Page 4 of Dangerously Deceptive

“No, Shayla, I won’t get jealous. You can go out and fuck whoever you want. You clearly have your reasons, and they’re your business. I need to be sure that when I call you to say the plan is going ahead, I need you to be sober and present. So go and let your hair down tonight because after that, you are going stone-cold sober until the job is done. Do I make myself clear?” I know I am coming across more stern than normal, but I’m not here to play games. This is a big job that requires a lot of focus and discipline. If she isn’t willing to commit to that level, then I have to walk away. It’s either that or we both end up killed.

With a small sigh, Shayla nods her head to confirm she understands what I’ve been saying. As her body begins to sag, she looks so small again. It’s like I am watching her deflate back to the small, scared girl she was not five minutes before her manic outburst.

“I think I’m going to go. I will grab a couple of drinks at the bar on the corner for courage, and then I will head home,” she mumbles as she stands and straightens out her clothes that really didn’t need straightening. She picks up her leather jacket and begins putting it on, at the same time, I gather up her things and hand over her bag.

“Let me give you my number. It’s for emergency use only. We shouldn’t really have anything that can tie us together. But, my phone is fully untraceable. I will send you a link asking you to download some software, do it straight away and it will give me the access I need to make your phone secure. Then you can text me if you need me,” I explain as I take out my phone and begin getting the programmes ready to share with her phone. Shayla quickly agrees and after reading out her mobile number, we get that sorted quickly. Once we swap numbers, we stand in front of each other, just kind of staring as the atmosphere around us appears to crackle with tension.

Fuck, she is so close I can smell her, and she smells like the sweetest strawberries. My mouth starts to water and I almost moan with pleasure as I imagine licking her sweet body to see if she tastes as good as she smells. My dick is so hard now, all she has to do is look down and she won’t be able to miss the bulge in my jeans. So much for not thinking about how hot she is. This is really not helping my ‘do not fuck her until after the job’ plan.

It feels as though we both inch closer together, almost like we are hypnotised by how close we are to each other. It won't take much for one of us to break the spell. Just a few millimetres further and her lips will be all mine. No matter how much my brain is warring at me to walk away, my dick appears to be leading the show right now.

Just as I’m about to claim her lips with mine, ‘The Hitman’ by Queen starts blurring out from my pocket. We both part like the Red Sea, and I could fucking murder my best friend right about now. What shitty timing.

“I better go. I’ll speak to you soon,” Shayla mumbles as she heads for the door.

Declining Liam’s call, deciding to ring him back soon, I turn around and grab hold of her arm gently. Just enough to get her to turn around and give me her attention. “I meant what I said, Shayla. If you need me, use that number.”

A small smile spreads across her lips and she leans in. The moment has gone and my brain is firmly running the show now, but luckily I don’t need to turn her down again. She makes it very clear as she presses a kiss lightly on my cheek, it’s just her way of thanking me. Her lips are so soft, it’s almost like they linger on my skin long after she’s pulled away.

“Bye, Kellan. It was lovely meeting you,” she replies with a genuine smile, and I can’t help but smile back. I know it’s my cocky, lopsided grin, complete with dimples, but it really has been a pleasure meeting her. I can’t wait to get this job over and done with. Not only because it’s one of the hardest I’ve ever taken on, but also because then I will have no excuses, nothing holding me back. I will finally be able to fuck this platinum blonde beauty and get her out of my system.

Watching Shayla walk away, she heads in the direction of the bar on the corner of the street. I guess she was serious about needing a couple of drinks and some Dutch courage before she faced the Reapers. I watch her ass sway in those tight leather trousers, and my phone starts to ring again. I know Liam is only doing as I asked him to, but I feel wrong talking to my friend while I’m as hard as fucking granite.

Once Shayla has turned the corner—she hasn’t looked back once—I slam the door shut, throw myself on the bed, and pick up my phone. “What?” I bark, only to be greeted by the resounding chuckle of my best friend, Liam.

“What happened? I thought I was supposed to be checking in to make sure some dickhead biker didn’t kill you? Did things not quite go to plan?” he asks, his voice sounding almost like he’s gloating.

“The asshole biker turned out to be a fucking chick. Not just any chick, but the Pres’ daughter.” I groan as the words finally sink in when I say them out loud.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck the Princess of a biker gang?” Liam chastises.

“I fucking wish. She is hot, bro. And there were a couple of times that I thought something was going to happen, but it’s a bad idea. Not only because this job is practically a suicide mission, but I think she’s a bit messed up, Liam. She got a phone call from her dad, and she tried to hide it from me but you should have heard the names that bastard was using. She’s got more luggage than when my bitch of a mother goes on holiday. But, no matter how much my brain told me to walk away, I couldn’t.” My words hang silent, and I can almost feel his judgement through the phone. Liam, in addition to having a hero complex issue, is a lot more caring than you would expect from one of the best hitmen in the world. He can turn his emotions on and off like a light, a trait I have often admired throughout my life.

