Sometime later, I am woken up by a noise. I get out of bed to go investigate. Riley’s door is open, so I follow the noise into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I ask. She looks up from what she’s doing, and her green eyes widen. She even mouths the word “wow,” so I guess she likes what she sees.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry. I was hungry,” she says quickly.
“Shit. I should have asked earlier if you’d eaten. I didn’t even give you the tour.”
“I found it without a problem. I just can’t get this pickle jar open,” she says, holding it out to me. I take it from her and open it with ease. “Well, yeah, after I loosened it.” I laugh. She looks at me with a surprised look on her face.
“I can laugh,” I tell her. “I mean, I know how to.”
“Of course, you can. Sorry. I like the sound.”
“Stay with me?” she says. “I can make you a sandwich.”
“That sounds great,” I reply, sitting at a barstool.
“Turkey and swiss?”
“Perfect.”
“Mayo?”
“Yes, please.”
She works quickly and efficiently, not making a mess, not even bread crumbs. Then she sets the plate down in front of me, going back to putting everything away. “Come eat,” I say softly. She’s doing the dishes by hand. I have a state-of-the-art dishwasher and a maid service. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Why not?”
“I have a maid service.” I get up and go over to her.
“No. I can do it. I have to make myself useful.”
“Come eat. That’s pretty useful.” I tell her, leading her to a barstool.
“But…”
“No buts, eat.” I breathe a sigh of relief when she finally sits down.
“You’re a cheerleader?”
“Yep, and a gymnast.” God, give me strength. I’m never going to make it.
“That’s great. And Georgia Tech, that’s my alma mater.”
“You went to college?” she asks.
“Of course. Football scholarship.”
“I just didn’t think you’d need college given your line of work… and I just realized how incredibly rude that was. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s a valid question. I didn’t need college for this, but an injury ended my career before it ever began. This was plan b.”
“That’s a heck of a plan b.”
“It’s the family business. I do what I’m good at to help out.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I never thought you would.”
“I mean it, not ever.”
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” Her blush is immediate.
“I try to be.”
She finishes up her meal and goes back to bed. At about six, I am woken up by a text from my father.
66 Mason St ??ASAP
Always short and to the point, that man. The pickaxe emoji tells me what needs to be done when I get there. I get out of bed, get dressed, and grab a gun from the safe in my closet. I’ve never had to worry about someone else being here before, so I head into my office and write her a note. I leave it on the kitchen counter with an elevator key. I’ll have to have her palm print added as soon as possible.
R,
Something came up with work, be back soon. 404-762-8183. This is the key for the elevator in case you need to go out. You won’t need it to go, but you’ll need it when you get back.
SM.
At 66 Mason Street, I do what needs to be done. Jensen O’Shea owed every loan shark in Atlanta money. A lot of money. Collectively, they put a hit out on him and sent the contract to my dad. I think it’s stupid because a dead man can never pay, but the customer is always right. Besides, I’ve been out here twice already in order to take off some fingers, and the idiot just isn’t getting the message. I’m in, and he’s down in seconds. No method was specified, so I use my 9mm with a silencer. I still end up waiting for hours when my brother, the cleaner, doesn’t show up on time. When he finally manages to get there, he smells like booze and sex. Disgusted with him and his unprofessionalism, mainly the fact that he took a rideshare to a kill sight, causes me to take over. Now, there’s going to be a record of him going to this address. The damn app will have to be hacked now. He just doesn’t think. I sit him down in a chair and take his bag from him. I get Jensen rolled up in the tarp, carry him out to the trunk of my car, and then go back inside for Caleb.
“Let’s go, Caleb,” I say, after kicking his boot.
“What gives?” he asks, groggily. I clench my fists to keep from knocking him out.
“We’re leaving.”
“Am I done already?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” I get him in the passenger seat and buckle his seatbelt for him. “Where am I going?” I ask.
“Just take me home with you,” he says. Fuck him.