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I look at him and straighten my tie. They’re two of our associates in the Knights organization. There are others up the ranks, but they’re more the silent types, the ones who give us the information we need to carry out our attacks. We’re the doers. And then there’s Jeremy, who’s been put in charge of doling out the assignments that come in for us.
But the politics of what we do and for whom bores me. Our objective is to eliminate scum from the Earth. I don’t need any more detail than that. I’m happy where I am in the organization, able to do what I want, when I want, without anyone getting in my way.
It’s why people like me and Malone tend to get along. We’re all the same.
“And why do I need to know that?”
“Just thought you should know. They always have the best girls upstairs.”
“Not interested.” Why the fuck would I care to sample what’s upstairs when I have my own piece of heaven at home. One I want like she’s a drug.
“Oh, yeah, you’ve gother.”
“Fuck off,” I say, pushing past him. I head for the exit.
No reason to stay her for a second longer.
I got exactly what I need.
Ivy’s pissed. I can feel it like a slap in the air when I walk in the front door a little while later to find her working on the floor in the living room. Cold wafts off her body, little tremors of hurt sting when I get too close.
I stand behind her and watch her work. Her hair is pulled back, her stylus pencil shoved in the knot at the base of her neck. She’s surrounded by an iPad, a computer, a notebook, and about five textbooks. Not to mention the empty cups and bowls.
A deep frown lines her face as she stares at the pile of papers and open books.
I don’t like messes. They always muddy waters, hide clues and answers along with mistakes. They agitate the fuck out of me.
But with her, I don’t mind.
“Why are you staring at me?” The inexplicable snap of her words brings a smile to my face.
I should be mad.
She’s not playing by the rules.
Problem with those rules is she actually likes them so they’re not really punishment, more titillation for both of us.
I cross the room and bend down to grab the bowls and cups. “Because you’re making a mess of our home.”
“This isn’t ahome. It’s a glorified trophy museum.”
My spine stiffens as I rise to my feet.
“I live here.”
“You might sleep here, but this isn’t a home and you know it. You’re like…Dracula, or Dorian Gray. Do you have a coffin, or a painting of a decrepit, messy house somewhere?”
She’s so fucking close to the truth, it’s disturbing. But I know it’s just her giving me a hard time. No one knows about my Bed-Stuy place. That’s just for me.
Even the workmen who did the things I couldn’t were paid in cash so they wouldn’t have a paper trail connecting it to me.
Her snarky comment was just a wild guess, a stab in the dark. I absently rinse the bowls before loading them into the dishwasher. When I’m done, I lean against the counter and rub my temples.
The information in the envelope burns a hole in my pocket. I went over what Malone gave me again and again. Every time I read the words, my blood burned hot in my veins. Sick, twisted scenarios wallpapered my mind, a knot of fury pulsing in my chest.
Soon enough, I won’t have to think about that shit ever again. A few calls got me exactly what I needed…his schedule for the night.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
