Chapter 5
Ricardo would say one thing for the plague of vacation rentals that had sprouted up everywhere like malevolent mushrooms—it meant a lot of access to strategically perfect apartments and condos with no questions asked and no one seeing his face.
They were predatory and had royally fucked up the real estate market for the average working class family trying to get by, but they were sure convenient for an assassin trying to keep a low profile.
Good thing August wasn’t here with him. He’d have had a coronary over the chore list.
“What the actual fuck?” his husband would undoubtedly be saying. “Since when do hotel stays come with required peasantry?”
Ricardo snickered as he continued assembling his rifle.
August wasn’t above doing housework or even landscaping, especially if it meant fortifying their already fortified fortress of fortified insanity, but he was far too rich to be given a chore list. Particularly in a place where he was paying for the privilege to sleep.
Hell, now Ricardo kind of wished he had brought August here. The fireworks alone would be worth it.
“They charged how much money for this place and they still expect us to run the vacuum cleaner? I will run it right off the balcony, I swear to fucking God.”
“Who the fuck charges people for the privilege of washing someone else’s sheets? Is that the whole point of this? So people can cosplay as the help?”
“I’m going to rent a herd of goats and let them destroy this place. The cleaning fee would be fucking worth it.”
Ricardo chuckled to himself. It would definitely be entertaining.
Not tonight, though. August had somewhere else to be, and focusing on the vacation rental bullshit kept Ricardo’s mind off worrying about his husband.
Yes, August could take care of himself. But Ricardo had nearly lost him a few too many times to take for granted that it wouldn’t happen again.
He wondered briefly if taking this job was a mistake. It didn’t matter now, though—they’d agreed to it, they were here, and they were taking out the mark tonight.
Please keep yourself safe, August.
Right then, his phone pinged, and Ricardo cursed in several languages. It wasn’t Heidi or August. He knew exactly who it was, because that person had been pestering him almost nonstop since he’d checked in four hours ago—the owner of the goddamned condo.
The cameras still aren’t working. Are you sure you didn’t unplug them?
Ricardo rolled his eyes. No, he hadn’t unplugged them. He had plugged in a jammer that ensured no cameras in the vicinity were recording a damn thing.
I didn’t touch them.
Well they’re not working and I don’t like that.
“Fucking hell.” The biggest downside of places like this besides supporting capitalist bloodsuckers was the owners’ obsession with surveillance equipment. Especially for that low-profile assassin, having a camera in his face every time he moved was… inconvenient.
I’m going to send the building manager over. The cameras aren’t working.
It’s fine. I don’t like having cameras everywhere.
The cameras are for YOUR protection.
The door has three deadbolts and a code.
They’re also for MY protection and they’re not optional.
Isn’t it a violation of TOS to have them in the bedroom and bathroom?
Ugh fine we can leave those inactive.
So you admit they exist.
There was blessed silence after that, which let Ricardo focus on assembling his weapon in peace.
That is, right up until he opened one of the living room windows a whole two inches so he could dial in his scope.
Why is the main window open? Are you smoking in the condo?
Smoking is not allowed in the unit or you will be assessed a $2,500 cleaning fee.
I will call the police if a neighbor smells marijuana.
I like fresh air. I’m not smoking.
I want those cameras reactivated immediately. I need proof that you’re not smoking.
Ricardo rolled his eyes and muttered so much blasphemy, he marveled that his grandmother didn’t materialize to smack him with a Bible. He did not have time for this. Had he not been trying to hide his face, he’d have snapped a selfie while giving the finger and sent that to the owner.
Finally, he decided to go nuclear.
Keep texting me, and I’ll send the screenshots of you admitting there’s cameras where there shouldn’t be. Then I’ll set up cameras of my own and send you a high-definition live feed while I have sex with my husband on every surface in this condo.
OMG!
One more bullshit text, and you’ll never be able to use a blacklight in this place without blinding someone.
No more messages came through. Well, apart from one notifying him of an increased cleaning fee. Whatever. At least he had some peace and quiet.
Well. For a few minutes.
August
Just so we’re clear, he’d better be dead before the appetizers come out.
Or what?
Or I won’t let you near my mouth or ass for a week. A month. A month, Ricardo!
LOL You’d just be punishing yourself and you know it.
I’ll tell L’Avia you forgot my birthday.
I didn’t forget your birthday. You did.
My word against yours and I’m the favorite.
