Page 2 of The Plunge

Chapter 1

Keane

Thirty-six minutes. Just a little more than two thousand seconds before all of this is over.

Half an hour and then I'm free.

Free. I can't even fathom the word. What must it be like? To be your own man, the one in control over your life, the one who makes all the calls, the one who decides what jobs to take on—the one who's allowed to say no.

I haven't been in the position to say no to anything in years, if ever. All I've ever been is their henchman. A ruthless killer—talented, efficient, reliable—but not in command. An underling for the Covey, a group of skilled societal outcasts who operate under the command of a man who calls himself Big George, despite his short but strong frame. He's made me who I am today—the one who took me in when no one else wanted me, the one who trained me, the one who pays me, and the one who tells me what to do.

All of that will change once tonight is over.

Once this last job is done.

The Covey always made it clear there's only one way out: feet first in a body bag.

Of course, they have to tell you that. A henchman's loyalty is fragile if he's not serving under free will, and most of us aren't. Force and fear are the powers that bind us more than the generous compensation we get for a job well done.

Still, tonight's reward will out earn everything I've ever done for the Covey. By far. The last remaining piece in the project of my lifetime.

The plan to free myself of the Covey.

Everything is ready. Months of planning and setting aside the funds needed to support my life in freedom.

I'm almost there.

Only this one last job, a last kill. And it has to go well.

Thirty-five minutes.

"One. Eyes on target?"

The voice in my ear rips into my thoughts with the force of a cold knife.

"Affirmative," I hiss, subtly lifting my sleeve up to my mouth to make sure the response gets to them loud and clear. The tiny mic hidden inside my cuff has enough power to detect my voice even without having to lift it up to my face, but in a crowd like this it’s better to be absolutely safe.

We're on the 60th floor of the city's newest prestige building—the Abbott Tower. Tonight is the official opening, an exclusive gathering of high-ranking snobs who congratulate themselves on being better than the people walking sixty stories below their feet, while clinking glasses filled with costly champagne that I bring to them.

The waiter disguise is such a cliché for operations like ours, but it's so damn effective and laughably easy to succeed. Getting in was a lot easier than getting out will be once we're done here.

My silver tray is almost empty as I slowly move through the room, keeping my eyes on the target while offering the last few glasses to the attending guests. So far, the hardest part about this job has been to hide my disgust at this event and these people. It's not the first time I've had to move within an environment such as this, but I've always hated it. Lavish evening gowns and suits from the most expensive tailors meander the festive hall encircled by floor-to-ceiling windows that allow for a panoramic view of the city below. The lights are dimmed enough to perceive the city lights outside but still too bright to really take them in.

That will change. Soon.

"Could I have that last one?"

The voice appears out of nowhere, tearing my focus away from the target and to my immediate left. A blonde is standing awfully close to me, almost close enough for her to feel the gun hidden beneath my vest. I instinctively step to the side to put distance between us even though the sight of her evokes a desire for the opposite.

She's stunning.

Fuck, she's stunning.

The tips of her bleach blond hair grace her collarbones in an unkempt style that clashes with her pastel evening gown, just like her shoes do. Pretty much every other woman in the room, no matter whether they're staff or a guest, is wearing a heel of some sort.

Not this girl.

It seems that the dress was the only thing she was willing to play along with, matching it with a pair of white sneakers with gold details, a color accent she carried over to her heavy makeup. The shimmering dark shadows she has drawn around her piercing blue eyes in no way diminish them. Rather, it causes them to stand out even more, locking me down with the intense expression they conjure on her face.

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