Page 19 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

TRUETT

Fuck. Yes.

I needed this , I think as I put my fist through this pimp’s nose.

I like the white-hat stuff in the digital space, but sometimes you need to get up close and personal with the problem.

Smell the blood in the air, if you will.

And now that I’m not babysitting my social media prince, I have some catching up to do.

Sex work has been mostly decriminalized in Texas, and while that is generally a better situation, the pimps who were put out of business simply set their sights lower.

Or younger, as the case may be.

I work with a group of sex workers who are trying to reduce the violence against people in this line of work, and have, on occasion, put a guy in his place when it was called for.

Man, I really needed this.

I break this asshole’s jaw and orbital bone for good measure, hoping that’ll take him off the streets long enough for him to reconsider his business model.

If not, Detective Hitchens has, rather persistently, asked that I share any information I come across that he’d be able to act on.

I’ve begrudgingly agreed to this, if only because some things are above my pay grade .

By the way, I’m pretty sure booneyruney819, the newest member of our WhiteHat group, is Hitchens. I shared my suspicions with spürsfan_2020, who has promised to keep an eye on him.

“That’s for trying to pimp out underage kids,” I growl into the asshole’s ear. “If I see you out here again, I won’t be so nice the next time.”

He spits out a tooth, then reaches for his gun. “Fuck y?—”

It takes me a moment to process what’s happened. He wasn’t able to complete his sentence because half of his head disappeared in a silent, dim flash. I look down, searching for any parts of me that might be missing.

“Don’t worry, Valentine,” says a voice with a hauntingly familiar accent.

Omar appears over my left shoulder. He points to the open field by the side of the road and taps his ear.

A reflective flash in the tree line at the back of the field tells me there’s a shooter.

A damned good one on this windy, overcast night.

“My friend hits everything he aims for.”

“What kind of weapon makes body parts just disappear like that?” I whisper, feeling a little woozy.

“The advanced kind,” Anders answers, grinning from ear to ear as he approaches from the right with a large black tarp in hand.

“Uh,” I say, my heart racing.

This is where I die.

Omar helps Anders snap open the plasticky material, laying it down in front of me. Fuck. I’m going to be in a million pieces by the end of this.

Only…they grab for the practically headless man, take a few seconds to position him, and then roll him up like a Mexican abuela rolls a fucking taquito.

Okay, maybe the tarp wasn’t for me.

A large white Dooley appears a few minutes later, and a familiar tattooed silver fox along with his very handsome, very short husband hop out. Wordlessly, Everett and Rafi set about helping Omar and Anders move the body into the covered bed.

They’ve all clearly done this before.

“W-wait,” I stutter. “Why are you taking his body? Where are you taking his body?”

“We want to run some tests on him,” Rafi says, as if that’s not a horrifying prospect. He sticks out his hand. “By the way, I’m Rafi. The shooter.”

“And I’m Everett, his husband,” says the silver fox. He leans in and whispers, “Though you might know me as Daddy .”

Oh God. Don’t remind me.

Also, these two are somehow even hotter close up.

Avoiding eye contact, I shake both their hands, scrambling to stay on track. “So…what’s happening? Why did you kill him?”

“He was going for his gun,” Rafi supplies. “I’m sure you could’ve handled him, but my way was faster.”

Omar lifts a shoulder. “We also knew him a little better than you did. When we realized you’d gone back to your side quests, we looked him up.”

“How did you know I’d…?”

I let my words die out as Anders grins. I’m going to be breathing through a straw for the rest of my life, I just know it.

Everett shakes his head, then steps up to me. With a surprisingly light touch, he plucks something from my jacket near the collar. Anders, still grinning like a sociopath, shines his phone light on the filament between Everett’s inked fingers.

I don’t know what it is, but I do know it’s bad news.

“The latest in listening technology,” Everett provides, his voice beautifully rich.

Given that Omar bugged his own son, this should not surprise me as much as it does.

Anders crooks his elbow around mine. “You told my son he was bad at this. And then made a call to a group of sex workers looking for a good time. ”

“Habibi…” Omar looks at me and rolls his eyes. This one , he seems to say. So silly.

“What?” Anders replies, opening his palms. “Killing bad guys is a good time.”

I, too, hold my hands up in protest. “I—I wasn’t going to kill this guy.”

“What? Why not?” Anders asks, genuinely confused.

“I never use lethal force.”

Anders lets go of my arm, his expression stunned as the wind teases a few strands of hair from the knot at the base of his skull. I can’t tell if I’ve disappointed or offended him.

Looking over at his husband, he says, “I don’t think we can hire him if he doesn’t want to kill people.”

“What?” My brain shudders to a halt. “I thought you were helping me?”

“We’re not helping you,” Anders says with a huff that I’m not sure about. “We were trying to recruit you.”

I freeze, no clue what to think about that. I mean, have I imagined what it would be like to take on bad guys with the kind of firepower Anders and Omar Bash bring to the table? Sure.

But I don’t know a goddamn thing about how any of that works. I don’t know where they home-base out of, though I’m pretty sure it’s in the Hill Country. I don’t know what their ultimate goals are, and honestly, I don’t even know if they’re good people.

Yes, you do.

A curvy woman with intense freckling and wavy hair pulled back into a messy bun climbs out of the truck, tucking her phone in her back pocket.

“Sorry, had to finish up the call with Wimberley,” she says to the other guys before turning her attention to me.

Her smile is genuine. “Well, hey there. I’m Hedy. You’re Truett, right?”

“Yes…? ”

“So, are you interested?”

“Uhhh… What, exactly, am I supposed to be interested in?” I thumb a gesture at Anders and Omar. “They said something about wanting to hire me, but at this point, I don’t know my ass from a hole in the ground.”

Anders slaps his thigh. “Oh my God, you are so funny.”

I wait.

Crickets .

“I notice you’re not keen to clarify what you’d be recruiting me for.”

This Hedy person smiles and hands me an old-school business card. “Meet me at the plant nursery on the square in Wimberley next Saturday, two-ish. They’re repotting my alocasia for me, and we can talk details then.”

Omar grips my shoulder, his eyes sparkling. “Don’t forget to bring a flak jacket.”

The five of them laugh like he’s just said the funniest thing ever.

Well fuck. If Omar Bash thinks I need body armor to go into this conversation, I should probably update my will or something because I… uh.

I mean, they…

I sigh, no idea what the fuck I just agreed to. But I have a feeling it’s about to change my life.