Page 3 of Mine to Keep (Bloody Desires #10)

two

shadows

One month later…

I sip my coffee, hoping it’ll wake me up before I reach the airport. My eyes feel scratchy, sleep hard to come by, even during my month of vacation. I’ve mainlined coffee for weeks, barely getting twenty-four hours of sleep the entire thirty days I’ve isolated myself.

Shadows.

The shadows have been creeping up on me, hiding secrets in their black depths.

My soul, scarred with death and gore, won’t let me rest, won’t allow me to purge myself of my past transgressions.

Every morning I woke up from my half an hour of sleep, I’d see ghosts of my past lurking in the shadows.

Faces swam in the darkness, eyeing me with judgment and accusation.

Faces of those close to me.

Faces of those I’ve killed. Faces I’ve seen right before I end their lives, sending them to meet their maker.

Namely the face of Judge Bowers. I never question why I kill someone or why there’s a contract on their lives.

Their number comes up and I punch their card.

But that particular fuck-up weighs heavily on me.

Something needles at me about that job, but I don’t know what it is or why a completed hit is still getting under my skin.

Fuck me, I need to get out of the business.

My debt has been paid for years, but old habits die hard. I’m good at my job and the money is good. My soul can stand the scars and abuse I put it through. For now, I can be unclean.

But for how much longer?

“We’re here,” my driver says, breaking me from my thoughts

I look over at the entrance of the airport, noticing how many people are crowded around at the outside check-in desk.

Sure, it would be easier to check in before stepping inside, but I’m not in the mood to wait under the awning, people bustling about and bumping into others without apology.

After running on fumes for the past month, I’m on too short a fuse to deal with anyone with terrible manners.

I might not have my gun, but I can make anything a weapon.

The driver turns around and looks at me as if he’s annoyed I haven’t gotten out yet. “Hey man, do you not want to be here? Your request said?—”

“This is where I need to be.”

“Need help with your luggage?”

“Nope.” I hop out of the car and drag my carry-on with me. People rush past me, their heads down while texting or shouting angrily into their phones. Several people almost run into me, but I glare at them, making them scurry away mumbling apologies.

When I step inside the airport, I approach the empty counter after tossing my empty coffee cup and the attendant smiles at me. “Can I help you, sir?”

Rubbing my tired eyes, I nod as I pull my wallet from my pocket. I make sure to use the ID that corresponds to the ticket The Void purchased for me.

The contract I have is sending me out of the US to Upria, Luxembourg, a small vineyard owned by a billionaire that crossed the wrong person. As a working-class man, taking out a billionaire is my good deed for the world. I’d do it for free if The Void ordered it.

My smile is more of a grimace when I slide my ID over to the attendant.

“I have a flight for 10:00am going to France.” From Paris, I’ll be driving to Upria, where there is a safe house waiting for me.

Guns, drugs to incapacitate the man, zip ties, and anything else I would need are available for the hit.

With most of my jobs, I don’t have specific instructions on how to dispatch my target unless they want them to look like an accident. For this hit, the client wants it to look the opposite. They want to make an example of him. So I plan to make it look as terrible as I can.

I abhor billionaires and their shitty practices of hoarding money.

The attendant looks at me through her lashes, blinking at me slowly. “Yes, Paris to be exact. The City of Lovers. Are you going for business or pleasure?”

Meaning: do you have a lover there?

I grin at her, enjoying her subtle flirting. “Both,” I say with a wink. Her brown cheeks flush a deeper rosy shade.

She bends to get my ticket printout, and circles where my gate is located. When she hands me my ticket, I see her number written on a small piece of paper. I have no intention of calling her, but it’s flattering.

“Enjoy your flight, sir.” Her voice takes on a sultry note, making my grin widen.

I know I’m handsome. Women swoon over my light brown eyes, sepia skin and freckles that dot my nose. Braces as soon as I could afford them helped with the smile women love so much, and the goatee I’m growing seems to have added to the appeal.

I tuck my ticket into the book of my passport, and toss her number into the first trash can I see. No need to hang on to it when I won’t use it.

After I step through the security checkpoint and TSA pats me down, I note just how busy the airport is.

