Page 55 of Assistant to the Assassin

“How did you and Ian run into each other?” I ask, trying to redirect.

Both men share an alarmed look, and when Ian attempts to answer, he stumbles over himself a few times. “Well, I was at a bar.”

“My bar. The one I own,” Ambrose interjects.

“Yes, that bar. We ran into each other, got to talking, had some drinks…” Ian clears his throat, shaking his head. “Then the next morning I caught him taking boxes of medical supplies to a boat.”

“My bar is next to a harbor,” Ambrose explains, his eyes firmly on the game board.

“And when I confronted him about it, we struck up a deal—”

“You blackmailed me,” Ambrose corrects.

Ian rolls his eyes. “I asked if he would help me find Harrison and his team and in exchange, I would keep his operation a secret from authorities.”

I hum, tilting my head to the side. “That sounds like blackmail to me.”

“Fine, I blackmailed him,” Ian grumbles, his cheeks growing a bright rosy red.

Henry and I share a look across the table, and I know he and I are thinking the same thing: they hooked up at the bar, and amidst the afterglow, Ian found out Ambrose was a criminal, so he blackmailed him into helping look out for the vengeful assassins coming after us.

That would make a really good book.

“I think we should all get some sleep,” Ian suggests, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Henry and I have been sharing my room, so you’re welcome to share his,” I tell them, starting to clean up all the Monopoly money.

“Is that the only room available?” Ian asks.

“Unless you want to sleep on the couch,” Henry replies, trying his best not to smile as he helps me put the game away.

“You can take the room,” Ambrose immediately offers, gesturing to the couch behind him. “You need to get as much sleep as possible for tomorrow.”

“I could say the same of you,” Ian counters.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

“I insist.”

With a roll of my eyes and a sigh, I whisper to Henry, “This could go on forever.”

Clearly in agreement, Henry helps me up off the floor and interrupts the argument unfolding before our eyes. “For fuck’s sake, share the damn bed, it’s not like you haven’t already.”

Ian and Ambrose fall silent, shocked by Henry’s outburst, and the former looks like his face is about to melt off from how red he’s turned. Ambrose doesn’t look embarrassed though; if anything, he looks pleased, like having slept with Ian is something to be proud of.

It’s absolutely adorable.

“We’ll see you two in the morning,” I say, tugging H along with me as I retreat down the hall, knowing the pair are likely to continue arguing over their sleeping arrangements.

When H and I make it to my bedroom, shut behind the automatic doors, I give him a pointed, amused look. “That was subtle.”

Henry shrugs, placing his hands on my hips, with his thumbs toying with the hem of my shirt. “Ian is wound so tight that if you shoved a lump of coal up his ass, in a few hours he’d shit out a diamond. If I didn’t say something, he would have argued all night. He has this unwavering sense of honor and chivalry that very quickly becomes annoying as fuck.”

“Ambrose really likes him. I can tell.” I lock my hands around his nape, smiling at him.

“So does Ian. I’ve never seen him so flustered.” Henry laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s such a hypocrite, developing feelings for a criminal after spending the better part of three hours riding me for being a killer for hire.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me either. “The heart wants what it wants.”

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