Page 45 of Mercenary

For Madelyn.

Fuck knows why I thought to protect her. Sat on her stoop and whittled marks into my kill-count stick after having just put a bullet into two more of Franco’s puppies. Bracing myself for a fast-approaching storm until I found myself inside her kitchen, eating cupcakes and licking icing off her sweet lips. Kissing her.

And I hate goddamn kissing. Too personal. Too intimate.

There’d been no lightbulb moment signaling that the next night, Kylie’d turn traitor. I had no fucking clue the bullshit about to go down. After all, it wasn’t my assignment. Kylie’d been the one Hayden handpicked to work the operation in the first place. Spying on Franco had been her job. Keeping her goddamn secrets, her job.

Still, I pulled Madelyn out of the equation. Gave her a chance. Kept tabs on her, all the same. Became fucking obsessed over her. Shit-for-luck irony, that.

Madelyn isn’t for me.

Just like that pup isn’t for me. Pudding—dumb name for a lab. I should have run him over, put him out of a life of misery with a wuss-ass name like that. If he was my pup, his name would be Killer. Like master, like dog.

Kylie’s not dealing with pissant amateurs anymore. As anticipated, Hayden’s sent in his professionals. Me. Probably Diego. If Jaxson were still alive, he’d be chasing her too.

They can chase, I’ll wait. Because I’m one step ahead of the game. If I play this right, if Kylie is tracking her sister’s bank transactions, if she cares at all about her sister, while they’re looking for Kylie, Kylie will be looking for me.

Madelyn sighs and resettles herself in the seat next to me.

“When was the last time you saw your sister?” I ask, my tone a bit harsher than I intend. It’s a question I know the answer to. But in case I’m wrong, it’s a place to start.

Madelyn snorts. “You give me the silent treatment for twenty minutes and this is what you want to talk about?”

I look over at her. Her skirt’s ridden up on her legs, showing off her tan thighs. I grab hold of the steering wheel, resisting the urge to touch her. Roll my palm over her thigh and slide my hand downward to cup her sweet pussy. Damn, the scent of her on my fingers still lingers in my head.

No. They’ll be no more touching her. Business. This is business. So I gruffly say, “Just answer my question, Madelyn.”

“The night after I met you.”

That’s what I thought.

“What is your connection with the mob?” she asks in return.

I stiffen.

She rolls her eyes, and waves a finger at me. “Here are the facts. One: Kylie’s pissed off the mob and is now on the run. That’s why she told me to leave Shelby if she didn’t show up at the Pitt. That’s why our trailer went up in flames. That’s why my returning to Shelby asking questions about her was a bad idea. Two: You’re acquainted with my sister. That’s why you helped me escape then and are helping me find her now. Three: Diego had his sister spy on me for you, therefore you and he are tight. You have an extended network of friends, just like the mob.”

“I’m not a goddamn mobster.”

“So why not fill in the blank spaces for me?”

“Let’s just keep it at this: we’re going to locate Kylie.”

She ignores me. “Here is the conclusion I’ve made: If you, Kylie, and probably Diego too are connected to the mob but are not part of the mob, you’re working together against the mob.”

Jesus, she’s too goddamn smart for her own good. Next she’ll be concluding we’re fucking DEA or the FBI, legitimately hired and “on the books” to investigate DiCapitano. I can’t answer questions about TORC. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“You’re wrong about number two,” I tell her, changing the direction this fucking conversation is headed.

Her lips part in surprise. “You’re not acquainted with Kylie?”

“I am,” I ground out.

“You did rescue me.” She arches an eyebrow at me, challenging me to say otherwise.

Jesus, wrong direction to take, but I find myself answering anyway. “No, I didn’t.”

She rolls her beautiful baby-blue eyes. “What do you call it then?”