Page 69 of Bitter Arrangement

He’s older. Balding head, tan skin. I’d guess Taiwanese, probably a direct Mantis member. He’s in jeans and a faded denim shirt with a gun tucked right into his belt, but he doesn’t reach for it. Instead, he chews something and spits on the ground.

“Good job catching me here,” he says, looking very unhappy.

“Why are you following me?”

“Boss’s orders, that’s all.”

“What do you want?”

He shrugs and gestures with his chin. “You tell me. You’re the one that cornered me.”

I take a breath. Anger swells in my chest. I keep seeing those guards trying to catch Riley. Trying to hurt her.

I know this man had nothing to do with what happened back at the office, but I can’t help myself.

They’re all fucking Mantis.

I take a step closer. “Stop tailing me. Tell your boss he can either trust me or he can find the fucking item himself.”

The guy shrugs and spits again. “Won’t make much of a difference. I’ll still have to follow you.”

“Then we’ll have this conversation again, and I won’t be as nice next time.”

Another shrug. Another spit. “Fuck you.”

I raise my gun and shoot him in the knee.

He gasps. The gun’s bark is like a crack in the sky. But I doubt anyone around here will so much as blink. As he falls, he starts reaching for his weapon. I dart forward and grab his wrist before he can draw. I twist, making him groan in agony, as he falls to the ground.

His leg’s bleeding. “You fucker,” he moans.

I quickly release his gun’s magazine, remove the bullet from the chamber, and toss them all into a dumpster. He tries crawling back to his van, but I walk over and stand on his shattered knee.

He turns white with agony.

“Tell Iron Head to stop following me.” I lean down toward him. “Remind him that he hired me for a job. That doesn’t mean he gets to fucking tail me whenever he wants.”

“You ruined my knee,” the man gasps.

“You’re lucky I didn’t do worse.”

I step back. He moans in pain. I walk past him and climb into his van. It smells like stale beer. The back’s covered in a layer of trash. Fast food, coffee cups, standard stake-out fare. There are binoculars and a nice camera on the passenger seat.

The fucker’s been watching me very closely.

I delete the camera’s memory card then pull the van away. I double park it in the street before returning to the alley. My friend is sitting with his back against the wall, breathing hard. His phone is in his hands and he’s typing out a message.

“You’re dead for this,” he says, sucking air between his teeth.

“I doubt you’re that important.”

I get in my car and drive off.

That was impulsive. At worst, it was suicidal. Iron Head is going to be annoyed I shot his soldier like that, but he understands the game. He knows the sort of man he’s working with.

But still, under other circumstances, I never would’ve tried something like that.

Normally, I like to keep a good relationship with a client.

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