Taken by Her Prince

“Maybe,” I said. “But then again, your father’s been out of it for over a decade.”

She grimaced. “I still lived here,” she said. “They were still part of my family. All my friends were in the Club or knew someone that was. I’ve been living with them for years, watching them, thinking about them. I wasn’t a part of the Club, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t around it all the time.”

I shrugged. “Fair enough. Like I said, you know it better than I do. But it’s still too dangerous.”

She let out a breath. “I already got shot once.”

“And you shouldn’t want to do it again.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue the point.

I leaned forward and scanned the block. It was a nondescript street, some trash bags over by the corner, a few rundown houses, but mostly they were intact and decent. The neighborhood wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either, and there were some new buildings coming up and some old ones being renovated on a few blocks. I guessed the Club was pumping money into the area now that the Russians were gone and they could expand some more.

I watched the target house for a few minutes. It had a brick facade with a black door and a red awning. The awning had gone pink with age, weathered from years of neglect. There was a small concrete porch beneath it with a single metal chair and a single metal table. I saw an ashtray sat on top of it, and I wondered if there were ashes inside it.

Still, I was sure someone lived there, or at least someone was inside. There was a light on the third floor, the front right room. I was betting we’d find whatever we were looking for in there.

“Don’t kill anyone,” she said abruptly. She stopped looking at her nails and stared at me. Her hair was up in a tight bun again, and she wore a black button down shirt and black jeans tucked into high, brown, heavy looking combat boots.

“I can’t promise that,” I said. “But I don’t want it to go that way.”

“Just try,” she said and reached up to take her hair out of the bun. She let it fall down before gathering it up and tying it back into place.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll try.”

She nodded once and looked back out the window. I reached out and touched her leg, not sure what I was doing. She turned back to me, a little surprise in her eyes, as I leaned toward her.

“You don’t have to worry,” I said.

“I’m not.” She tilted her head but didn’t move my hand from her thigh.

“You keep fidgeting,” I said. “Looking at your nails. Fixing your hair.”

“I’m worried you’ll hurt someone I know,” she said.

“You sure about that?” I asked. “I doubt you know that many people in the Club. Did you know the three guys I killed?”

She hesitated. “No,” she said.

“I think you’re worried about me.”

She laughed. “No, not at all.”

“I think you are,” I said, head tilted. “But don’t worry, little Colleen. I’ll be back to take care of you when this is all over. I wonder if the smell of fresh money and gunpowder will turn you on.”

She brushed my hand away. “You’re not funny,” she said. “And you’re a dick.”

I stretched then leaned past her to open the glove box. I let it fall then pulled my black Glock out. I checked the magazine and chambered a round.

“I’m not joking,” I said. “I think you’re worried about me, but I’m telling you I’ll be fine. And when I get back, I’ll give you what you’ve been thinking about.”

Her breath came in a little faster, her chest rising and falling. “Yeah? What’s that?” she asked.

“That day up on the roof deck,” I said. “My lips and tongue between your legs. You’ve been wondering what else I can do.”

“Stop,” she said, but her eyes were wide and her voice was soft.

“You’ve been wondering what it would feel like to give yourself to me, and I think you hate it. But you can’t stop. Isn’t that right?”

She looked away and bit her nail. “Go away,” she said. “I just wish you’d leave me alone.”

I laughed gently. “You think I’m trying to torture you. But I’m just telling you what you need to hear.” I grabbed the handle to the door and opened it. I left the keys in the ignition and the engine running.

If she wanted to run, she would’ve done it last night when I left her alone. Instead, I came back to find her sitting on the couch and watching TV. When I walked in the door, still dripping with water, she only gave me a flat stare then got up and went to bed.

“I want my phone back,” she said just before I stepped out of the car.