Page 51 of Assistant to the Assassin

She smirks at me over her shoulder. “See something you like?”

I roll over on the bed, now lying on my stomach, facing her. “If you didn’t need to refill your pump, I would keep you in bed all day.”

She grins, giving me a seductive shake of her hips as she walks into her closet. “So, no training today?”

“I think you and I have gotten in a pretty good workout already.”

She cackles, poking her head out of the closet to tell me, “All it took for you to make a joke was to get laid.”

I tilt my head back, confused by her statement. “I make jokes all the time.”

She lifts a brow my way.

“What?”

She lifts both brows.

I roll my eyes. “You didn’t fall in love with me for my sense of humor.”

She smiles, happy that I relented. “True. I like my guy’s brooding, mysterious, and loving with a lot of emotional baggage.”

Oddly specific. “Know many guys like that, do you?”

She walks out of her closet, wearing a pair of leggings and a hot pink long sleeve shirt that says, “boss bitches wear pink.” “Only fictional ones. And the personas crafted by the media for members of boy bands. Like Zayn Malik.”

“Who?”

She shuts her eyes, holding up her hand. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Let’s get going before this fucking thing beeps again. I’m about two seconds away from throwing it at the concrete wall.”

I quickly put on a pair of sweatpants, then I follow her out into the living room, where we both halt abruptly, meeting the gazes of two people sitting on the couch. One is Ian, the other is a man I don’t recognize.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” I demand, pushing Beth behind me.

Ian opens his mouth to speak, but the other guy beats him to it. “That was me. Your system here is impressive—took me about twenty minutes to get through it.”

He looks around Beth’s age, and his accent tells me he’s from the southeast of the US, maybe Florida or Louisiana. He’s Black, with small brown eyes, a temple-fade cut to his hair, and a beard. He’s wearing jeans, a long sleeve orange shirt that’s only buttoned up halfway, and a necklace around his neck with some kind of tag on it. I think I see a nose piercing as well, and a small hoop in his right nostril.

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask, not sure what to make of his presence here. The bunker’s security system is so advanced it would take the greatest hackers in the world to crack, and even then, it would take hours, maybe days. He managed to override it in twenty minutes.

He smiles, standing up to greet the two of us. “Of course. Where are my manners? Ambrose Jones, though I’m professionally known as AJ.”

I glance at Ian, who promptly explains, “You said to make friends, so I did. Ambrose works down here as a smuggler; he knows the area well. He’s also a hacker, which is how he got into your security system and let us in.”

“It’s also how I’ve managed to track John Harrison and his teammates,” Ambrose adds, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I checked on them this morning and they’re searching the islands nearby. They should be here in a day or so.”

I narrow my eyes, still not sure what to make of him. “What’s in it for you? Why help Ian? Why come here to help us?”

“I’m not a coldhearted asshole, first of all,” he says a little indignantly. “Second, I owe Ian, so helping you is my way of paying my debt. And third, I was told your assistant would make a great client of mine, and I protect my investments, Mr. Cai.”

I’m about to ask for more information, but Beth walks around me and points to the necklace he’s wearing. “Is that a medical ID tag?”

Ambrose nods, holding it up so we see the medical insignia. “Type one diabetic since ’06.”

Her jaw drops, and a wave of excitement overtakes her. “I was diagnosed in 2007!”

He grins, sharing in her excitement. “Pump or pens?”

She taps the pump under her shirt. “T:slim. I’ve had it for about three years now; before, I used pens. You?”

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