Page 43 of How Much For a Life of Lies?

“Yep.”

“Your… partner,” she said this with a sneer, so I assumed she was not a rainbow ally.

At this point, I could explain he was a one-and-done thing, but seeing the malevolence in Viper, I held back on the quick fuck narrative. “Mine,” I repeated what I’d announced in the bar. Viper joined in with the sneering, Bulldog shuffled his feet and wouldn’t look at me, and Terminator’s expression remained frozen in badass-for-hire mode.

“I’ve lost my best pilot, and you’re up, but I swear…” She stepped forward, pressing the barrel of her gun to my chest. “One chance.”

I held my ground, meeting her eyes with defiance. I knew better than to show fear or weakness in front of someone like Indigo Sauveterre. She was a force to be reckoned with, a mercenary for hire, but I had to show her I wasn’t about to back down without a fight. In fact, I glanced at the others and calculated who I could take out before I died, hoping that I came over as mean enough.

But then, just as quickly as her anger had flared, it seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of resignation, and she lowered her weapon.

“You have the job,” she relented, “I want you at the mines by nightfall. You know where. Tomorrow’s delivery is up, then you’re staying where I can see you, so you’d better say goodbye to your fuck boy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I drawled.

Her eyes sparked with irritation. “Stow the polite southern shit, flyboy.”

There was nothing more to Indigo Sauveterre than a stone-cold killer out for profit—there was no hint of humanity under her icy exterior. So it didn’t surprise me when she turned on the heel of her leather boots and pointed her weapon at Viper.

I watched in grim fascination as Indigo’s finger tightened on the trigger, her movements precise and calculated. There was no hesitation, no hint of remorse as she took aim. The shot rang out with a deafening roar, reverberating off the walls of the dingy warehouse, the bullet finding its mark with chilling accuracy.

Viper was dead before he hit the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, a crimson stain spreading across the cold concrete floor.

For a moment, there was silence, and Indigo remained calm and composed, her expression unreadable as she surveyed the scene before her.

“Deal with that,” she ordered a wide-eyed Bulldog.

He hesitated only a moment and then resigned himself to dealing with disposing of someone he’d once called a friend—as much as you could have friends when any of the people working for Kozlov and Indigo could die in an instant. He lifted Viper, slung him over one shoulder in a firefighter carry, and trudged out to the cars.

Indigo turned to leave, Terminator in tow, another muscle-bound giant appearing from a side door to join them.

It was official.

I was in.

Now I had to focus on my new role, flying the helo that ferried goods from the mines to wherever the drop-off point was, and staying one step ahead of whatever dangers lay in wait.

Stay alive.

I headed back to Zach’s place and knocked on the front door. I heard him descending the stairs, and when he opened the door, I grabbed him again, making a big show of kissing him, although our lips never met as we tumbled inside.

We separated as soon as the door shut, him to one wall in the hallway, me to the other. He deliberately wiped his face wherever my lips would have touched and scowled at me. I raised a hand to stop him from shouting at me.

“Cover,” I explained.

He scowled some more. “I know that, asshole.”

“I got the gig.”

He tapped his earpiece. “I know that too.” The implied idiot at the end of that was clear. God, I really wanted to punch him.

Or kiss him, but for real, like last night.

Or something.

“I’ll head out in sixty to put the researcher alibi,” he confirmed.

Zach had drawn the short straw—he was the one in the shadows, my backup. But then Mr. Super Hero SEAL couldn’t fly the forty tons of helo plus cargo. He tossed me a box of ammo, which I caught on instinct.

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