Page 2 of Mine to Keep (Bloody Desires #10)

Her shriek sounds in my ear. “You shouldn’t have answered the phone if he wasn’t dead! He’ll know it’s me.”

“Where he’s going,” I say, pointing my Glock at him again, “he won’t tell anyone.” I give the judge the once-over, noticing the piss stain on the front of his pants, hurt clouding his vision. “I want my fee doubled for this fuck-up. You promised it would be a quick kill. You?—”

“You’re the fucking professional!” she seethes. “You’re the one that knows if a kill is easy or not!”

She’s not wrong, but I don’t admit that to her.

I’m tempted to say fuck it and let her get away with her shitty intel, but she’s fucking annoying.

Teresa Bowers has been a pain in the ass since she hired my agency, The Void, wanting to know my every move.

I was even forced to get this burner phone so she could be in constant contact.

“Fee. Doubled.” I pause to let the unspoken or else hang in the air. “Do you want to stay on the phone while I do it?” I ask in a bored tone.

“No,” she says quickly and I can hear her jewelry jingling over the phone. “No. Just…just tell me when it’s done. And clean the place up before you leave. I don’t want?—”

“I’m not the clean-up crew. You paid for a hit, I’m doing the hit. That’s all.”

“You listen to me, dammit! You do what I tell you! If I say?—”

I hang up the phone, not wanting to hear her bullshit. Teresa Bowers is tap dancing on my last fucking nerve. After a bullet goes through Judge Bowers’s head and she pays me my money, I’ll have nothing more to do with her. How this crime is spun is no longer on me. She can kiss my ass.

I’ll call my handler and have her charge Teresa for the cleaning crew. This eighty grand is mine now.

“Sorry, Judge. I gotta finish the job.”

I don’t give him time to beg as I lift my gun and pump two bullets into the middle of his forehead. His head kicks back, blood and brain matter splashed across the open safe.

After checking his pulse to ensure he’s dead, I pull my phone out and snap a picture for my company to forward to Teresa. Once that’s done, I take out the burner phone, remove the SIM card and break it in half before sliding the pieces into my pocket. The job is done, no more Teresa Bowers.

Five minutes later, when I’m clearing up my blood from the hallway, my business phone rings. Any call from The Void can’t be good. They never call, leaving it to my handler to relay any information.

“Fuuuuuck,” I groan, pulling my phone from my pocket. “What?” I bark into the receiver.

“Got word you didn’t complete the job as specified. Client is refusing to pay,” The Director says.

“The target is dead. I am owed one hundred and fifty grand. If she doesn’t pay, I will fucking kill her, money be damned.”

The line is quiet for a brief moment before the man on the other end says, “Heard. Give me a minute.” And he hangs up.

I stuff the phone back in my pocket, anger coursing through me.

When I heard where this job was going to be, I should have said no.

Arizona holds bad memories for me. But a payday this large doesn’t come around that often.

It’ll give me some cushion while I figure out my exit strategy.

I should have went with my gut instinct and stayed the fuck away. Nothing good happens to me in Arizona.

Three minutes later, a ding sounds on my phone, alerting me that my account received a deposit.

Then it rings again.

“What?” I answer in a hard voice.

“Client had a change of heart but expressed disappointment at being threatened.”

“Don’t give a fuck. Tell her to find another company if she wants someone else killed.” I’m the one that hangs up this time.

I’m pissed The Void almost allowed someone to skip out on paying me. Usually, they don’t give refunds or allow anyone who wants to stiff them to live long after the threat.

After I do a surface level clean-up of my and Judge Bowers’s blood from the hallway, I trot downstairs to locate my gun and make sure I left no other evidence behind.

My phone buzzes again and I snarl as I pull it out. It’s a text from my handler this time.

Peggy: Did you fuck up a job?

If it were anyone else, I’d be pissed at my fuckups being pointed out.

But Peggy and I go back years. She’s my second handler, taking over after my first handler was…

fired. Peggy and I have a better relationship than me and my first handler, actually meeting in person a few times.

It’s more of a security thing for both of us, mutually assured destruction and all that jazz.

I text her back with a frown.

Me: No. I killed him like I was supposed to.

I’m comfortable sending messages like that over the phone, as Peggy encrypted it herself with some fancy software I can’t begin to explain or understand. As soon as messages are sent, they’re deleted and unrecoverable.

She texts back quickly.

Peggy: What happened?

I give her the rundown of the job as I walk to my car that’s parked a block away, in a copse of trees just before the large, heavy gate for this community. It’s out of the line of sight of all the cameras mounted on top of the gate, so I can make a clean getaway.

A few minutes later, she messages me back.

Peggy: *laughing emoji* at least the job is done. Are you taking a break?

Me: Yeah. For a month, unless the money is right.

I might work for the company, but I’m the best contract killer they have on payroll and the most in demand. I can pick and choose what jobs I do, and tell them when I don’t want to work. Over the years, I’ve made a name for myself, able to name my own prices and pick my own targets.

Peggy texts me back.

Peggy: Enjoy. If something good comes across my board, I’ll hit you up.

I climb behind the wheel of my car, sighing as my muscles finally scream at me.

It’s been a few years since I’ve had to fight before a kill, even longer since someone hit me as hard as Judge Bowers.

I’ll have to stay inside my apartment for a week or more until my face heals.

I don’t live in the same state, but I don’t want any reason for anyone to suspect me of murder.

Makeup can only do so much.

Before I pull off, I get another phone call from the company.

“Dammit, I swear to God,” I say into the receiver when I answer.

“Client is still unhappy. We will not go down for your fuck-up.”

“You won’t,” I say, irritated beyond belief. “I have her on-camera discussing the murder. Send it to her and she’ll back the fuck off.”

Pulling my phone from my ear, I scroll through my video recording app and forward them the recording.

It’s a five-minute clip of Teresa, discussing how she wants her father killed.

There’s no way she can deny it’s her. The camera I had discretely affixed to the collar of my shirt was aimed directly at her.

In the video clip, she’s heard saying her name, her father’s name, how she wanted him killed and why.

If she tries to take us down, she’ll go down too.

“Hold, please,” he says, then hangs up.

“Fucking dick,” I mutter, and toss my phone into the passenger seat.

I grab a fitted cap from my backseat and pull it low over my face. I have on a disguise, but I want to be careful. My car is a nondescript sedan with fake plates, so if someone spots me, they won’t get any leads from that either.

I’m just clearing the gate when my phone rings. Keeping my eyes on the road, I grab it from the passenger seat and put it on speaker.

“You better have good news,” I threaten.

“Your message was received. She will not trouble us any further.”

I hang up without another word.

I know she won’t. Unless she wants to go down too.