Page 17 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

I fight not to let my face tell her to go fuck a blowtorch.

I know I’m tempted, but that wouldn’t be neighborly, and I don’t want to create problems for Leila later on.

I do wish Jefferson had another place for food.

Hell, if I wasn’t worried about waking Leila up, I’d make us both breakfast at home.

Eight more days, I tell myself.

But, like every morning since arriving, I don’t say a word as she waits for me to explain myself.

Tough luck, bitch.

I’ve had tougher, meaner, scarier people than her try to get me to talk and they weren’t successful either. I even have the scars to prove it .

“And how do you know he’s not doing anything?” A blonde with bright blue eyes and an arched eyebrow slides up next to me. “If anything, looks to me like you’re the one not doing anything at the moment.”

Splotches of red rise up Mable’s throat and fill her cheeks. “We’re just having a friendly conversation.”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “And a praying mantis is only a bug.” She holds up a folded twenty dollar bill and waves it. “Coffee ... please.”

Mable snatches it from between the other woman’s fingers and stuffs it into the till along with mine. Neither of us get our change back, I note. But we do get a nasty glower before Mable stalks away to grab our orders.

I wait for the blonde to strike up a conversation.

To tell me not to let Mable get under my skin.

Any number of bonding sentiments, but she moves away from me like the three feet between us wasn’t enough.

Her face drops to the lit screen on her phone and she simply waits for her drink without even sparing me a glance.

I immediately like her. Can’t be sure if I’ve seen her before, but she definitely gets a gold star in my books.

“Morning, Mable.”

The voice carries with the clang of bells as the door is swept open by a tall, broad man in a uniform the same brown as runny shit. The silver star pinned to his impressive chest glints in the blinding sunlight spilling through the walls of glass. Kind of hits like a warning as he ambles closer.

Reed Weir.

Fuck me.

I know I would eventually have to meet him. The fact that I have successfully managed to evade him the last several weeks must have been some kind of luck, but I sure was hoping for a few more days.

Eyes the green of damp moss drift to the blonde. Not sleezy, but casual.

“Morning, Lauren.”

The girl lifts her gaze and fixes him with a deadpan expression of someone annoyed at being addressed.

I definitely like her.

“Deputy.”

The corner of his mouth quirks, unbothered. “No coffee yet, huh?”

Lauren pinches her lips. “She might break a hip if she goes too fast.”

“I heard that!” Mable slams a paper cup on the counter, sloshing the liquid over the rim to stain the counter.

Lauren rolls her eyes even as she spins on her heels and moves to retrieve her drink. She pauses and looks Mable dead in the eye .

“Did I whisper?”

I have to bite my lip to contain my grin, especially when Mable sputters and recoils like she’d been physically assaulted.

But Lauren sweeps up her cup and stalks over to a nearby table.

Her phone is stuffed into her back pocket and she starts the process of dumping half the sugar jar inside her drink.

“There should be a law about rudeness,” Mable gripes.

Weir chuckles, unfazed by the interaction. “If I had to start arresting every person who is rude, half the town would be behind bars.”

Mable grumbles, but rather than respond, she pins me with her beady eyes and snaps, “Your sandwich is coming.”

I don’t get a chance to respond when I can feel the full weight of Weir’s attention now settled on my face.

Fucking Mable.

“You own the bike out there.” It is not a question.

I give a nod.

“She’s beautiful.”

I have to resist the urge to shift.

“Thanks.”

I’m saved from his scrutiny just long enough for him to tell Mable the usual, before it returns.

“You’re not from around here. ”

Mable is not moving. She is fully invested in this conversation.

“No.”

Short, clean answers. That’s how I was raised to deal with cops, or anyone in authority.

“Do you have business in the area?”

Trick question.

Both will lead to more questions. Not answering will only make it worse.

“House hunting.” Not a lie.

I fully intend to get a house and settle down with Leila if she wants to stay here.

Weir’s eyebrows lift. “So, you’re planning to stay.”

This guy really likes asking questions without actually asking a question.

“Thinking about it.”

He nods slowly. “What do you do?”

“IT.” Again, not a lie.

“Interesting.” He turns and smiles at Mable as she hands him his coffee. Still no sandwich for me. “Could probably use one of those at City Hall. You should talk to the Mayor.”

Not what I was expecting. I’m taken aback by his ... helpfulness.

“I will. Thanks. ”

He gives me a brief bob of his head before lifting his black brew in Mable’s direction. “Thanks, Mable.”

Just like that, he leaves.

Either he’s blind and thinks I look trustworthy, or Jefferson really is stupidly trusting, but whatever. As long as he’s not getting in my way, we’ll be fine.

Leila is already at the bank when I pull up and cut the engine.

I usually make it a point to arrive after her.

Partially so she can’t see which direction I come from, but also because I enjoy the pleasure on her face when she sees me.

Oh, she tries to hide it behind her scowl and suspicions, but I know she likes it. Likes having me close by.

I park in my usual spot and kill the engine. My body reflexively settles in its comfortable position, accustomed to the long wait.

Does it bother me? No. Why would it? I would wait longer if necessary.

Being away from her for as long as I was, I refuse to spend a second without her that I can avoid.

Soon, I won’t have to wait out here. I can go inside.

I won’t loiter. I don’t want to get her in trouble, but I can wait at the bakery.

I can drop her off and pick her up. It’ll be easier. The way it was always meant to be.

For now, a sore ass is a small price to pay.

At least today is going to be fun .

I’m still grinning to myself when Leila appears at the glass wall. She’s in a long, flowy skirt and a loosely knitted sweater. Her long strands are twisted into a thick plait over one shoulder and bound by a red ribbon.

Her soft, emerald gaze sweeps in my direction and narrows.

