Page 4 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

I turned and glanced in the direction of Reid’s room. My heart was beating, from excitement, anticipation.

It would be so easy to slip back into that old skin. I could already feel the buck of the trigger as it held taunt against my finger. Could already sense the swell of anticipation that accompanied the moments before a hit. The smell of the metal and sweat. The taste of the wind.

But there was a good reason I’d walked away from that life. I was all the family Reid had in the world and I refused to put his future in jeopardy for a temporary high.

“Things have changed for me. I’m not taking risks the way I would before…”

“I know. Get it done quick and quiet.”

“Give me three days.” I hung up and flexed my fingers.

It was time to get back to work.

2

Angel

“Work it, ladies!” I snapped my fingers and laughed as my colleagues danced in front of the cabana where our group lounged.

Soca played from a small Bluetooth speaker. The rhythm swooped over the frolicking waves and joined the pelicans that squawked in harmony.

I dug my toes into the sand and bopped my head to the beat, enjoying the faint breeze that tickled my straight black hair.

Suddenly, the music warbled and then stopped.

My gaze landed on the principal who jumped out of her seat like a woman possessed and was slapping the life out of the speaker.

Poor thing.

The speaker, not my manic boss.

The thud of flesh against metal echoed in the stillness. With a strained smile, Principal Amy muttered, “I don’t know what’s wrong with this radio.”

The teachers standing to my left froze, each unsure if they should continue the presentation acapella or wait until the music resumed.

“I think it’s out of juice,” Ms. Jefferies, the Standard Three teacher, observed. She stood and brushed the sand off her ample behind. The grains still clung to her ebony buttocks that squeezed her tiny yellow thong like a lemon sucker.

With a shrug, she strode over to the speaker and held it up. The lights on the tiny machine were fading.

Groans of disappointment rippled from the crowd of tourists that had hovered around our cabana to join in the festivities. Men stood in Hawaiian shirts and khakis. Ladies sported sunburns and open-toed sandals.

“That’s it?” someone yelled.

The contestants glanced at each other and murmured, “What happened to the music?”

“Are we done?”

Principal Amy advanced and gestured to the teachers posing in front of the benches with a gallant sweep of her hand. “Give it up for Ms. Jones, Ms. Azuma, and Ms. Stacey for that lovely rendition of ‘Teachers Run The World’!”

The crowd of tourists politely clapped.

I cupped my hand and whooped. “Go, Ms. Jones!”

My fellow teacher and friend, Paulette Jones, winked at me.

Someone tapped my shoulder.

I glanced over and saw Mr. Humphries, the Standard Six math teacher, shooting heart eyes my way.

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