Page 5 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

“I’m on it, Cass.”

I sink into the leather sofa and watch my friend work. His fingers fly over the keys, the noise drowning out the sound of my blood pumping through my veins. Watching him in his element always amazes me, especially when I consider all we’ve been through. We spent our youth scamming people for food and clothes more often than I like to think about. We’re both smart and calculating. Garrett’s gift is tech, he can hack his way into anything. Honestly, if it’s got wires, he can figure it out.

My kind of smarts is different. I read people. I can spot their tells and weaknesses. It’s what makes us a good team. Which is exactly why I’m fucking kicking myself in the ass for not recognizing Ruby’s con from the beginning. My eyes were on her the entire time she was in my office, how the fuck did she get the envelope on my desk without me seeing? She certainly played her part well, the bitch.

Garrett’s face contorts, then slackens, and I know that face. It’s the one he makes when he hits a wall. It never lasts this long though, and I can’t bring myself to watch any longer. I lean backand try to get a little sleep, but the click-clacking of the keyboard keeps me awake.

“Cass,” he murmurs after a few minutes, his tone suspicious.

I sit up, alarmed by what he isn’t saying.

“She doesn’t exist,” he continues, cautiously.

“I assure you she does, her lips were wrapped around my dick.”

“Do I want to know how she ended up on her knees?”

“Same shit, different day.” I shrug. “Girl smiles at boy, boy dances with girl, girl sucks boy's dick.”

“When are you going to listen to me, Cass?” Garrett asks through clenched teeth.

I roll my eyes because he’s being ridiculous and paranoid.

He stands to his full height and presses into my chest. “You realize that this is exactly what I was trying to prevent,” he says pointedly.

He resumes his place at the keyboard. “Fucking idiot, Cass. All it takes is the right person,” he pauses and gestures to the screens, “to infiltrate our inner fucking circle and everything we’ve worked so hard for falls right the fuck apart.”

“Says the guy with the blonde belle in his bed.”

“Seriously? Do you really think I didn’t dig into every nook and cranny of that woman’s life? Fuck, I probably know more about her than she does.”

I drag my hands over my face, because he’s right. I know he is. That woman would have never walked into this house if he didn’t know every skeleton in her closet.

“Fuck!” My voice echoes in the enclosed space. My whole body feels tight, like my veins could pop like a fucking balloon. I’m almost afraid to move, but I need to hit something, for the anger to dissipate, so I can think straight. This isn’t just my life, it’s his too. It was my fault then, and it’s my fault now. I’m such a fucking idiot.

“So, I get that yes, she physically exists.” Garrett sighs like he’s talking to a toddler. “What I’m saying is that as a person, she does not. She has no real name, no address, no photos. In fact, everything I’m not finding makes her a ghost. Nobody knows who she is, only what she does.”

He brings up his findings on the large screen in the center of the wall. It’s nothing but altered photos, question marks where faces should be. It’s like a game of fucking Guess Who?

“It’s the twenty-first century, how does a person not exist?”

As pissed as he is at me, his cheeks lift in elation. “She has a Garrett.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, clearly impressed with my nemesis’ tech guy.

“Is her Garrett as good as my Garrett?” I ask him, not sharing his excitement.

He scoffs at me like I’ve just asked the world’s stupidest question, and it's completely ludicrous that anyone could be as good or better than him. He replaces the not-Ruby photos with multiple new photos. Each photo contains a different face, and each face is accompanied by an obituary.

“Are these previous marks?” I ask. I recognize a few of them as players, but I can’t seem to remember anything I heard about their deaths. They didn’t owe me money, so I couldn’t be bothered. Does one of their family members blame me for their deaths?

“Dude, how do you not know this?”

“I never really paid attention. I kind of figured she was just an urban legend. And let’s be honest, I never thought that someone would be stupid enough to hire her to kill me.”

“She didn’t tell you anything? Not a single clue as to what she has on you?” Garrett asks, his brows creasing.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That seems to be her thing—torturing people with information. Like, even if it’s not the reason she was hired tokill them, she tortures them with their secrets. This guy here.” He pulls a photo of a white man with balding brown hair to the forefront of the screen. “He was a teacher that was sleeping with a student, except nobody knew until after he died. His wife said she came home from work one day and there was a school uniform skirt on their bed. Another day she meets him at work for lunch and when they walk into his office there’s photocopies of his affair covering every inch with a lipstick mark over the girl's face.”

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