Page 41 of The Hitman
She enters the room holding a steaming mug of something that smells floral and soothing.
Despite the stress weighing on my shoulders, I give her a half-smile. “A little.”
“I just tucked Leo in, but I saw light coming from the doorway. Figured I’d make you some tea.”
I set my laptop aside and take the mug from her hand. “Thank you.”
Sleepy-eyed, she sits on the edge of the bed. She’s sexy as hell in nothing more than a thin tank top and short pajama bottoms, but my gaze snares on her bruised cheek and busted lip.
Anger ignites my insides all over again, but dissipates quickly when she glances at her lap, neck flushing with embarrassment.
“I’m fine. I promise,” she says.
“I know, tough girl.” I inch closer and lift her chin so her eyes are fixed on me. “I know.”
The urge to kiss her overwhelms me, so I press my lips to the edges of hers softly, tenderly. Tucking the three words I plan to give her soon beneath each one while avoiding the swollen cut in the center.
“Mmm,” she hums dreamily. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I brush my thumb along her jaw. “But that was me practicing restraint. If you weren’t hurt, I’d be a lot less gentlemanly.”
“Promises, promises.” Her nose scrunches, and she gives me a playful shove before her eyes fall to the computer screen beside us. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” she jokes, but her gaze says she knows how serious this is.
My laptop chimes beside us, flashing with an email notification. We exchange wary glances before I pick it up and turn it so she can read along with me.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I’m not sure. I don’t recognize the sender.”
But only a select few have access to my personal email, and the cryptic subject line makes me dread what’s waiting inside.
Insurance – R.
I don’t hesitate to open it, but when I see a grainy video attachment of Remi in a dimly lit office, my heart rate spikes.
“Knight, if you’re seeing this, I’m already gone.” My stomach clenches as my friend confirms my fear. “You should know I’ve been organizing a rebellion against the Syndicate. I’ve attached documents, receipts, and photos for you to go through as proofof how that bastard Carmine has been playing us all. But mostly… I’m sorry.”
The video glitches in and out as he briefly glances away from the camera, but I’m holding my breath, hanging on every word.
“They discovered my involvement the night you and I made contact about Volkov’s location, and I’ve been on the run ever since. Look, you’re not getting this just because I’m dead or because they hired Volkov to kill you. Carmine thinks you’re leading the rebellion that’s trying to take him out.”
He holds up a weathered letter with my old moniker stamped at the bottom of it—a reaper with twin pistols. His frown darkens the circles beneath his eyes.
“I don’t know who started using it, but your mark’s everywhere now. Emails. Letters. Patches sewn into the lining of uniforms. You’ve become their symbol, Knight.” Remi sighs deeply. “And Carmine won’t stop coming for you now. So I’m giving you everything I’ve got. The choice to lead them is yours, or maybe you can find a way out of this like you always do. Either way, I’m sorry.”
The screen cuts to black.
“Who was that?” Callie asks, but my mind’s locked on six words.
They hired Volkov to kill you.
“Remi. He was a hitman before he started running logistics for the Blackwell Syndicate, and he was helping me track down Volkov after Isa’s hit. He’s the one who gave me his address.”
I swallow hard, my gut pinching at the loss. I’ve never allowed myself to have a true friend, but if I had, it would’ve been him.
