Page 9 of Slay Ride

The taller one looks at the shorter one. “Your lights seem to be working okay. Why would you have to read in the dark?”

I step forward, encroaching on their space. Which is actuallymyspace because I pay to live in this rundown shit hole. “Because your little asshole is too tight to let in any light, and that’s where your pamphlet will end up if you don’t get it out of my face.”

My phone rings in my pocket, blasting some hard metal music, and the men take their leave. Smart decision. I wasn’t kidding about shoving that pamphlet up his ass.

I pull out my phone and answer it, even though I don’t want to. It’s probably Ezra, and I’m not in the mood to hear him wax on forever about how great this retreat will be and how much he wants me there. Ain’t happening.

But it isn’t Ezra. It’s Maverick.

“Afternoon,” he says through the speaker.

I set the phone on the coffee table and plop onto the threadbare couch I found on the side of the road when I first started renting this place a year ago. “Did you find anything out?”

“Not yet, but could you take me to the airport? I’ve already missed my flight due to car trouble, and I’m bound to miss the next one too.”

“I’m in Florida. You’re in New York. How will that work?”

Maverick pauses for a moment, then rushes ahead. “I was here for a job.”

I’m not sure why that was so difficult for him to say, but okay. “If you don’t mind riding bitch on my bike, yeah, I can take you. But I don’t know where you’ll put your luggage.”

“I fit everything into a backpack.”

I wait, giving him a moment to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Maverick...you’re headed to one of the coldest places on this planet. Winter gear is a must. How did you fit everything into one backpack?”

“Oh, I sent some things ahead with Ezra when he flew down a couple of weeks ago. I had to finish up some work for?—”

“Wait, back up to that. You’re still getting work? I thought the well had run dry. I haven’t been contracted since the last gig.”

“About that . . .”

“Go on. What do you know that I don’t?”

Maverick lets out a sigh, then drops the bad news. “You aren’t likely to get a call anytime soon. After that last job, they?—”

“They sent me on a suicide mission, and I still got shit done.”

“He was a celebrity, Bennett. They didn’t want his death to look like anything other than a suicide.”

“It could have been a suicide.”

“I don’t know of any cases where the person disembowels themself after dying of hanging.”

“The hanging was so boring, though. It needed a little color.”

“Regardless, upper management has bumped you so far down the roster that you aren’t likely to get a job for a while. It might be time to look elsewhere until this blows over.”

Oh, yeah. I’ll just grab the hitman classifieds and start cold-calling people. Cue the infamous Bennett eye roll.

“I’ll worry about that later,” I say. “But first, tell me what you plan to do now that Cat will be at the retreat.”

“My flight leaves in two hours, so I kind of need to call a ride service if?—”

“You aren’t getting out of this conversation. Why don’t you tell her you aren’t interested?”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s a sweet girl, and beautiful too, but I’m not in a place to date right now. I’m too busy climbing the ladder at work.”

Yeah, and the rung he just stepped on sits right above my head.

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