Are you really threatening me an hour before I’m going to be pointing a sniper rifle in your direction?
Please. Your pride would never let you miss your target.
I wouldn’t be missing anything I was aiming for.
I hate you.
You going to leave L’Avia out of it?
You going to take out this assclown before I shank him with a broken wineglass?
Guess we’ll see, won’t we?
Fuck you.
The distraction was mildly annoying when he had work to do, but Ricardo didn’t mind. August was feeling spicy as usual, which meant he was dialed in. He was focused and ready. Considering this was their first job in three years, that was reassurance Ricardo needed.
When his phone went off again, it was a call from August. That meant it was go time.
“You ready?” August’s voice was conversational in Ricardo’s earpiece.
“I’m ready.” Ricardo peered through the scope at Bremmer, who was already seated at the table by the window.
August spoke again, but clearly not to Ricardo. “Yes, hi. I’m meeting someone—I believe he’s already here? Mr. Bremmer? Perfect, thank you.”
There was a tinnier voice: “Right this way, sir.”
A moment later, August appeared at the table.
He was dressed in one of his more expensive suits, which, given his tastes, definitely said something.
Ricardo couldn’t help indulging in imagining tearing it off his body later.
August hated having to have buttons put back on or seams fixed after Ricardo took him out of a suit and plowed him.
Which was why Ricardo did it, of course.
He loved that bitchy “oh my God, I hate you” right before August was a whimpering, pleading, half-naked mess.
Ricardo shifted in the uncomfortable sleek and sophisticated contraption that passed for a chair in this place. He didn’t need an untimely hard-on while he was on a job.
And since when did he let those thoughts drift in when he was on a job? What the hell?
I’m getting rusty and stupid. Focus, Torralba. Jesus.
He shook himself, then peered down the scope again, keeping his other eye open so he had a better view of the whole restaurant. It wasn’t a terribly long shot—around thirty-six and a half meters—so he could see pretty well even without the scope.
In the restaurant, hands were shaken and bullshit pleasantries were exchanged.
“I did some reading up on you, Mr. Mason,” Bremmer said, laying it on thick as he clapped the back of August’s hand. “You’re quite ambitious in your investments.” He sounded like he was almost drooling.
August tugged his hand free from both of Bremmer’s and took his seat. “And you’re quite ambitious in your AI plans. I think we can do business, Mr. Bremmer.”
“I mean it, Augustus. Call me Jaxon.”
“Right. Jazon. Of course.”
Ricardo could actually hear August’s molars grinding. As August picked up his water, probably in an effort to relax his tense jaw, Ricardo murmured, “Keep your cool. He’ll be dead soon.”
That made August snort, and he damn near spat his water all over Bremmer.
“Oh! Are you okay?” Bremmer yelped.
“I’m fine! I’m fine.” August sputtered a few times, then cleared his throat. “Went down the wrong pipe. You know how it goes.”
Bremmer couldn’t possibly have heard the unspoken “because my husband is a dick and I’m going to make him pay for this.” Ricardo did. And he grinned. He really had missed this job, especially doing it with August.
“Ooh, the wine list.” Bremmer’s voice was full of glee. “Let’s get a bottle. I think tonight is more celebration than negotiation, don’t you?”
“Of course,” August gritted out with phony enthusiasm. “You choose. Oh, and we should order appetizers, too.” His smile was visible from here and complete bullshit. “I’m starving, so the sooner they arrive…”
Ricardo snorted, which August probably heard. He was tempted to keep Bremmer alive until dessert, just to make August squirm.
While Bremmer ordered some expensive-sounding bottle of wine, August muttered loud enough for Ricardo to hear, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Ricardo said, grinning. “Because you know I’m going to leave marks tonight.”
August’s gulp was visible even without the scope.
Ricardo just kept grinning.
The server left, and Bremmer faced August again.
As the two of them descended into the mind-numbing hum that was business talk, Ricardo zeroed in on the mark.
He’d checked and rechecked that there was no one behind him.
No collateral damage in the form of customers or restaurant employees.
But now there was someone there—a server stepping out of the way to let a bus boy get to another table, and the two of them had paused to talk about something.
They weren’t directly in the line of fire, but they were close enough that if Ricardo misjudged the trajectory even a little, he might hit one of them.
Wind was unlikely to cause much of an issue at such a close range, but he still didn’t want to take chances.