Her lips purse with displeasure, but all I can think is, I’m the only person in the world who knows her nipples and clit have little silver bars through them.

I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from groaning at the memory of her beneath me last night.

The metal of her clit piercing cold beneath my tongue.

“Fuck,” I groan to myself, struggling with the urge not to reach down and soothe the dick stiffening in my pants.

Really fucked up timing, honestly. All I need is one delicate flower to spot my tent and call the sheriff.

Actually ... maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I would love to look Reed Weir in the stupid face and tell him I’m remembering how delicious his sister’s cunt tasted last night. Not my fault I popped a woodie in the middle of town.

I snicker under my breath.

While I shiver at the delightful daydream, I will my cock to behave. Soon enough, Leila will have my baby, and everyone will know who she belongs to. I just need to be patient.

While I wait, I pull out my phone and settle back to handle some of my own work .

The VPN locks in with a swipe of my fingers. Three firewalls crumble with the efficiency of crumpled tinfoil. My custom OS boots clean. No pings. No alerts. Just code and justice.

Work is definitely easier on my desktop. Punching lines in with my gloves, through a tinted visor is tedious and leaves too many margins open for error, but I’m getting better at it.

I open the secure message thread. Skim the reply.

“Target confirmed. Funds delivered.”

Despite numerous missions with the body on the other end, I tap the tracker feed and pull up the CCTV footage of the Department of Defense.

I have to tilt my phone sideways to watch the video of the middle-aged man being escorted out of a glass-paneled office.

His lanyard swings wildly as he makes a feeble attempt at resisting.

Judging by the splotches of purple bloating his already doughy features, he’s not pleased by the warrant the officers are holding up.

His meaty fist waves with righteous indignation, and I wonder where all that zest was when he was selling weapons contracts to paramilitary thugs.

My alert pings an incoming message, but I stay on the video. My need to see my work through has nothing to do with ego — not entirely — I just enjoy watching them get tackled to the ground and cuffed when they try to fight .

This moron just gutted his twenty-year career to fatten up his own pockets. While I appreciate a man who hustles, not at the cost of innocent lives. That’s when I come in and help right the scales.

He sold weapons to bad people.

I sold him out to his enemies and leaked all his naughty behavior to the powers that be.

Circle of life.

My phone buzzes again.

Wesley Halbrook is trying to throw off the three government agents wrestling him to the ground, but I swipe to the message.

A crypto transfer blips across my screen. Six figures. A nice, round number that only makes me happy once I’ve deposited it into Leila and my future fund.

It’s a pretty good number already. Enough that Leila never has to work again if she doesn’t want to. Enough to buy or build a house and raise our family. There’s enough in there to start a whole life together without worrying about a thing.

I shut the phone off and slide it back into my pocket.

The weight of the money is nothing compared to the buzz in my chest. The rush of adrenaline I get after a successful job. The clean digital sweep. The dummy trails. Accounts rinsed and tucked into five offshore vaults no one’s ever going to trace unless they’re me .

It’s damn good work for a gutter kid with barely any education who happened to find a laptop in the trash one day and taught himself how to repair it. From there, it was a matter of learning everything so I could find Leila.

Took a long fucking time, but I never stopped.

I dug up every news story, every whisper.

I tracked every camera within four hundred meters of her school, the last place she’d gone.

I slipped into their database and watched her arrive.

I watched her round the corner and walk up the block leading to the main gates.

She’d been in her jeans and one of my gray shirts.

She went inside and left at three, a little after the final bell.

I watched her jog down the steps and start down the same way we’d taken a million times. All the times I dropped her off and picked her up. I should have been there, waiting in my usual spot by the gates for her. But Everett had broken three of my ribs the night before, and moving...

I should have gone with her.

I should have never let her go by herself.

But I trusted her.

I thought she would never leave me.

I thought she would come back and curl up into my arms and tell me about her day. But she didn’t. I never saw her again.

The leather of my gloves squeak with the curling of my fists. I draw in a slow, meditative breath to calm the building noise rising between my ears. Pounding in my chest. The damn helmet doesn’t help. There’s no fucking air in the box.

I can’t breathe.

Shit!

Willing down the panic, I scramble off the bike and stalk with hurried purpose to the nearest turn in the road. I duck between two buildings and wrench my helmet off.

Air, sweet, cinnamon scented air rushes down my lungs.

It fills my chest in greedy gulps. I wheeze and drop my head back against the red bricks behind me, eyes closed.

My fingers twist in the plait knotted at my wrist. The only thing I had left of Leila that kept me sane. All that’s keeping me grounded now.

I found her, I tell myself. Everything is going to be fine now. I won’t let her go again. It’ll be like it was.

But what if she runs again?

What if she doesn’t want me?

No. She does. I know she does. I know her better than anyone. I know she loves me.

Why the fuck would she love a worthless piece of shit like you when she can have anyone? A real man. Not some creep in a helmet.

“Stop it!” I dig the heels of my hands into my temples to stop the voices. “She loves me.”

That’s why she ran? Why she had to get away from you and the sick disease running through your veins? Why would she want babies with someone like you? She did what she had to do to survive. You were easy. Someone to take the beatings and protect her. She never loved you.

“Yes, she did.”

But the voice won’t let up. It prods holes in my every conviction until I can’t be sure of anything anymore, except...

Leila loves me.

I know she does.

I think she does.

I push off the wall and straighten with the rub of a hand under my nose. I take a quick inhale before replacing my helmet.

It’s fine.

I’ll teach her to love me again.

I’ll remind her just how happy we were, despite everything.

I’ll remind her of the plans we whispered in the dark. The promises we made.

I touch her neatly woven strands once more.

In eight days, she will be mine and I will never let anything take her from me again.