. As soon as I say it, a tower of books topples. I almost scream, jumping from my chair, then lean back, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I have no idea why Eli stacks his books like this when they fall so often. “Like glaciers,” he said once.
“Aye, that’s the ticket,” Eli says now. “Might be you send him a message. State your case. Say you’ve got the one and a half Gs, fifteen hundred of pure American currency. Lowball, maybe, but a ball’s a ball.”
“Thank you, Eli.”
“My only wish, dear maiden, is to see you with a man and a litter of human pups. Happy and sunny. A man, you see? A life bonding.”
“A boyfriend, you mean?” I say, and he nods, and then I laugh sadly. “I’ve never had time for that sort of thing.”
“This number, it’s a virtual carrier pigeon deal. Got it? No talkie-talkie.”
“I have to text it?”
He nods. “That’s what I said, ain’t it?”
CHAPTER 2
Sam
“Get it, boy. Get it!” I yell, laughing as Jackal, my Belgian Malinois and best friend, attempts to tear my arm off. “You got it. Get it.”
He growls so loud I wonder if sound travels through the soundproof padding through the penthouse to the other apartments. This is the dog’s room, filled with toys for him, puzzles, and the arm sheath I’m currently wearing. It has a high ceiling so that he can perform agility challenges. He has a vertical leap that puts any NBA player to shame. The timer goes off, and I say sternly but not with too much excitement, “Done.”
Done is his neutral command. He immediately sits upright, head raised with dignity, his lean, cobalt body trembling slightly before settling down. He closes his mouth as if panting is too doggish for him. He’s so clever and proud.
“Good work.” I give him a pat on the head, and he flashes me his puppy eyes. “Let’s eat.”
I walk through the penthouse. It’s loaded with smart features, only activatable through a custom-made app on a jailbroken phone. There’s a hard reset, but it’s located at the rear of my safe in my secret room. As we walk into the large living space—loft-style ceiling, kitchen, and living room combined into a huge room—lights automatically flip on. The heated floor activates, and Jackal trots over to his favorite spot.
After filling his bowl, I take my premade chicken and rice from the fridge and set it to heat. Then I go through my burner phones. There are seven messages, but I’m picky about what jobs I take these days. I’m forty-two, and I’ve made more money than a single man will ever need. Hell, even if I had a family, I’d never have to work again. Not that I’ll ever have a family.
The thought makes me grim momentarily before I remember I’m dead inside. I can’t inflict my numb assassin’s mentality on a woman, the lack of love and warmth in my heart. At least when it comes to women, I’ve never been able to unlock what comes so easily to other men. I stopped trying years ago.
One text grabs my attention. Hello. I won’t say how I got this number, but you’re my last hope. I hear you can be an angel or a devil. I need both. Let me state the facts clearly. No bullshit.
I grin, appreciating that.
My mother is a drug addict. She borrowed five thousand dollars from the Russian mob. I think they’re called the Bratva. She doesn’t have the money. I can get one thousand and five hundred dollars, but that’s it. I was wondering, hoping, praying… Could you make the men back off? Apparently, if we run, they’re going to hurt ME too. So we’re stuck. I know this is crazy. This is probably a fake number, but please, if this is real, I need your help.
Jackal calmly walks over to his cage, climbs inside, then tilts his head and stares at me. Since I rescued him, his cage has always been his safe space. I walk over and close it. He shuts his eyes. Then I look at the text again, feeling a strange tugging in my chest.
