Come To Me (Owned 3)

Lissie answered the door and I drove away before Lenny went inside. When Lenny and I had gotten together, I’d thought her mood was a quirk. She was fiery and passionate, and that was what drew me to her. Lenny’s mind was what ensnared me. It was what captured me and kept me tied. Her mind was sexier than any lingerie. It was the wildest ride I ever took.

I didn’t realize it was a disease.

I didn’t realize it was something to understand.

It never once crossed my mind that it could end us.

We’d survived murder. We’d survived distance. Could we really not survive her own mind?

Since she’d asked me not to go home, I took a detour to the bar. In the parking lot, I stared at the nameless building where I’d begun to fall in love with Lenny. Years ago I’d followed her there, planning only to watch the vixen that had moved into my building.

Instead I’d walked up to her and danced.

I didn’t fucking dance. Ever. But Lenny did things to me.

“Fuck!” I slammed my hand on the steering wheel, overcome with a multitude of emotions that I knew if given name would drown me.

The dashboard clock glowed brightly, reminding me that in twenty-four hours it would be my birthday. Birthdays were never a good day for me. In fact, they were usually pretty shitty. I didn’t know why I thought this year would be any different. It looked like this one would mark the day Lenny’s and my fire had finally burned up.

Sighing, I reached for my phone and dialed the one number I’d promised I never would.

All I needed to do was press enter. Once I hit send on the numbers I’d typed into my phone, this world would vanish. One last time I looked up at the nameless bar nestled between two inconspicuous buildings. Despite the winter darkness, it wasn’t very late, only about six in the evening. It wasn’t very busy, either, just my car and a few others in the lot. Blame Monday.

I wondered what would happen if I walked into the bar. Would the ghosts of Lenny and me be inside? Would I see her there, dressed in that flimsy top like the first time? Would she have that same thousand-yard stare? The same haunted, magnetic pull? Would we still be doomed to our fates? Destined to the same fiery dance until we burned up and out? If given the choice, would we do it again?

I knew my answer.

Looking away, I pressed send. He answered on the last ring.

“I thought you were out of the game.” I would have recognized the buttery, nasally voice anywhere. Dominic “Dom” Weathers was as infamous in the wetwork world as Hilton was in hotels.

I’d met Dom in basic. He was never cut out for military life; he couldn’t even handle training. He was a poor excuse for a soldier, much less a marine. The only reason the guy lasted was because he was able to make real connections and black mail the top tier.

It was no surprise he’d landed the position he had now.

“Just give me a fucking job,” I spat.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t have any recon jobs available right now,” Dom continued. “Plus, no one will touch you. You’ve been burned by the best, my friend. And I really mean that… Fuck, you should see the kind of tits they have working there now. I’ve been trying to get this blondie sys analyst to ride my dick for the better part of the year. I can already picture her brown eyes staring up at me while she—”

“I really don’t give a shit,” I cut in. Dom was supposed to be neutral, a middleman between all operations and outfits. That meant he was supposed to keep his hands—and dick—out of shit, but Dom was always one to eject sense in favor of sex. Red flags were rising higher than a flagpole at his talk.

I should have hung up, but part of me didn’t mind the red flags because at that point, all of me didn’t care what happened.

“Just trying to make small talk,” Dom replied.

“I don’t want small talk, and I don’t want recon,” I explained. “I want a hit.” I used to think being burned was the worst thing in the world. I used to think the day jobs stopped rolling in would be my undoing. After watching Lennox enter Lissie and Zoe’s stucco house, not knowing when she would return, I knew better.

There were much worse things to lose in life than a fucking job.

There was an audible pause before Dom asked, “You sure?”

“The fuck is it to you?” There were tiers in wetwork and recon was below hitman. Dom knew that. That didn’t mean I couldn’t fucking handle it, though. The thing about wetwork is that you get into the game for two reasons: either you’re plucked from your unit like me, or you discover you like killing. Those who discovered they liked killing tended to be the ones doing it.

Those like me, the ones plucked from their unit and sent to “special training”, did the training, did the job, but didn’t take any joy in it. Didn’t mean I didn’t know how to handle my weapon and execute a kill, just meant I wasn’t a fucking psychopath.

Like…others I knew.

“Well…” Dom continued. “Since Charlie got out, there’s been a gap that needs filling. Can you get down to Mexico City?” I hadn’t talked to Charlie since cashing in my favor for Vera. I’d saved his life once, and in return he would have gotten me clean out of GEM, meaning no burn, no blacklist.