Page 16 of These Rough Waters

“Fuck, I even have a contract right now offering to pay triple the hit price because he wants you to do it.”

I laugh without humor, he wanted me on the job to cash in that paycheck.

“Contact Kolten, he’s just as sought after.”

“Kolt’s been MIA for months, the bastard up and left and no one has seen him since.”

“Is he dead?”

“That bastard doesn’t fucking die, Torin, it’s not in his nature.” Kolten, while not an Avery by name, was raised like one. My father found him when he was a kid, raised him just like us.

“Well, I’m not doing it, Rett, find someone else.”

“You’re not even a little bit tempted? To feel thatrush.”

“No.”

It has been a long five years. When you’re raised to be a killer, death becomes an addiction. You crave it.Need it.

But like an addict in rehab, I’d been clean for some time, and I wouldn’t be going back without good damn reason and right now, there were none.

No amount of time would cleanse my hands of the blood that stains them, I knew that. And if Hell exists, I’ve no doubt there’s a fiery cell with my name on it, but the blood of my wife and my son were the last drops to touch these palms.

I hang up after another five minutes of Everett trying to convince me to take the contract,for old times sake, like we were playing football and not taking lives and settle further into the couch, kicking up my legs.

It was only supposed to be a few minutes of sleep but when I wake hours have passed, the day now long gone and the moon sitting high and fat against the black velvet sky.

Groaning, I stretch, looking to the water and the silver reflection that ripples on the waves lapping at the shore before I head to the kitchen for a beer. But I pause just before the refrigerator, a light outside the kitchen window catching my attention.

There should be no light, there was never any fucking light.

It takes me far too long to realize the light was coming from the cabin.

A cabin that should be empty.

“Oh, fuck no,” I growl, grabbing the Glock from under the counter and shoving into the boots I left at the door.

First a stowaway on my damn boat, and now a thief.

What a shit show of a week.

The darkness of the docks conceals me as I make my way across, hunched low even though I know they wouldn’t see me before it was too late. I make it to the cabin, peering through the window inside. The place was illuminated but the small living and kitchen area was vacant. It looked the same except the covers had been removed from the furniture and the dust cleaned away.

Squatters then.

Not today.

The door opens easily but with a squeak which causes me to pause. When no one shows up to investigate the noise, I take the final step inside and close the door quietly behind me. There were no belongings to be found, nothing to identify who it was who had taken it upon themselves to steal this home, but I could hear water running and the sounds of it lapping against the edges of a bath.

All doors bar the master bedroom are closed and the bathroom door was slightly ajar, leaking soft light out into the darkened hallway. I knew this house. I knew from the hall I wouldn’t be able to see the bath behind the door, so I was about to catch this person in their birthday suit.

Not waiting even a second, I burst the door open and ram myself inside.

Nine

After putting Harper into her new bed and kissing her goodnight, I close her door, heading back to the cute little kitchen to poor a glass of red wine while the bath runs, the scent of honey drifting through the house from the steam.

It had been a long time since I’d had a bath. I was neverallowedthem, I never was sure why that rule was in place.

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