Page 2 of A Past Too Broken

“Not much to work with, but there’s only so many people capable of pulling something like this off. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll even give you this one for free.”

I snort. “How generous of you.”

“I am, thanks for noticing. I’ll be in touch.”

Hollis hangs up, and I stop driving around in circles and head to my house. Adrenaline still rushes through me because of how utterly pissed and offended I am that some fucker took it upon themself to steal a job from under me, but the distance has helped clear my mind.

Still, what is he, a fucking newb? No, he can’t be, not with how cocky and efficient he was. Either way, you don’t take someone’s kill; there aren’t many “rules and regulations” in this line of work, but that sure as hell is an important one. And he will pay for his audacity.

“Try not to lose this one, eh,” Cash says, tossing a dossier onto the countertop between us.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, picking up the file folder and thumbing through it.

The information is standard, basic in all the ways Cash’s files usually are unless you’re willing to shell out extra for him to do the legwork for you. I don’t know anyone who takes him up on it, except Molly’s crazy ass—though Cash doesn’t charge him, as far as everyone knows.

“Hollis find anything on your kill stealer?”

Sneering, I toss the folder onto the counter and lean against it. “Not a damn thing.” I stare at the information broker. “You got anything for me?”

Cash smiles that annoying, know-it-all smile of his and shrugs. “I’ve been doing my own digging…”

“I swear to fuck, Cash, if he’s one of yours I will kill you both slowly.”

He laughs. “No, he’s not mine. I may be an asshole, but I don’t pit y’all against one another. That’s one of the fastest ways to get dead. Nah, I’m not quite sure who it is, but I have my suspicions. There are only a few people I know of that are active enough to pull off something like that: Elijah, you, Henry, and Aaron. Since it wasn’t any of you, that means it’s someone who works without an established network. But when I made the inquiry to our… friends, I barely escaped with my life for accusing them of shady business practices.”

Snorting, I push off the counter and head to the sink, filling up the kettle. “You’re not wrong there. I almost wish it was them—that I could respect and move on from—but this… It felt almost personal.”

Flicking on the burner, I leave the kettle to boil and hunt for the box of tea I want. It would be so much easier if it were the more established assassin network. I can’t call them rivals because that would imply Cash’s band of misfits is an actual organization. None of us like the idea ofthat, but we’re all close enough to support one another and have each other’s backs. For the right price or favor owed, of course.

But it’s the true freelancers, the ones who avoid even Cash despite him being the best damn information broker in the business, that are truly the worrisome ones. They’re the ones who usually have nothing to lose. They’re loose cannons because while the people I know thanks to Cash may have secrets and agendas, they also have some form of honor code. Those that don’t are the ones willing to take unnecessary risks, and they’re how you end up in prison or dead.

When the kettle clicks off, I pour the water into my mug and turn back to face Cash, who’s playing on his phone. He’s acting like he’s not aware of my every move—as if anyone who knows him would believe his relaxed, nonchalant act. I might kill people for a living, but I am far from the most dangerous man in this room.

“Aside from me and your other pets,” I begin, clutching my mug almost too tightly. “Who do you suspect?”

Cash snorts. “Pets,” he mutters, “I’m going to tell Henry you called him that.” I grimace but don’t get a chance to respond before Cash is setting his phone down on the countertop and sliding it my way.

Looking down at it, I find six images, but I don’t even need to study them all before picking out that bastard.

“Him.” I tap the photo and bring up the full image. “This is the guy I saw in the apartment.”

Cash leans over and grimaces. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

I bring my tea to my mouth, then take a deep breath through my nose, hoping the scent and heat will help keep me level-headed. “Who is he?”

Cash sighs. “All I got is a name: Min. He’s a slippery fucker. Both me and others have tried to entice him over the years, but he is… not a team player. Plus,” Cash’s silver eyes burn with a fire that usually means danger. “His kills aren’t just about turning a profit.”

I swallow as Cash takes the phone back and taps on it a few times before offering it again.

I don’t want to take it. Whatever is on the device won’t change that Min needs to be taught a lesson, but… killing for personal reasons and not for money makes you the worst type of loose cannon.

That’s not a road I want to go down again.

The mall plays Christmas music overhead and, for a moment, I contemplate if it’s worth the jail time of pulling my gun out and shooting the speakers. Christmas is still three weeks away, but you’d think it was tomorrow with the way the holiday is shoved in all our faces.

I should have chosen a different day or time to trail my mark, but this is the only time she’s been without her snot-nosed kids in the last few weeks. I’ve already wasted precious time and resources tracking her down. I don’t want to take any more by finding a time that’s more convenient to me.

Besides, when I took up this endeavor, I knew it was with the caveat that nothing about this would be pleasant.

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