Page 6 of The Hitman

Chapter Four

Callie

I crawl my way out from under the blanket fort Leo and I have been working on for the last hour and dust my hands together.

“I think that’ll do it,” I say, admiring our handiwork. “What say ye, King Leo?”

He rubs his chin. “I say… it’s missing something.”

After jumping across his bare mattress—the only part of the room not blocked by our castle—he returns with an enormous stuffed dragon.

“We’ll need Chancy to keep guard for us,” he explains after positioning our scaly friend at the main opening. “Every castle has a big, scary dragon to defend it.”

I wind my arm around his shoulders, and nod at the fluffy stuffed reptile with hearts where its eyes should be and its tongue hanging out of one side of its mouth. “A valiant guard, indeed.”

“On your knee, Lady Finley, so you may officially be knighted,” Leo booms in his kingly tone.

With a fist over my heart, I struggle to keep my serious, knightly composure. He’s just so cute, staring down the length of his foam sword at me.

My knee hits the rug, and I bow my head as the tip of the sword graces each shoulder.

“As king of the great Blanketopia, I hereby dub thee, Callie, the bravest and least cringey knight in all the land.”

“It’s an honor to serve you, my king.”

Our fit of giggles is swiftly interrupted by a shadow shifting at the doorway. Seconds later, the dark presence appears as my tight-lipped, stormy-eyed boss.

My spine straightens when we lock eyes.

How long had he been standing there, watching?

“We’re in trouble,” I mutter to Leo.

His eyes bulge when he hears his uncle say, “What exactly are you two doing in here?”

“Hey, Uncle Jax.” Leo greets him with all the enthusiasm of a king reuniting with an old friend. He winds his arms around Jaxon’s waist, and almost comically, the man whose very presence rattles the room, freezes where he stands.

I expect him to relax into Leo’s hug. To let those impenetrable glass walls of his crack for just a moment to meet his nephew where he needs him the most. But his frown deepens, and his haunted expression gives me a sinking suspicion that something is very, very wrong.

He gently pulls away from Leo, sizing up our attire. “Pink blow-up crowns and bedsheet capes.”

I curtsy. “The finest finery in all the realm.”

Leo snort-laughs while Jaxon approaches our make-shift kingdom. He glances around at the sweeping sheets and pilfered household items holding them up. “What is all of this?”

At his obvious displeasure, I remove my crown and smooth my staticky hair. I point to the banner we made from popsicle sticks and construction paper. “This is Blanketopia.”

“I see.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so angry. We were just?—”

“Slacking off,” he cuts in. “ Again .”

I’m taken aback by his sharp tone. Over the last week, I’ve learned that Jaxon’s default setting is cool detachment. He’s stern when he speaks, blunt when he makes a request, and the few glimpses of a smile I got the day I arrived have yet to resurface.

But he’s never outright rude. Not like this.

“It’s not Callie’s fault, honest.” Sweet Leo, coming to my defense. “I’m the one who wanted to build a fort.”

“Yes, and by dirtying up all these sheets, you’ve successfully made more work for the cleaning staff.”

Leo’s shoulders droop, but still, he reaches for a connection. “We were just trying to beat Wreck It Ryan’s record. He’s a YouTuber who builds all kinds of awesome forts. I could show you some of them, and then you’ll see.”

Jaxon raises a hand to silence him, tense with exhaustion when he speaks, “Go get cleaned up and ready for dinner, please.”

“But—”

“Now, Leo.”

Fists clenched, Leo shakes his head at Jaxon before stomping out of the room.

My heart stutters when those dark eyes pin me in place, but I’m not about to let this slide.

“What’s the matter with you?” I ask.

“Me? This is the second time I’ve found you two skipping lessons for playtime.” He tugs on the ponytail that was holding my cape together, and it flutters to the floor. “I have half the mind to fire you.”

The muttered threat lacks any bite. Almost like he’s trying to regulate his emotions, but isn’t sure where to start.

“So fire me,” I dare him, though I silently pray he won’t. “But good luck finding a replacement with my qualifications on such short notice.”

“Nannies are a dime a dozen,” he utters coolly. “What I need is one who actually does as she’s told.”

He’s different today. The circles under his eyes are deeper than they were this morning, and there’s a strange reddish-brown stain on his collar that captures my attention.

Lipstick… or something else entirely?

“I’ve already taken responsibility for what happened on Monday.”

Jaxon voiced that I should’ve been teaching Leo instead of bonding with him, but all he’s worried about is keeping him from falling behind. He doesn’t understand that children need more than textbooks to survive.

“As I explained before, Leo needs time to adjust to these changes. I won’t apologize for giving him a single day to warm up to me.”

