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Also, letting Coda Ramone get his shit stomped in the same city I took out a mark he had a meeting with will draw more attention than I prefer. Les Invisibles will dispatch agents to find out if it was a direct attack on their asset and that alone might lead to someone connecting the dots to me. If they connect that with the signature I left on the Cobra, it might blow my entire persona. Only a man could show up, destroy years of hard work, and need to be rescued from their own ego.
I can’t have people from my past find out who I’ve become if I want to stay free. That’s why I choked his ass out in the alley, by the way. Don’t give me that look, moral compass. First, his little Fender stood at attention, so I don’t think he hated it. Second, I’m well versed in choking someone in both the safe and dangerous way, so I knew I wouldn’t cause him damage. Regardless, I had to do it. I was going to ditch the Naomi cover as quickly as possible to keep us from being followed. Last, but definitely not least, he’s at least 250 plus pounds of solid muscle, and I needed to keep him
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Instead, I’m rearranging my schedule to push sleep back until I scan the web for any photos of either of us in the bar or on the street. Men. There’s a reason I don’t bother with them outside of sex or death—they’re nothing but fucking trouble.
Rubbing my hand over my face, I sigh. I can’t leave the screens, but I need to piss and eat soon. If Dwyn doesn’t come back from his trip to find the cabbie, I’m going to strangle his happy-go-lucky ass. He’s been gone at least three hours, and this is ridiculous. It’s like working with a fucking squirrel sometimes. I’m near losing my temper when suddenly the back of the van opens, and the grinning psycho pokes his head in. “Miss me, Razzie?” Jesus fucking Christ, no.
Struggling to pull oxygen into my lungs as I lay flat on my back and watch the cloud of fire spread outward after several more explosions, I realize my predictably punctual professionalism almost got me killed. By a fucking homemade, drone-activated thermobaric bomb, no less! Who does that shit?!!
The simple phrase is my hat tip to his legend, letting him know I’m also aware of who I’m dealing with. He winks back and I move away from the bar, leaving one of the deadliest serial killers in the world alone with his scotch. Sure, he’s an assassin, but everyone knows that guy kills everything in sight—not just his target—and they’re always short on blood when he’s done.
Looks like you didn’t have anything to worry about, Big Bad.” That husky laugh follows the words from earlier and I pry my eyes open to see my redheaded friend from the bar with her arms around Le Voleur de Sang as she rides the most fearsome killer in the underworld piggyback. My jaw drops and I can’t even form words when I see the sophisticated, ruthless assassin grinning boyishly at me. “You were right, as always, my little Tailfeather. Her Royal Highness can definitely take care of herself… though it appears she allowed someone to assist this time.”
