Page 16 of Dangerously Deceptive

Yes, I told her my intentions…afterwards. Yes, I told her I don’t do relationships. Yes, I told her I don’t want anything permanent, it’s a word I’m allergic to. But, still, I could see with every moan, and every orgasm, that she started to look at me differently. She told me she could keep her head and her heart separate, but I’m not so sure.

Picking up my phone as it starts to ring again, I realise it’s Liam. This is his tenth call in as many minutes. It must be important. So, without trying to jostle Shayla too much, I climb out of bed, pull on the sweatpants I removed in all the fun last night, and head to the adjoining door. As I reach it, I see my Liverpool football shirt on the floor, and normally I would think it was a crime to see such a beautiful relic on the floor, but after seeing it on that gorgeous body, it will never compare. She made football shirts sexy, and for that I will forever be fucking grateful. The image of her covered in my red shirt, barely covering her ass, as she pairs it with only her sexy as hell bare legs.

The phone in my hand starts ringing again, pulling me out of my fantasy that I store in the wank bank to forever be immortalised, before slipping into Shayla’s room to answer. “Liam, you okay, bro?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Liam snaps down the phone as I roll my eyes at his dramatic tone.

“Liam, it is, hold on,” I look at my watch to be precise, “Five-twenty in the fucking morning on a Friday. If you don’t know where I was, we need to send you to detective school,” I joke, but Liam doesn’t laugh. Shit, this isn’t like him. My best friend is normally carefree and relaxed. He may be genuinely angry when he first calls, but as soon as I crack a joke, he forgets all about it and chills out. But, not this time.

“I’ve made a mistake, Kel. Like a really fucking big mistake and I am spiralling.” The pain in Liam’s voice is evident, and I have to admit I’m shocked at his words. My brother doesn't make mistakes. He was trained not to.

“Liam, take some deep breaths, and for the love of God please stop pacing. Now, start from the beginning.”

I hear him flop his ass down, and I almost want to laugh that I know him so well I was sure he was pacing. He begins taking some deep breaths before he starts his story. “So, you know that job I was sent to do?”

“Yeah,” I reply, ominously, unsure where he is going with this.

“When I confirmed with the client that the job was done, they told me they had tried contacting me, but obviously my phone was off since I was in the middle of the work. Apparently, they found new evidence suggesting they had the wrong man. They tried to cancel, but it was too fucking late.” I can hear the despair in my friend’s voice, and I don’t fucking know what to say.

“But we confirmed their research. It all looked legit when I investigated.” Because that is what I found when I looked into it for him. Just like I do for all of Liam’s hits, I do the background legwork. We make sure the story the client is telling is legit, and basically decide if there are sufficient grounds for Liam to accept the job. This was clear-cut. Marcushio was a bad guy. He was the O’Keenans’ money man, and he was robbing them blind. He was syphoning money that he should have been cleaning into an offshore account. He was dodgy as fuck.

Yes, some of the evidence was provided to us by the client, and there was a chance it could have been faked, but not the evidence I found. Unless it was made to look that way. Fuck, did they make this look like it was Marcushio so that Liam would take the job. Maybe they were sure it was him but didn’t have the evidence? Without proper proof, Liam would have walked away in a heartbeat. Did they make it up? Why didn’t I see it was false?

“Look, Liam. I don’t know what the fuck is going on over there, but we did our research. We didn’t just go on what the O’Keenans told us. You said it yourself that Vernon is a shady, slippery fucker. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t wait until you were away from all forms of communication, then try to cancel. That way, not only do you not know that the job is cancelled, so it gets done, but he can say he cancelled and not pay you.”

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“Liam, you need to chill out. Go and lie low, make sure you wait until the heat dies down. When I am done with this job, I will come to London and help you fix this, okay? But, do not, under any circumstances, contact the O’Keenans. Not until I can get there and make sure it’s a secure line. We…You never mess up. Something smells funny here, bro, and I promise you we will get to the bottom of it. But we can’t look into it while the body is still hot.”

I can hear my best friend on the other end of the phone groaning, and I just know he is running his hands through his hair, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders right now.

“I will. You are right, though, something is very fucking wrong. I did the job they hired me to do, and you can be sure as fuck I am collecting final payment,” Liam growls down the phone.