“I thought I was supposed to be the hero. You're supposed to be the asshole in the background that nobody even knows about. I know you aren’t stupid enough to be helping this girl just 'cause she is hot. What’s going on?” Liam asks, and I groan so loudly he obviously hears me and starts to chuckle. Cocky twat.

Taking a big, deep breath, I try to formulate my words so I can explain properly. “I don’t know, she was such an enigma and you know how much I love a good puzzle piece. It seems like the Shayla she presents to the world is an act, she wants people to think she is strong and determined, but I think deep down she is very broken. Then, out of nowhere, she had this flip that I just couldn’t keep track of. When I mentioned about her going home, she blew up in my face saying my ego couldn’t take being knocked down, and that I should get over it and go clubbing with her. I felt like maybe I never got to speak to the real Shayla.”

It almost sounds like the line crackles at the end as Liam stays silent, giving me a chance to continue if I need to, but honestly, I think that sums it up. Then, out of nowhere, a small laugh seems to cut through the atmosphere like a knife as Liam jokes, “She probably did offend your big ego.”

“Prick. If I was closer to you right now, you would have a fucking dead arm. In fact, I’m making a note that I owe you one,” I laugh as I shout back, my voice sounding a lot lighter than it was before.

“Yeah, yeah. Remember, I’m the lethal one. You stick to your little computers, leave the hard stuff to me.”

I justify that with a response full of expletives, but no real substance because he’s right. He is the guy that commits the crime, I’m the guy that covers it up. We have been a team for as long as I can remember, and I should be off with him, helping him on this job. But, we both knew I couldn’t turn down the call of a Reaper. They’re crazy motherfuckers who won't hesitate to take out everyone I’ve ever loved and cared about. I don’t know why that scares me, because the only person I even remotely give a shit about is on the other end of this phone, and he’s more lethal than all the fucking Reapers put together. Still, I’m quite partial to my pretty face, and if I can make this dickhead's life just a little easier then I will do that.

No matter how long I talk to Liam, it isn’t going to settle my nerves about Shayla. He’s just going to ask the questions I don’t have the balls to face, and I’m hiding from them for a reason. I have to pull Shayla through this assignment like I said I would. Then I can walk away with the money that was promised to me, and she can get her freedom. If I get a happy ending or two before we part ways, that would be even better. Shayla looks like she is one of those girls that’s a succubus in the sack, but you never go back for seconds because she turns into cling film quicker than I can say bunny boiler.

“Anyway, enough about me. How’s your job going?” I ask, knowing he is knee-deep in the research part of the hit. I personally think he has all he needs and I told him before we parted ways yesterday that he’s more than ready to pull the trigger, quite literally, on this job, but he says something is off.

“Something still doesn’t feel right. I have seen all the evidence you have given to me, and there is insurmountable proof that Marcushio did what O’Keenan is claiming he did, but I just don’t see it. Every time I watch him, I feel like I’m not seeing the person O’Keenan presented to me on paper.” Liam’s voice sounds deep in contemplation, like he is musing things over as he speaks to me.

“I fucking hate not being there with you, man. I should be there doing your research, clarifying the stuff Vernon gave to you. What are you going to do if it feels wrong?” I ask, hating the fact that I chose to help my unknown Reaper instead of going to London to be with Liam.

Don’t get me wrong, I know he can handle it on his own. He is a big boy and doesn’t need me holding his hand. We have both done jobs together before. In fact, we just finished one. Up until yesterday, we were in Belfast, and once that job was done we moved on to the next one. I know Liam will be pleased to get back to London. He sees it as his home now, mostly because it’s far enough away from the crazy cocksucker he calls a father. I still live in Limerick, haven’t ever lived anywhere else. But we still meet regularly for jobs and just to hang out. I couldn’t do life without Liam, he’s my sanity.

“Yeah, but neither of us wanted you to piss off a Reaper. So don’t bang the Reaper Princess. And to answer your question, I have a meeting with Vernon. He claims he has further insurmountable proof that he will provide me tomorrow, but if I don’t do the job in the next forty-eight hours then he isn’t working with me again,” Liam explains, and I can’t contain my laughter at hearing the threat.

“Oh, I bet you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself right then.” I know my friend, and he hates being threatened. There’s a reason he is called ‘the hitman with a conscience’. He takes on the jobs he wants, and if he doesn’t want to do it, or doesn’t believe the hit is valid, then he walks away. His father may have taught him to turn his emotions on and off, but this is how Liam deals with what he does for a living. He wants to be able to look at himself in the mirror and know he’s doing the right thing.

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