Yeah, airports are normally full of travelers, but it’s seems more than usual.

I note all the families in the gates, kids shrieking and running around, and remember it’s summer and kids are out for summer break.

Flights will be packed and babies will be crying.

I’m thankful I brought along my noise-canceling headphones.

My first stop before I get to my gate is a coffee shop, buying the largest, strongest cup of coffee they have.

Caffeine will have to get the job done until I get to the safe house and ensure I’m not followed.

Then I’ll have to check over the plans and directions to the location of my hit, iron out my method of execution and verify I have everything I need.

So I may not sleep for at least fourteen more hours.

After spotting three empty seats in a sea full of occupied chairs, I weave in and out of the many people lying on the floor, and outstretched legs, to get to them. I’m surprised to see that the chairs are near an outlet, and no one has snapped them up yet.

I sit down and reach into my bag, pulling out my headphone case and phone charger. Setting my bag onto an empty seat, I zip it back up and plug my charger into the outlet. I have a long flight ahead of me and I don’t want to run the risk of my phone dying on me.

Once I’m comfortable, I pull out a book and open it to my marked page. The cover of the book is Don’t Hurt Me by Nelson Riggs but inside is all the information I need on my target, Joyner Sands.

I’ve been over his file numerous times, but it doesn’t hurt to study my target to ensure I can execute this effectively. After the fuck-up with Judge Bowers, I don’t want to be caught off guard again. Especially with my lack of sleep.

Sands is a fifty-five-year-old deadbeat father that embezzled funds from his tech company and absconded to Luxembourg. Though there is a treaty between the US and Luxembourg, Luxembourg authorities said they can’t arrest and extradite him back because there isn’t enough proof of a crime.

It’s been three years since he moved out of the country, leaving his employees without a paycheck and his investors out of their retirement funds. The attorney general is working to prove he’s guilty, but his estranged wife and kids aren’t willing to wait that long.

I pour over the information, taking in the coordinates and layout of his mini mansion, along with entry and exit points to ensure I get in and out without much trouble.

The vineyard he’s residing on is one of the most popular in the region, supplying not only grapes for wine-making, but raisins too, as well as facilitating the production of a world-renowned wine that goes for about three thousand dollars a bottle.

I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a bottle just to see if it’s really worth that much.

My eyes keep drifting closed, begging for a nap, but I can’t. I need to be alert while in such a busy location. Anyone could sneak up on me and jab a needle in my neck or stab me between the ribs with a slim but sharp blade.

Still, my eyes droop, exhaustion washing over me. It’s been weeks since I’ve slept. Weeks since I’ve been able to shut my brain off so I can recover and energize.

This is why I need to memorize everything I can about this file and Sands. If I don’t, I can fuck up another job like in Adelane, or I can end up dead and no one will ever know. The Void will cover it up and I’d be a nameless, faceless person in a morgue in Luxembourg.

“Excuse me,” a sweet, mildly deep voice says, making my eyes snap open and my hand fly to where I’d have my gun if I were armed.

Fuck, I can’t fall asleep.

Shaking myself, I sip some of the coffee that almost fell from my slack hand.

“Sir?”

I look up to see who the person is and who they’re talking to.

A short, slight Black man with long cornrows that drape down his back stands in front of me, his wide, innocent eyes boring into me. His hands hold the straps of his backpack in a tight grip.

He points to the seat beside where my backpack is resting and the one right beside it.

“Are these seats taken?” He’s biting his plump bottom lip, looking between me, the empty seats, and someone or something behind me.

I don’t turn around to see who or what he’s gaping at, not wanting to look suspicious.

My heart rate doesn’t pick up, but I’m on high alert. Who is this man and why did he approach me, of all people? I quickly glance around and see there are a few other empty chairs, even some together. So who is he and what is his angle?

It could be a hit. We might be in a crowded airport with people on all sides, but that means nothing. I’ve killed people in the middle of concerts, surrounded by thousands of people, and in churches during praise and worship. People being around isn’t a deterrent when the job needs to be completed.

I don’t answer, just lower my gaze back to the book—or document—I’m reading.

The man moves from foot to foot, making a sort of whining sound, ignoring the fact that I’m ignoring him.