His Target, page 3
She moves her hands slow for me, but it's clear what she says. "Killing me would be faster for the both of us. I'm just going to wind up dead in a week, or a month from now when someone else finds me. They haven't stopped trying since I was eighteen. They aren't going to stop now. I'm tired. If you don't want to kill me, then give me your gun. I'll get it over with."
My heart constricts at the absolution on her face. She made up her mind before I came along.
She throws off the blanket. Her skinny, scarred body grimaces as she gets up, her hand going to her side as she walks toward me. She signs more. "Come on, hand it over. I'll do it in the bathroom. Easy cleanup."
Cason would kill me if I let someone kill themselves in his new family home. Not only that. Josie would bring me back to life and kill me after him for bringing bad vibes into her new house.
I shake my head. I'm not saying I'm going to let her kill herself with my gun. No. I have to figure something else out, but either way, none of it can happen here, Cason has made that clear.
"Not here. This is my brother's home, and his pregnant wife is just in the other room. I'm not going to put her through that, the woman has already been through enough before she got pregnant."
Darcy's hand goes to her side as she snorts.
I can't help it, but my gaze travels over her again. If she gained ten pounds she would have a nice body. She stands almost my height as well, her head coming to the bottom of my chin. In another life, I probably would've asked her out. Red hair, green eyes, and a slim build and tall is my type.
She snaps her fingers and I look to her face, realizing my gaze stopped on the scars that riddle her stomach. Not only there, now that I can look at her better, it’s clear they're all over. And they don't look self-inflicted. Not with the directions they go in and how they look. I've tortured people before by cutting them, and if they were alive, I'm sure they would look similar.
She moves her hands. "Take a picture, it will last longer."
I get why she covers herself up with so many layers. She doesn't want anyone seeing even a hint of her scars, and not only that, I have a feeling she doesn't want anyone looking at her sexually either. Which begs the question, why is she standing in front of me so freely like this, letting me see practically all of her? The bra she has on does little to hide her breasts. Has she really given up to the point of not caring anymore?
A light knock comes from the other side of the door, and Ensley pokes her head in. Her light-green eyes widen. "You shouldn't be up yet! You should be giving your body the evening to heal. You'll be in better shape if you don't move around too much."
She steps over to Darcy and puts her hand gently on her shoulder. "Let's get you back to bed.
I rub at the back of my neck. "Ensley, she can't do that. We need to go soon."
Her eyes turn on me. "You will do no such thing! She can't go after being shot!"
I roll my eyes. "She wasn't wounded to the point of having organ damage. Any ER in the city would stitch her up, if that, and send her on her way."
Ensley nods. "That's true, but she's not in a hospital in the city where they have limited bed space. She's here. And I say―"
The door opens, again. "I'm sorry, Ensley, but you don't get a say here. My house, my rules, and she can't stay here."
Ensley turns her killer gaze on Cason, at least it's not me. She scares me like Ros, our little sister, does. "And why not! Josie is fine with letting her stay here."
Cason goes over to Darcy and hands her a t-shirt "Josie doesn't know the full story, and if she did, she would feel the same way. Don't worry, we'll make sure she's okay. She just can't stay here while my pregnant wife is close by."
Ensley puts her hands on her hips. "Then tell me what's going on. If she needs a place to stay she can stay with me. I'm still working on finding a roommate since you decided to swoop in and steal mine away."
The door opens more, and Dmitri comes in, having looked like he slept off most of the whisky he downed. "Ley, c'mon. Josie wants you for something. It's best just to let this go."
He comes into the room and puts his arms around her shoulder. It's like he's an on-off switch for her. She fights him a little. "Oh no you don't, Dimitri! I want answers."
"C'mon, Ley, you can have a drink with me since Josie can't. Let the woman be. She'll be fine. I trust Cason and Porter to not let anything happen to her." He closes the door behind them, effectively cutting off her protest. I'll give Dimitri one credit, he's always been smooth with diffusing people without them even realizing it. Too bad he's trying to find solace at the bottom of a bottle. A mind like his would be devastating if he decided he wanted to monopolize the world.
I look at him. "Did you keep that bag of clothes Ros gave you when..." I motion with my hands. Not wanting to say when he kidnapped his wife to make sure she didn't go to the cops when he saw him kill her bodyguard. That would just instill so much trust in us if she overhears that.
He shakes his head. "Josie kept most of it and paid for replacements for her. "Why? You're not going to need it." He checks his watch just as a van comes up the street. "Come on, you two need to get out of here. The switch is going to happen in five minutes."
I look back toward Darcy, I doubt that's her real name, she doesn't look like a Darcy. She's swimming in the black shirt he gave her. She sits on the edge of the bed. "You ladies finished squawking? I get it, I'm not welcome here. He couldn't have made it more clear if he spat in my face. Though if there's a soon-to-be baby around, I suppose I get it."
A small laugh leaves me, despite the situation. I like her attitude. I wasn't expecting it from her with how much I saw her cry and not socialize with any of her coworkers.
"Can you understand her?"
