“They’re fighting bareknuckle,” I remark. When Blakely doesn’t comment, I add: “I wonder what their brain scans look like.”

She glances around the crowd. “Probably like mush.”

“With your line of work, have you ever gotten into any fights? Any brain injuries with the job?” Maybe too blatant, but I’m running out of time to get my answers.

She doesn’t seem to notice, however, as she distractedly searches for her target. Then her eyes land right on me. “Are you asking me if I’m brain damaged?” She doesn’t give me time to respond as she returns to scanning the crowd. “No, Alex. I’ve never suffered any brain injuries. Satisfied?”

Very. I turn my attention to the ring, where the fighters are exchanging blood with each brutal punch. I have to take Blakely at her word on this and hope it’s the truth. There’s only one other way to discover that truth, and by then it will be too late.

As I turn to face her, a chilling look in her stone-cold eyes stops me dead.

“I hope you can get over this,” she says.

“Get over what?”

Her elbow connects with the back of the guy’s head in front of us. As he whirls around, face carved in sharp, furious angles, Blakely shoves me forward. Her foot springs out to trip me the rest of the way into the already pissed-off patron.

Shit.

A loud growl emits from his clenched teeth, then I’m yanked up by my collar before his meaty fist plows into my jaw.

10

Outsider

Blakely

I shove my way through the crush of the crowd as people circle around the impromptu fight. I’m not big on being a part of the action. Hey, that’s Alex’s deal—what he’s seeking. He can’t say I didn’t give him exactly what he asked for.

I’m more of an outsider, a watcher. I prefer to observe my targets…until it’s time to get close and complete the job. Once I reach a side emergency Exit of the warehouse, I climb a tower of crates to see over the horde and do just that; observe Alex and my target.

Amid the chaos, I catch sight of Alex’s light-gray Oxford button-down, which is currently being wrenched in the thick paws of the guy I picked a fight with. Shit, I hope he survives this. The bouncers can’t let it go on for long. The fight is distracting from the money inside the ring.

Come on. Come on…

I look to the bleachers. Money is being exchanged, men laughing and pointing as they take bets on Alex’s fight. Then finally, Ericson descends the bleachers. He’s recognized Alex.

Alex takes a hard hit to the stomach and crumples over. Damn, that probably hurt.

A foghorn blares. More brawny men break through the crowd to separate the fight. Nearly as quickly as it started, the altercation is broken up.

He’ll live. I jump down and head for the main entrance. As I near the door bouncer from earlier, he gives me a curious frown.

“Not my scene,” I say as I pass him. “Too violent.”

I cross the street and find a spot in clear view of the warehouse. Not sure how long I’ll have to wait, I pull up Lenora’s contact and use the time to place a call to my client.

“Lucy—?” Her tone is frantic as she answers. Lucy is the name I gave her. “What happened? I haven’t heard from you since last week…and I thought—”

“Everything is fine, Lenora,” I assure her. When clients don’t hear from me, they assume I’ve vanished, along with their money. It’s a risk they take. “I did run into a snag with our original plan, so I had to improvise.”

“Oh.” Her voice drops an octave with her relief. “So everything is still happening.”

“Of course.” I crane my neck as I keep watch of the warehouse. “You’ll hear from me again once it’s done.”

“Wait—”

“What is it?” I’m anxious to get off the line. I don’t like talking over the phone for long periods. Also, I might need to check on Alex; make sure he’s not strung up on a meat hook.

“I found something…”

The unsure waver of her voice captures my full attention, and I turn my back to the warehouse. “What did you find, Lenora?”

“I wasn’t snooping,” she says, trying to convince me. “I was actually using Ericson’s tablet because my phone died…and it was just there. He leaves it out, knowing I have no reason to spy. I always do what you say. Never let on that I suspect him of anything.”

I nod a few times, mentally hurrying her along. “You don’t have to apologize for looking through your husband’s things. They’re your things, too.” I’ve never understood the big privacy deal in relationships. The understood rule carved in stone. I feel like it was an invention of men during the turn of the century, when women were coming into the workforce. A way to keep them complacent, ignorant. Because before then, there wasn’t a woman on the planet who didn’t have her privacy invaded by every man in her life.

The whole privacy thing is probably one of the reasons I don’t do relationships. I’m not interested in “sharing” my life. I’m content, and comfortable, with myself.

“Just tell me what you found,” I urge her, then soften my voice. “It’s all right.”

“I think… I mean, it could’ve been porn. Some amateur, raw footage…” She trails off, and I suspect where this is going. “Oh my, God. It was so violent. Torture. Force. The woman…she was pleading his name…for him to stop…”

I make out each word through her choked sobs. She’s obviously distraught, as I figured she would be should she ever discover her husband’s extra-repulsive-curricular activities.

“Lenora. Breathe.”

I’m not built for this. I didn’t want her to find out, but not because it would distress her. Selfishly, I didn’t want to be here, in this position, trying and failing to console this woman. I just wanted to punish the fucking son-of-a-bitch and collect the rest of my payment. Move on to the next job.

Alex. He’s the reason I’m here. A sudden bout of frustration grips me and my jaw tightens. His involvement has prolonged this job longer than necessary. Maybe a few knocks to his head isn’t such a bad thing.

A wracked sob from Lenora cuts into my thoughts. “Who did I marry?” she asks. “Who the hell is he? A freaking psychopath?”

I try not to feel insulted. It’s a common misconception. “He’s a liar,” I say to her. “And a deviant. He manipulated you, Lenora. But you’ll have your revenge soon. I promise.”

Her voice clogs on a muddled reply, and I hang up before more sentiment is required of me. It’s not that I don’t feel badly for her—I do, on some surface level, I understand her hardship.

But, the longer I try to console her, the more tedious and redundant my replies become, and that’s not helpful. To her, or to me. I’m sure she has friends or family who are better suited for that job.

I need to take action. To make things happen. That’s where I’m best utilized to help her.

After nearly fifteen minutes of waiting, my patience is gone. I glance around the parking lot of the warehouse. Everything is too quiet, still. In keeping my word to Lenora, I decide to make something happen. Not soon…but now.

Pocketing my phone, I jog through the parking lot, making sure I’m not noticed. By now, Alex should’ve obtained his directive. He’s had enough time to either convince Ericson of his worthiness, or he’s been pummeled into minced meat and stuffed in a freezer locker.

What we don’t have time for is Ericson to question Alex—to figure out that he’s an imposter.

Rounding the corner of the building, I search the rusted corrugated metal for the sprinkler system. It’s close to midnight, and I use my phone as a flashlight. On old warehouses like this, the piping system is usually visible, the plumbing not updated to code. I walk the perimeter and locate an exposed pipe running along the gutter.

Of course, it has to be completely out of reach. Venting every curse word in my vocabulary as I drag discarded pallets to the corner of the building, I stack them on top of each other until I’m tall enough to grab hold of the pipe.