Page 11 of One Kill

As I cross the street, I tap my thighs to double check that my knives are in place. Before riding out here, I had to take a taxi to my place, change into my gear, and grab my bike. One of my knives got lost in the conference room, probably still stuck in some asshole’s hand, so I needed to replace it on my holder.

Once I reach Murphy’s front door, I check the lock, cursing at the light screeching of the screen door. A few doors down, a dog barks twice but the quiet quickly returns. There are too many lighted porches here, including Murphy’s, so I decide to go in through the back door.

Scaling the wooden fence, I check that nobody is watching before I jump down and slink along the wall until I reach the door. Again with the screen door that sounds like a fucking hyena.

I make a mental note to tell Murph to fix that shit as I pull out the tools I need to pick his lock. Another item to add to the list… get better security around this place. I won’t allow my kid to be easily accessible to the monsters of my world.

Quietly, I slink inside, closing the door behind me with just a tiny click of the doorknob. Listening for any signs of struggle, I freeze and concentrate. The back door gives direct access to the kitchen, aU-shaped counter with the stove in the middle allows me to crouch behind the breakfast bar. Satisfied with the stillness of it all, I rise just enough to look over the bar and make my way through the kitchen and into the living room with the wooden staircase directly to my right.

There’s no way those fuckers aren’t going to creak. Dammit.

Before I can place one foot on the first stair, I feel cold hard metal at the back of my head and immediately freeze. My hoodie hides my hair and my face and I’m not sure if this is Murphy protecting our daughter or some random motherfucker thinking he can take what’s mine.

I’m on high alert and for the first time in thirteen years, someone else’s life is more important than mine, but if I’m dead, then all of this is moot.

“Move and I won’t hesitate to blow your fucking head off.” I sigh in relief at the familiar sound of Murphy’s voice, glad I won’t have to organize a cleanup in my daughter’s home.

“Shooting someone in the back of the head, huh? Brutal.” I chuckle, hoping he’ll recognize my voice and the inside joke. Our fathers used to always say that if you must kill, you always look your victim in the eyes.

“Goddammit, J. What the fuck?” The relief in his voice is palpable as he sighs out his words on a long breath. “You got a death wish or something?”

My hands go to my hoodie to pull it down just as I turn around and face my ex.

“Just another Tuesday, I guess.” He’s not even the first or second person today to point a gun at me. If only he knew how common that is, he’d think twice about exposing Hallie to my universe.

“Christ, you’re crazy. What the fuck are you doing here?” The light from the lamppost outside shines directly on him through the window, catching his deep brown eyes as he swings his gaze to the clock. “It’s two in the morning.”

Ignoring his question for the moment, I sigh and make my way back to the kitchen. “Got any coffee?” Even at sixteen, he was an avid coffee drinker like his dad, much to the exasperation of his mom, who believed drinking coffee so young would stunt his growth.

I’m not short by any standards; at five-seven I’m pretty average, I would say. Murphy has a good five inches on me so it’s safe to say his caffeine addiction didn’t stunt a damn thing.

“Yeah, I got that fancy shit you used to like. The pods.” My gaze follows his every move as I sit on the stool at the breakfast bar. First, he closes the door, then he turns on the light. I’m guessing he’s trying to keep from waking up Hallie. It is a school night, after all. “Hallie gets on me that it’s environmentally stupid—her words—to use pods, but I refuse to give up my coffee.”

I can’t help the curve at the corners of my mouth. I like predictable and his habits still being true today have a weird warmth spreading in my chest.

“She called me a dozen times tonight without leaving a message. I thought she was in danger.” Murphy stills for a second, like the idea of her being in danger physically affects him, before he sighs, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he reaches for the open metal safe and puts his gun away.

“She’s thirteen. Everything is urgent and drama is her lifeline.” Facing me, he grins. “You’ll get used to it. To be honest, I’m still adjusting to her mood swings. One second I’m the love of her life and the next I’m the cause of all her troubles.”

I shrug, my memories from my teenage years a distant echo because I chose to put it all in a steel drawer.

“I need to have a conversation with her about boundaries and late-night phone calls. It takes me almost an hour to get here, I won’t be summoned.”

Murphy chuckles again, a mocking edge to his amusement that gets under my skin more than I’d like to admit.

“You’ll get used to it,” is all he says.

“No, that’s the whole point. I don’t have time to get used to it, Murph. I have a job and responsibilities so I can’t be at her beck and call. She needs to learn.” Teenagers can’t be any worse than some of my younger Reapers. Discipline and order are the best path to obedience.

“I’ll get right on that.” His amusement morphs into something edgier, more frustrated. Sarcasm.

My spine straightens and my eyes narrow. “Why are you getting pissy all of a sudden?” I don’t do subtle, it’s not in my genes.

The machine rumbling as a thin line of dark coffee falls into an espresso cup gives us a minute to step back from our growing little spat. By the time the cup is full and the machine is quiet, Murphy’s features are more relaxed. More than mine, at least.

“I’ll talk to her, Jaybear, but just a heads up… she’s a lot like you so it’s not always easy.” His raised brow is a challenge. He wants me to contradict him but I can’t. I’m not easy, never have been, and I’m even worse now. I like that she’s like me, it means she’s got the heart of a survivor.

“You don’t have to talk to her, I can do it. Can’t be that hard.” I mumble that last part because, fucking hell, she’s barely thirteen and living a quiet, sheltered life. I’ve dealt with various monsters and killers on a daily basis, this will be a piece of cake.

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