I look at Cason, has he seriously forgotten I dated a deaf woman? I swear he only cares about what is happening with himself and doesn't notice anything else until it behooves him. That's why it took him so fucking long to realize Josie has been in love with him way longer than he has been in love with her. He had to get his own head out of his ass.
"Jesus, man. I know you were in your own world when I was in college, but you could've taken some interest in my life. I only had the same woman at all the family events for nearly four years in a row. Not all of us were dogs in college like you were."
I motion for her to come over. I need to get her out to the car before the power gets shut off. "Come on."
She walks toward me, and I take her by the arm gently. I don't know where she would run to, I don't think she can scream or yell for help. Her laugh earlier came out as nothing more than a whisper. I don't think she could make a sound even if she wanted to.
We step out near the front door.
"No, Josie, tell him that he can't put his foot down like that. That poor woman needs our help! Don't tell me you're going to let a woman in need leave here."
"I trust Cason's judgment, Ensley, if he doesn't think it's a good idea to keep her here then I have to trust he knows what's best for our little family. I'm not going to put up with anything that could bring harm to me or my baby."
Cason opens the front door and ushers us out of it before Ensley can take notice we're gone. He shuts the door quietly behind us and I hurry across the lawn with her and open the passenger side door. She gets in and I close the door. The cleaner van moves up alongside my car as I pop the trunk and the streetlights go out, as do the lights in the houses around us. The van shuts off its headlights as the back doors on it open and two men step out.
I'm used to navigating in the dark. I open my trunk and they take the body out and work together to heave it into the back of the van with a thump. They close the doors and hop in the front. The car drives off, not turning on its lights until it makes it to the end of the street.
That was so fast that even if someone happened to look outside to see if the other houses had power they wouldn't have time to believe their eyes. The men were prepared with night vision glasses, so it made everything that much faster.
I close my trunk, not even wanting to think about what I'm going to need to rip out of there to get it cleaned up. It's not like I have a ton of time off to redo the upholstery for my baby.
Cason steps up to me. "Call me after you drop her off." He clasps me on the shoulder. "You did the right thing not killing her, but don't ever bring a hit like this here again. I'll shoot you in the foot."
I shrug him off. "I get it, Cason."
He's seven years older than me and thinks he can boss me around like he's one of our parents. Hell, I'm nearly forty, it's not like I'm a kid to him or something. I don't say another word as I get in the driver's seat and put the keys in just as the power comes back on and Josie comes to the front door of the house. "Cason?"
"I'll be right there, baby!"
He comes around to my side of the car. He looks at the mystery woman in the seat next to me. "Best of luck to you."
She gives him a forced, fake smile and says thank you, though it could also be misconstrued as an offensive gesture, and I'm pretty sure she did it that way so it would be taken that way.
Cason frowns and looks at me. "What did she say?"
A smirk pulls at my lips. "A very big thank you for all your generosity. Now get your hands off my baby."
He steps away from my Mustang and I close the door. I roll down the window. "Don't wait on me to call. It's doubtful I will."
Starting the engine, I drive off down the road. Making sure this time I rev my engine loud just so his neighbors can be disturbed for a few minutes.
I glance over as she rolls down the window and rests her head on the door, letting the breeze hit her face. She pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her long arms around them.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
She brings a finger up to her lips and makes the sign for drive.
I frown as my stomach twists again. Any way I look at this situation she's headed toward death. I don't know what she's been through, but it's clear it's been rough, and along the way, she's made enemies. Ones that sound like they'll stop at nothing until they know she's dead.
What if we were to make them think she's dead? Silas has a talent for special effect makeup. He's the one to give us disguises when we need them. He's on the same level as Beckett for my younger brothers. They aren't the best hitmen in the family, but for what they lack, they make it up in other areas.
I move to pick up my cell phone, and then remember he's not even in the country. He was sent to China on assignment, a hit on some mogul and some other family side business stuff our dad has been teaching them in. He and Beckett went together, and they won't be back until next month.
The cold air rushes through the car. It works well to keep me awake. I haven't slept in three days. She doesn't even seem fazed by the chill. I pull the car over before we can hit the main streets. I turn off the headlights and the engine, so I don't draw attention. A streetlamp stands a couple of feet in front of us, illuminating the car so I can easily see her hand movements. I'm shocked at how easily ASL has come back to me. I need to brush up on it more, but I used it three years of my life, I should hope that more than half of it stuck somewhere in my brain.
She looks over at me. "What are you doing? Do you want me to kill myself here? I was hoping for the woods. Fewer people around to traumatize or try to save me."
The way she talks so easily about her death is disconcerting. I've never met someone like her. Was she feeling like this before she got shot? I know she cried a lot, but if she was wanting to off herself so bad, why hadn't she done it?
I look her in the eye, and she turns her gaze away.
"Look at me."
Her green eyes turn back toward me. "What?"
"Do you actually want to die? Answer honestly, because even if a shred of you wants to live, then I think I can make that happen."
She rolls her eyes. "Pipe dream. The WPP has been telling me for four years that they'll get me to where I'll be free. Nothing yet. What's the point of living if I can't live?"
