Page 3 of Tell Me Lies

The white Nissan was gone, the old Ford truck still parked underneath the metal carport on the side of the home. It was 4:15 AM, fifteen minutes after the raven-haired beauty normally left for work. Her shit excuse of a brother was probably sleeping like a baby, all cozy and warm with his thumb up his ass while his sister had been awake before the damn chickens trying to earn a living. This time tomorrow, either the worthless fucker would be safe and sound, or on his way to becoming worm food.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I scanned the secluded neighborhood and stuck the Glock 40 in the front of my jeans. Despite the aggravating tightening in my chest, it felt surreal knowing this was the end of an era with Stealth Unity, the underground organization I’d worked for since I was twenty-two. Damn good at what I did, I held no remorse for any of the men I’d tortured and killed over the years and felt nothing but appreciation for the operation and its employees. Stealth consisted of ex-military, ex-CIA, and a long slew of ex-convicts. Most stayed within the organization until they were either too old to work or killed in the line of duty, which was rare. I had made some lifelong friends in the company and respected the hell out of them and what the business stood for. But fuck, I was forty-one and getting too old for this shit. Spent, exhausted, tired of the travel and sick stench of death, I was ready for change. For peace and stability. With enough money spread in banks across the world to last two lifetimes, I was anxious to sell my downtown Houston condo and retire on either a nice blue beach somewhere, or on the side of a secluded mountain.

I met Mr. Jones when I was nineteen and working for a large gambling casino just outside of Texas. He and a couple of acquaintances were regulars at the Tuesday night Blackjack tournament. For months I watched them shell out money like they had more than they knew what to do with, while dressed in expensive suits, shiny designer shoes, and radiating power like they owned the whole goddamn world. Fascinated since the minute I first saw them, one thing became certain.

I wanted what they had.

Pushing chairs back in their place, cleaning up trash, picking up empty glasses, and collecting club cards that often got left in the slot machines was dull and low paying. There was no future, and I wasn’t content, but I nonetheless always tried to make an extra effort during the tournament. Turning in their next drink order before it was empty. Discarding cigarette butts from the ashtrays. Doing what I could to create a comfortable environment. After a night of big winnings, I congratulated Mr. Jones then asked if he knew of any jobs for someone like me to earn some real money.

The rest was history.

Now, after nearly two decades, I had vowed to my boss and friend that I would disappear and never breathe a word about him or the organization. While I had expected an argument, he instead told me he was dying of lung cancer, wouldn’t be around much longer, and that I had proven my worth to him many times over. All he asked was that I complete one last job which wasn’t a normal assignment but a personal favor.

Ben Nelson was embezzling money from the commercial contracting company he worked for. James Chandler from JC Construction was a friend of Mr. Jones and served in the Navy with him. From what I had been told, Chandler was eccentric and the baddest kind of bad when it came to dirty employees. Yet, like others since the pandemic, he’d struggled finding good workers and offered Ben the chance to return the money and keep his job. Unfortunately, Ben failed to keep his end of the bargain. While I wasn’t given all the details, one thing had been made crystal clear. James Chandler lost half his belongings in an ugly divorce, despised attorneys, and refused to invest another cent in the legal profession. He wanted his money returned, or Ben Nelson eliminated.

I had to stifle a laugh at Mr. Jones’s description of James Chandler being that I knew his lack of boundaries when it came to cruel, merciless deaths. I’d witnessed this firsthand after watching his own half-brother being strapped to a wicker chair, doused in lighter fluid, and burned alive after he turned traitor and helped an arms dealer flee the country in return for a six-figure payoff.

He had been good to me over the years. I also knew not to try and cross the man.

I made my way around back and pushed through all the flying insects, then looked through a kitchen window. The under-counter lights were on, but the rest of the place looked quiet and dark.

Perfect.

I didn’t look forward to what I was about to do. Not because the man inside was more than likely about to meet Jesus. The world was better off without shit scum like him. My dilemma was a head of raven hair, a set of pouty lips, and arctic-blue eyes that carried way too much fatigue, stress, and sorrow. While she’d had no problem putting me in my place when I offered her advice, she was undoubtedly a kindhearted, sweet angel who deserved the damn world. Who needed her financial woes eased, this run-down place tended to, and most importantly someone to worship her fucking body morning, noon, and night. For all my adult life, I had lived with a void space inside my chest. I felt no empathy toward others and defined love as silly fiction. Fifteen minutes with Brooklyn Nelson left me wondering. After I retired just maybe…

Fuck, what was I thinking? I had a job to complete, a promise to maintain. The quicker I got it done, the quicker I could get the hell out of here. And her out of my head.

I reached for the handle of the back door. Locked. As expected. But the old fiberglass-clad foam door was no challenge to jimmy open. Fifteen seconds later I was inside and inhaling scents of coconut, vanilla, and homemade bread. All was quiet, other than the ticking of a big round clock on the wall, and I made my way toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

That’s when I felt it. Somebody behind me. Somebody lifting something to connect with the back of my skull. I pulled the Glock from my pocket, rotated, and instead of Ben fucking Nelson, I was staring at an intense, unblinking, ice-blue gaze and a big-ass kitchen pan inches away from bashing my head in.

What the hell was she doing here? The Nissan hadn’t been under the carport.

“Whoa, sweetheart. I’d reconsider if I were you.”

“You!” she shrieked, her curvy body shaking like a motherfucker. “First you stalk me in my place of business, offer me bullshit advice, and act like some sleek businessman. Now you break into my home? Get the hell out or I start screaming.” Her bottom lip quivered as she sucked in accelerated breaths of air and stared at the gun in my hand.

I lowered the Glock, yanked the copper pan from her hands, and pushed my fingers through her hair. Tilting her neck and trying to concentrate on the job instead of the ice in her gorgeous eyes and the way her silken tresses felt against my fingertips, I said, “I am not here to hurt you.” I pressed the swell of my cock into her belly. “I’m here to pay a visit to your brother, so do us both a favor and lead me in his direction.”

“Fuck you,” she said, then tried to run for the kitchen.

I was way ahead of her, way faster. She only made it six inches before I had her by the clip on her head, pulling her back, and watching her cock-hardening tresses fall free as her body came crashing back into mine.

“Let go of me, you crazy fuckfest.” Panic flashed in her gaze as she started thrashing and kicking at my legs before releasing a bone-curdling scream.

Letting her know I wasn’t here to listen to her lip or fuck around, I pressed a hand over her mouth and nose to cut off her breath, then lowered my lips above hers. “Shut your goddamn mouth before you wake the dead. Or join them.” I released the pressure just enough to let her inhale. “Are you going to scream again?” I covered her nose with my palm a second time, a final warning.

She shook her head in quick panicky motions, tears flooding her eyes.

“Okay, that’s better. Now tell me where your brother is.”

“I … I don’t know.” She blinked several times, her eyes darting back and forth. “Sometime during the night, he left in my car. I haven’t heard from him.” Her vocal tone was higher than it had just been, and she shifted from foot to foot, her body fidgety. All were signs I had learned to read over the years. Someone hiding something. Someone trying to protect a loved one.

The little raven-haired beauty was lying to my face.

“Then do us both a favor and tell me where he hides his money.”

“Money? Does this place look like we have money?”

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