Page 23 of Play Dirty
“Stop calling me that,” Madi snapped. Az swallowed the sudden lump in his throat but gave a stilted nod. “That’s it? You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”
“You think I should fight for you? Defend myself? Beg you not to throw away what we have? I’ve clearly lost your trust. I don’t know what it is you expect of me. You want to work alone. Fine, work alone. You want to throw money at me and pretend this is a business arrangement, fine. I’m going to go pack my things so we can get the fuck out of here. I can have us out of here before midnight…if you trust me enough to do that for you, that is.”
Madi puffed up, like he wanted to say more, but Az didn’t have anymore to give. His head was throbbing, his chest was tight, and he needed to call Carrington and get her to make arrangements to get them the fuck out of Brazil. He didn’t even care where.
They packed in silence, neither willing to waste time by waiting for the other to vacate the bedroom, which housed both of their bags. In their line of work, one tended to travel light. It only took minutes, but, somehow, it felt like hours. Az didn’t make the call until they were both in the car so Madi could hear everything Az asked of his assistant. “How fast can you get me and an associate out of Rio?”
“Where to?” Carrington asked, her voice chipper as she snapped her gum on speakerphone.
Az glowered at the slick sound of chomping before snapping, “Doesn’t matter. It needs to be off books, no flight manifests. Two planes, different directions.”
“Okay, cranky. Jeez.”
There was the sound of fingers flying over the keys, and then she was back. “If you can get to a small airstrip just outside of the city, I can get you out tonight. It’s gonna cost, though. These guys are in the spice trade, if you know what I mean.”
Carrington and her supply chain. “Yeah, fine. Pay them whatever they want. Send me the details.”
Az disconnected, staring out the window until his phone chirped with the location, which Az showed to Madi so he could feed it into the GPS on his phone. Az wanted to say something, but the longer the silence stretched between them, the more impossible it seemed to find the words to break it. He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to. Madi and him… They weren’t a thing. This was never supposed to be a thing. People who did what they did didn’t have families or even friends. They had contacts and connections. Allies and enemies. There was no happily ever after for contract killers. Besides, what they had was physical. Comfortable, sure. But temporary. Always temporary.
Who was Az even trying to convince? He was arguing with himself, lying to himself. Shadowboxing a ghost in his own head. Madi had made up his mind about Az and about whatever it was they had. Experiment failed. Connection terminated. At least, for now. Maybe just for now.
Once they reached the airstrip, Az was on autopilot, shaking hands, exchanging cash, making introductions. Az let Madi decide where he wanted to go—Colombia or Bolivia—simply nodding when Madi chose Bolivia. They pretended to ignore each other while they each arranged for transport once they touched down, neither seeming to really want to spend more time than necessary in either location.
Madi’s plane was the first to leave, and Az stood when Madi did, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he was going to give him a tearful send-off, clutch him tight, and beg him not to go. Az did the only thing he could think to do, thrust out his hand. Madi stared at it for a hard minute and then gripped it tight, the warmth of his skin seeping into Az’s body, thawing the numbing cold that seemed to claw at his insides.
“I’ll be in touch,” Madi muttered, squeezing Az’s hand before releasing it. “About the money transfer.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
Az held his breath as it seemed Madi was about to turn and walk away without another word, but then he met Az’s gaze. “They always seem to, don’t they?”
Az gave a slight smile. “Yes,mot—” He cut off the term of endearment. “Somehow, they always do.”
10
Madigan
Madigan stared out at the glassy expanse of cerulean. He loved the ocean. He loved the beach. And, had he not been on a private stretch of oceanfront, he’d have loved the scantily clad men and women, too.
He could do without the incessant, circular tumble of his thoughts, though.
Relax, he made the silent demand of his brain.
He could also do without Cas stretched out next to him, constantly glancing up at the deck where Jonah was working on his laptop. The guy was so palpably in love, his skin glowed with it. Could’ve been the oil he’d slathered on himself earlier, too.
The fiftieth time Cas looked over at Jonah’s back, Madigan snorted softly. “He’s still there.”
“He’s testing a game I’m working on. I’m curious what his reactions are. Fuck off.”
Madigan tilted his head back. All he could see was the back of Jonah’s head and his shoulders. “What’s his left shoulder blade saying? Looks unimpressed to me.” He smirked at Cas’s sneer. “Guess all that time you spent mooning over him back in the day finally paid off, though, huh?”
“I didn’t moon.”
Oh, he’d definitely mooned, but Madigan figured he shouldn’t tapdance on that subject for long, no matter how much he enjoyed trying to rile Cas. Their relationship had shifted subtly over the past six months from open hostility to a more brotherly version of antagonization. His gaze flickered over Cas’s Speedo again. “I can’t believe Jonah lets you out in that.”
Cas snorted. “Number one: this is one he boughtforme. Number two: ‘lets me’? Please. No wonder you’re single—”
“Single by choice.”