"What if we make everyone think you're dead? You can start over. If you're dead, then there's no one for them to chase. You would be free."
Her face remains stoic.
I raise a brow. "Well, is that something you would want or not?"
She sighs. "You act as if we're friends and I'm supposed to be excited and take off running with whatever idea you clearly have. I don't know you. I have no reason to trust you. I've been burned so many times.
I've tried everything in my power to make my life normal, and it hasn't happened. I doubt you'll propose anything new."
I rub at my scruff. It's heartbreaking to see someone who's still young and could have decades still ahead of them so ready to give up. "Have you tried faking your death? Changing your hair and your name? My family is connected to several networks that the WPP doesn’t have access to. If we circulate staged execution photos of you, it would get around to anyone who could possibly be looking to have you killed. You wouldn't have to look over your shoulder all the time. You could live your life however you want. Once my brother is back in town we could stage all of it. I've been doing this for decades. I can make a kill look real. No one will question it."
For a second, she blinks fast as if she's going to cry before she lets out a heavy sigh and hangs her head. "You said he's going to be gone a month. What do I do until then? Sit in my apartment and wait for someone else to try and shoot me? I doubt it'll be a bad shot a second time."
I shake my head. "You would disappear from your life now. My family has safe houses all over the world and several bunkers. I could take you to one of them. I would cover the trail, provide food and shelter for you, and then when the time comes we can stage your death. Circulate it and a week or two after that you'll be a free woman to do whatever you want. I have contacts for all of it."
Her gaze comes up to meet mine. "But why do you want to help me do this? What do you gain from it?"
My grip tightens on the wheel. "I don't get anything really. My family will get the money for your hit, and I'll have the knowledge that you're not actually dead. Believe it or not, I do have a soul and I believe you're innocent. I don't know if I could keep doing this with your death on my conscience."
Her gaze turns to stare out the windshield. She looks as if she's contemplating the meaning of life. She then looks back at me. "How do I know you aren't one of them?"
I cock my head to the side. "I don't think I understand you. Them? Who are they?"
"Harold."
I frown. "Who is Harold? I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't know your history. I couldn't find anything beyond the Identity that was given to you. I tried to have my brother Beckett dig deeper, but the WPP worked hard to cover whoever you used to be."
Her jaw flexes. She looks back at me and stares at me for a long time. "Fine. Let's do this. What do I have to lose at this point?"
My frown deepens. I don't like to hear her talk like that. It makes me so sad. There's something about her that makes me want to help her. I've felt that way from the second I found her and saw her for the first time. I don't understand it, but I know I need to help her. Dropping her off in front of the FBI so she can go into the same loop isn't going to help her. She needs help getting out of it and making the people who want her dead think that she is. Perhaps I can even help her get revenge on a couple of them if she can give me names. She said Harold, however, I need more than that.
I start the car again. "I'll take you to your place so you can get clothes that you'll be comfortable in and I can get you anything else. Then I'll take you to a place where no hitman will be able to track you, it's made for that. It's not going to be easy, but once it's all over, you'll be free."
Chapter Four
Gwen
I don't know what to think. My gut says he's not part of any of the rings. He doesn't give off the vibe of men who are on the inside, even ones raised inside the circle to then become captors. They always give off an air and he doesn't have any of it. His idea probably won't work, but faking my death is the only thing I haven't tried. I don't have the means to pull something like that off on my own.
What I said to him is true. At this point I don't have anything to lose, except for my life, which it feels like no matter which way I turn, it's still going to be the same thing. Any way I spin it, I'm going to end up dead whether I want it or not. I might as well try out his plan and if it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. I'm to that point.
After a while, we're headed back toward my apartment. I take notice of the fact that he doesn't play anything on the radio. The silence is a bit unnerving, but I am able to get a few side glances in at him. Most men scare me, especially tall, fat men. They all remind me of Harold and so many men I was forced to interact with over the years, but there's something about Porter. He's a self-admitted hitman, and yet, I don't find myself afraid to be around him. His brother, on the other hand, I didn't like him. Mostly because of how hard he drove it in that I wasn't welcome.
I get it. I'm a risk to his family, but once would've been enough.
Porter, though, didn't have to save me. He could've let the other hitman finish me off, but he didn't. He got me medical care. I don't even remember the last time a man was nice to me. At my job, most men don't notice me, or if they do, it's for all the wrong reasons. I dress the way I do so no one will notice me. Despite also having the desire of wanting to be wanted by someone and have someone to spend my life with. It's a war in my head of what I want and what feels safe.
Who would want me though? I have so many issues and an ugly body.
I let my eyes close as I rest my head against the door, letting the cold air hit me in the face. My face is numb, but I need it to keep me from freaking out. It's the only thing that's keeping me grounded right now. It's spring in New York, but the snow this year hasn't been as bad or as bitter as it was last year. I've only been in New York for the last year, but my first spring here was awful and I was alone for all of it. I hated having to walk to work in the bitter cold and go home, but I've never known anyone with a car, or I should say anyone I trust with a car, and most people walk in the city anyway.