He sounds like such a prick, focusing on the money when he could potentially have killed the wrong man, but right now, I’m not talking to my best friend. I’m talking to arguably the best hitman in the world, who was taught by his father at a young age to turn off his emotions and do the job at hand. Over the years, together, I have helped him adapt to find the balance he needs to stay sane. Getting away from his psychotic father, Desmond, was the best thing he ever did because it gave Liam the control he needs over his business. He doesn’t take on revenge kills, or things that are petty and unjustified. Most people would argue you can’t have morals and be a killer, but somehow, Liam manages to find a balance. One we both thought to be right. Until now.

“Downtime, Liam. I mean it. You know it’s essential after a job anyway, even more so for this one. Is there anything on my end I need to take care of?” I ask, knowing full well Liam would have already asked if he did. The job would always come before his little meltdown.

Usually, my job, as well as all the prep work, is to ensure the job was done without any evidence left behind digitally. This could be anything from scrubbing CCTV footage, deleting logs that show any digital footprints, or phone records. With Liam, he’s a pro, and I know I very rarely need to do this stuff for him. His phone will have been turned off miles away from the scene of the crime, his smartwatch left at his alibi location. He would never be stupid enough to use an Oyster card on the tube, or use a credit card to buy anything nearby. And he always checks out the route beforehand, ensuring there are no official, or unofficial, CCTV on his route. Even though I could tell him before, what cameras were officially in the area, we now live in the digital footprint era, where people have dash cams, doorbell cams, head cams for cyclists. Not to mention the millennials who film every aspect of their lives. All it takes is for one of these to capture a shot of you near the area, while your alibi has you somewhere else, and you are done for. My job is to find and scrub anything.

“No, it was so quiet. Obviously, there were a few security guards there, but none of them were wearing any kind of camera. They were all left alive, but it was long range so they didn’t even see which direction it came from,” Liam explains, his voice starting to return to normal the more he talks about what he did right. I have been working with Liam since he found out I could hack when I was a teenager. We have been saving each other’s asses since then.

“Good. Now can I go back to bed, please?” I ask, the spontaneous yawn was well timed and added to my question.

“Soon, I’m almost calm. Distract me. Tell me what’s going on with the Reaper Princess. How is she?” he asks, and I freeze. I don’t lie to my Liam, I never have, but I know he will be so pissed at me for this one. I don’t know how many times he told me to keep my dick in my pants. Not only was he concerned I would start a war with a very ruthless biker gang, but more importantly, I might hurt a very fragile girl. Both of which seemed insignificant when I saw her in my Liverpool shirt, begging for my cock. Not many men would have had the willpower to resist. I’m not even sure this asshole would, but he sure as fuck is going to say he would. I need to avoid him finding out.

“She’s okay. She is healing really well, and is all set for the plan. We really need to come up with a way to get her away from those cuntwaffle Reapers, Liam. They have been fucking raping her,” I hiss down the phone, hating the way the word sounds on my tongue. Saying it aloud makes it real, and all I can think about is the array of scars, cuts, and burns that were littered all around her pussy. On her lower stomach, where her pubes should be, across her inner thighs, around her asshole. They were everywhere, and I can only imagine how much pain she must have endured. Not to mention the humiliation of knowing these men, who she grew up with, who helped raise her, were the ones doing it. Don’t even get me started on her piss-poor excuse for parents.

“Fuck! I knew the Reapers were fucking psychopaths, but I didn’t realise it was to this extent. I’m guessing that’s part of the reason she wants her freedom so much,” Liam says, more of a statement than a question, but I answer all the same.

“She has to get out. I don’t think she could handle much more. They have fucking branded her, and the scars, man. They are everywhere,” I groan, remembering the feel of them under my lips.

Never at any point did I think they made Shayla any less beautiful, but they sure as fuck made me want to protect her even more. Whilst I’m around, I will do my best to make sure she ends up with no more scars.

“Yeah, I don’t think it will be long. There have been some signs he is getting ready for the trip,” Liam replies, keeping things all business. Or so I thought. “By the way…how the fuck do you know she has scars everywhere? Don’t even think about lying to me, Kellan!” His voice is harsh and firm, and I feel like my dad is telling me off. Or I would, if I had one.

“Liam…look…I—”

Before I can finish mumbling my reply, Liam cuts me off. “You asshole. I told you not to fuck her. Are you completely insane? If the Reapers find out, they will kill you. Not to mention what you are doing to that poor girl's head. Of all the people to fuck, Kellan, why choose someone as broken as her?” he chastises, and I know he is right. But, apparently, I don’t like to be talked to like I am a kid, and I lash out.

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