Jaxon toes the bottom sheet of the fort with apathy. “And what do you call this?”

“A lesson, presented in a way that looks like play.”

He arches a single brow before stepping beside me. “All right then. Show me.”

“Show you?”

A wisp of a smirk dimples his cheek. “I don’t believe I stuttered, Miss Finley.”

The whooshing sensation in my stomach robs me of a smartass remark. We’re standing close enough that his scent—dangerous and alluring—swarms my senses. He smells like gun metal and bourbon, and against all logic, I hear myself murmur, “Fine.”

I clear my throat before walking toward the entrance of the castle. After opening the flap, I motion for him to follow me inside.

He’s tall enough that his head nearly touches the highest point inside, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, his eyes flick from corner to corner with surprised appreciation.

“Leo’s shown the most interest in history and physics. So I thought this would be a fantastic way to let him get creative with both.”

I point to the flashcards tapped to the thin walls.

“This one explains how castles used murder holes, which were basically trapdoors in the ceilings where defenders could drop boiling oil or rocks on invaders. Super effective, very messy.” I direct him to the opposite side of the fort.

“And over here we have a handy breakdown of defensive architecture. See the sloped walls, arrow slits, and drawbridges?”

A hint of curiosity leaks through the cracks in his armor when he nods.

“Leo also engineered this gate over here to open with a pulley made from a shoelace and a salad tong.”

He approaches the oven grate we borrowed from the kitchen and tugs on the shoelace. The top of the drawbridge lowers to the ground with a thump . “Impressive.”

“Right? We even covered the feudal system.” I shrug, grinning up at him. “Pretty sure I’ve been promoted from peasant to noblewoman, thanks to my knight status.”

“All right,” he says, finally relaxing some. “I get it. Your methods may be unorthodox at best, but you’re obviously getting through to him.”

“ Exactly .” I hold my head high, mimicking his stiff posture, despite how intimidating he looks in the dimly lit space. “We’re just having a little fun, warden.”

He huffs softly, sidestepping the sagging sheet corner above him. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”

I try not to think about the mere inches separating us, but the air inside the tent grows thick with awareness.

I have to crane my neck just to hold his stare. “Why do you insist on acting like one?”

“I’m not trying to, you know.”

I purse my lips. “So you’re just naturally a tyrant?”

“Something like that.”

The words send a shiver up my spine that refuses to be ignored.

His eyes—the same shade as sturdy steel—dance across my features. He’s hardly taken them off me since we stepped inside this fort, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.

“You’re staring,” I whisper.

“Am I?” he challenges, too close for comfort.

The back of my neck warms as the heat between us rises. The phantom pull toward him both thrills and alarms me. Neither of us is resisting it, but I’ve been alone for so long, I’m not sure I remember how to do this.

Especially with a man like him.

My attention falls to the tiny white scars sprinkled across his cheeks and lower jaw, then to the two thin lines marking one corner of his mouth.

“These marks…” I lift a hand and tilt his chin so I can see him better. He flinches at my touch, but doesn’t pull away. The thin white scars on his jaw and cheekbones are faint, barely visible until I look more closely.

“You lose a fight with a copier?” I ask.

He hums, relaxing beneath my fingers, daringly dancing across his skin. “My line of work can get messy.”

The way he says it feels like a dare. Almost like he wants me to ask him to explain. But the stain on his collar, the one that’s looking less like a woman’s kiss, has me questioning whether I want to.

“Day trading,” I clarify.

He flattens his hand over mine, holding it against his thinly scruffed cheek. “Dangerous work, indeed.”

My heart thuds like a warning drum in my chest.

I should be angry at how he snapped at Leo, and maybe I am. But beneath the sharp edges and gritted teeth, Jaxon looks like a man barely holding himself together. Like he’s had the kind of day that didn’t just drain him, but hollowed him out.

Standing here, toe to toe, in a kingdom made of blankets, I realize something else. The three of us are all aching for the same thing.

Not distance.

Not control.

Just comfort.

So I let it go. Because someone has to show these two that shutting people out when you’re hurting doesn’t make you strong. It just makes you heart-achingly lonely.

“Thank you,” he whispers against my palm. I’m light-headed when he presses a kiss to the center of it—soft, reverent, like he’s exploring something new and not yet ready to let go. “For helping him when I don’t know how.”

Warmth spreads like wildfire up my arm, and the sensation burrows inside my chest before curling around my heart.

I drop my hand, afraid I’ll unravel if I utter anything more than a quiet, “You’re welcome.”

He moves for the exit with noble grace, and dumbfounded, I watch him go with his breath still etched on my skin.