The drive was quick because we knew exactly where to go. I was slightly distracted about the business meeting that I knew I had next week, but when we pulled the car up to the parking lot, with the loud crashing of waves creating the perfect scent of sandy air to whisk through our cranked open windows, I knew this would be my last gig. I needed to get into business clean. My hands were dripping in blood, but today was going to be my last job.
I climbed out of the car, slamming the passenger door. I noticed the man standing nervously in the corner from a mile away, and it wasn’t because his anxiety stuck out, it was because I had seen his face splashed on television for the past few months. A fucking senator.
I approached him carefully, with calculated steps. “You call this in?”
The number that clients would use was exclusive. No one could get their hand on it unless they gained it from a reputable source, and we made sure to keep our sources small. Seven men on every continent. Who also happened to be my closest friends and one being my shithead brother.
Senator ran his hand through his hair nervously and met me halfway. “I did.” His eyes were flying all over the place, as if he was waiting for someone to jump out from the bushes.
“You a rat?” I asked. I didn’t care. We had a backup plan if we ever did get set up. We were untouchable.
“No.” He shook his head. “My daughter. She’s who I need you to take care of.” He turned over his shoulder, and I followed his sight to a boat bobbing over the waves. “She’s asleep on there. Make it look like an accident or never have her body found again.”
My fists clenched at my sides. Piece of shit. “We don’t do kids.” And congratulations, now I’m going to kill you instead.
He shook his head, glaring at me as if in disgust. “No, she’s older. Much older. An adult.”
I knew the rules. No asking questions, and that’s why we get paid. No judgments. I’d lost count of how many I had taken, but never once had I felt like I needed to ask questions. Not until now.
The white and blue super yacht rocked back and forth against the small waves, as I brought my eyes back to Johnston. “Got the cash? You know how this goes.”
He took out a phone from his suit pocket and punched in numbers, transferring the funds to our offshore account. My phone dinged with a notification to say it had been instantly transferred.
Just as he was about to pass us, I turned around. “Why?”
He paused, rubbing the stray tears that were falling down his cheeks. I continued. “You’re not necessarily what we’re used to either. You have too much remorse. Usually, we don’t allow people to back out. But I’d make the exception this once. I will refund the money right back if you want to stop this shit now.”
Devon cleared his throat from behind me. I knew why. I never gave anyone this option. Ever.
He stared back at me through regretful eyes. “Just do it.”
I shrugged as we both made our way to the boat.
“Wait!” He came up to us. “I’ll come with you. I’ll hide.”
Bile rose in my throat. “So not only are you putting a hit out on your kid, but you want to be in the vicinity while it happens?”
“You don’t understand,” he muttered, walking ahead of us.
Devon and I shared a puzzled look.
“You’re fucking right, I don’t.” I shook my head. What a fucking idiot. Not my kid, not my drama.
Once we were on the boat, I drove us out until we were far enough out to have no one around us. Devon ducked underneath the hood where she was tied up in one of the rooms.
He came back up, shaking his head. His skin was pale. “She’s real fucking pretty.”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone is fucking pretty to you.”
“Not everyone.” Devon smirked at me. “You’re not.”
I flipped him off before making my way down to the anchor. Tearing off my shirt, I tossed it onto the chair that was on the side and made my way to the room.
“She blinded?” I called out.
“Yep!” Devon answered as I shoved the door open.
I paused.
She looked real fucking small.
Too fucking small.
“Where—” she slurred as if drugged. Her movements were slow but hostile.
I clenched my jaw and stormed back out, making my way to the other room at the front of the boat. I kicked the door down. “How fucking old is she?”
Johnson sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “She’s sixteen. You don’t understand. She’s trouble. Reckless. If I run for president, which I am, I can’t have her running around making a mockery of my name.”