Mine

Disrupting my thoughts, Nakita’s voice came through my earplug. “Two guys entered. They’re standing in the doorway. They don’t look like they can afford to play here.”

I whispered back, “Keep your eyes on them.”

Nodding, Nakita sipped a drink at the bar, slowly stirred the pink liquid with a straw, and spoke, “They’re heading your way.”

Without needing to be told, Baptiste left the blackjack table and strolled our way.

A minute later, I spotted the men coming from the left. They wore shabby suits and scuffed dress shoes. A scar decorated one of the guy’s necks. A tattoo covered the other’s right hand. They carried square metallic cases. One was blue and the other red.

I leaned down and whispered in my client’s ear. “Mr. Strickland, we need to leave.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Bad feeling.”

“Come on, Hunter.” Strickland gestured to his winnings.

I had no time to fake niceties with him. He didn’t hire me to be his friend. He brought me on to make sure his head remained attached to his body.

The two men arrived at our table.

“Let’s go.” I signaled for Strickland to finish up. “Now.”

The men saw Strickland and exchanged looks.

My gut twisted.

No. This is off.

Quick, I whispered into my tiny, hidden microphone. “Nakita. Baptiste. Get out of here.”

Strickland gathered up his stacks with a frown. As soon as he rose, I nudged him forward at a faster pace. Concern hit Strickland’s face. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t like the energy I was getting from those two guys.”

“That’s it?” Strickland frowned.

I pushed him forward. “So, far.”

“What? I was winning over there.” Strickland stopped. “I don’t pay you to be nervous. I pay you to—”

An explosion sounded behind us. Not enough to damage the entire building, but I was sure the roulette table was gone as well as the surrounding area. There was a blinding flash of white light and ear-splitting cracks. Strickland and I crashed to the ground.

I rose and pulled out my gun. “Are you okay?”

Shaken, he muttered. “Y-yes.”

“Come on.” I yanked the fat man up and pulled him along.

Disorder began. A cloud of black smoke now filled the space. People coughed on the scent of burning wood and hair. Others ran. Most screamed. Things slammed. Bells rang. It was hard to see who had survived and what wasn’t destroyed.

Dazed, Strickland stumbled after me as I kept a hold on his arm and I yelled into the mic. “Baptiste? Nakita?”

“I’m here,” Baptiste replied.

Good.

“Nakita?” I rushed Strickland out the casino. Cold air hit my face. I felt like vomiting. It was the downside of being a bodyguard, having to constantly deal with stomach twisting events. Thank God I pushed through the others that had been fleeing the exit. “Nakita?”

Seconds later, Baptiste got to my right and sounded out of breath. “Nakita is still not answering. I’m going back.”

“No.” I handed Strickland off to him. “I’ll go. She would kill me, if something happened to you.”

Baptiste crossed his fingers and kissed the tips, trying to magnetize good luck. “Go get her.”

“I will.” I turned around.

“No, Hunter!” Baptiste screamed. “Not that way.”

I stopped. “What?”

“Don’t run under the ladder!”

“Are you fucking kidding me!? We don’t have time for this!” I turned back and rushed forward, racing right under the ladder. My legs ached. My lungs burned, close to exploding.

Nakita had to be okay. They’d done the job as a favor to me. There was no way I would not let them grow old and die together. I didn’t have a future when it came to love and family. I’d put my hopes in them. Their kid would be the closest thing to having my own.

“Nakita!” Yelling into the microphone, I kept up the pace, slamming into people and pushing them out of the way. “Nakita!”

And then the building exploded.

And there was no ladder and no Nakita.

And Strickland survived, but was killed three weeks later by his mistress.

And no matter how much Baptiste said he forgave me, I knew he didn’t.

And each day, guilt stacked within my chest like bricks, walling off my heart.

My mind.

My soul.

Wrong things came to my head.

Regrets bombarded my insides.

Every day I replayed that moment, wishing I’d never let Strickland go to the casino in the first place. Wishing I hadn’t given Nakita and Baptiste the job. And even more—no matter how absurd it was—I regretted running under the damn ladder too.

1

Stolen Panties and Naughty Letters

Two Months Later

Hunter

Something tore me out of my sleep.

I woke with a jolt, not remembering my dream, but knowing it was a nightmare. Drenched in sweat, my heart slammed like mortar rounds. Adrenaline coursed through my blood, causing me to shake. And in my head, I yelled out the names of gods like I would do as a kid, when I wished one of them would save me.

Jesus. Allah.

Overhead the ceiling fan turned, cooling my skin and casting shadows on the walls. I dragged a trembling hand over my face.