Chapter 5 Wesley
Wesley
Perhaps having someone to come home to changes one’s perspective more than I realized.
Tightening the straps of my backpack, I head down the hallway towards the kitchen.
Yet again, Eleanor is nowhere to be seen, but I know she’s been here recently because Mac is sitting at the large glass-top table that occupies the entire right wall next to the windows, shoveling in some kind of casserole.
Unfortunate that I keep missing her—it feels like it’s been weeks since we’ve shared a bottle of champagne over a superfluously gruesome Japanese horror film.
If I’m surprised to see Dimitri up, it’s only for about half a second.
He’s never been one to sit idly, even with a gunshot wound to nurse, though if he rips a stitch there will be hell to pay when the actual nurse finds out.
At least he’s using the knee scooter I ordered rush delivery, though it squeaks under the massive weight of his bulk as it moves.
There also appears to be a bit of a learning curve.
Dimitri grabs both ends of the wide handlebar and attempts to maneuver around the large marble island to make room for me to get by, only to clip the wheel on the corner. He lets loose a stream of grumbling curses directed at the chair’s lack of agility.
I place my backpack gently on a stool, then make a beeline for the dish on the hob that smells like cheese and happiness. My stomach growls as I load up my plate, and I make a face at the green bits poking out. “Does she have to put the broccoli inside?”
“You know who made that request,” Mac laughs, eyes cutting towards our most health-conscious teammate.
“Fiber is good for you,” Dimitri remarks distractedly, jerking the handle and then wincing when the whole thing shifts him off balance and he has to tense his muscles to keep his feet.
“I’m not daft; I know it’s one of my five a day, and all that. Let’s skip the lecture on how to grow up big and strong, shall we?”
Dimitri makes a humming noise and raises a brow in my direction. “I do not know how it is that you maintain your muscle mass with your abysmal diet.”
“Good genes. The best, arguably.” That earns me a snort from Mac. “Why does someone who isn’t even going to eat it get a vote?”
“Speaking of this, where is what I requested?”
“Probably in the pot with the post-it on top that says ‘Steamed Veg for Dimitri,’” I suggest, crumpling the yellow square into a small ball and tossing it his way.
It doesn’t have enough weight to get any real distance and falls onto the stretch of counter between us.
I finish loading up my plate and slide onto one of the tall stools at the counter.
Steam billows from the tidy pile, so I blow on it before taking a bite.
It’s still too hot to eat, but I’m too hungry to be patient.
Mac all but growls as he shovels in a mouthful. “I don’t know why y’all can’t just let my girl do her thing, why everyone’s gotta request something special. Everything she makes is too good for you ungrateful assholes anyway.”
Dimitri sniffs. “It is no slight to her ability. I prefer to make my own dietary choices.”
“He just doesn’t like that she makes something special for you,” I point out to Dimitri, who nods knowingly.
Mac’s fork clangs against his plate as he tosses it with some force, and he glares at me.
“Damn straight, I don’t. She’s working her ass off every day, building her business and getting her name out there, then she comes home and makes us all something amazing, but it’s not good enough for you, so she has to work even harder to think about your little dietary choices and make you something different. ”
Dimitri meets Mac’s outburst with a cool expression, crossing his arms over his chest so biceps the size of my head pull against the fabric of his plain t-shirt. It’s a pose that most would assume was deliberately meant to intimidate, but his voice is calm. “Has she complained?”
Mac’s lips purse unhappily, turning down at the corners as he begrudgingly admits, “Of course fucking not. She wouldn’t.” He shoves another resentful bite into his mouth.
Dimitri nods in satisfaction. “Just as Nicole does not complain when you ask her to look at your moles for cancer. Because she is part of this team.”
At that, Mac leans forward onto his elbows and points the tines of his fork at Dimitri. “Don’t you dare tell her that. After what she’s been through, I promised I’d keep her as far away from the action as possible.”
Dimitri scoffs, though I can see the skin over his knuckles flash white as his hands clench into fists. He doesn’t like thinking about Eleanor’s brush with death because it reminds him of Nicole’s.
“Your protective instincts cloud your reason. Obviously, I am not suggesting we put a gun in her hand and start her on the front line. She is far too soft and weak; and she is a terrible liar.” He gestures to the kitchen around us.
“Her contribution is done in here. It is important, and she takes her job seriously—that is why she makes separate meals for me and Nicole. She does not need you to fight unnecessary battles for her when she is doing her job. You make her little.”
“Belittle her,” I correct, scraping one of the last bites off my plate.
“That is what I said,” Dimitri dismisses.
“Fine,” Mac huffs, shoving another too-large bite into his mouth, then tucking it against his cheek to say, “As long as it’s just the basic stuff.
Last time she spent two hours making those stupid dumpling things you like, and we missed our show.
And I’ve been out on surveillance nonstop, and it’s been too fucking long since we… I’m pent up, you feel me?”
Dimitri and I exchange a look, and I roll my eyes. “Pent up already after a week and a half? Lucky sod.”
Mac blows out a long breath and rubs his eyes. “Sorry, I’m just… antsy or some shit. Pissed someone got to Alfano first and worried about everything with the General. And I guess I’m missing my girl.”
“It is part of the job,” Dimitri replies, though there’s an edge to his voice that snags my attention.
He’s said those same words before—a common admonishment when we veer off topic, as we so often do—but this time his tone is almost… conciliatory. Dimitri understands the source of Mac’s distraction now, and for the first time I can really remember, he’s sympathetic to it instead of irritated by it.
Perhaps having someone to come home to changes one’s perspective more than I realized.
Dimitri turns back to me. “You are heading out?”
Pushing my empty plate away, I sit back in my chair and lay a hand on my happy stomach. “You got the email I forwarded from the General? Figured I’d start recon on the next potential target.”
“Da. The email was very… brief. Is that the usual missive—with minimal information like that?”
“Yep. It’s only ever a list of names, a short description, and reward values.”
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “No indication of urgency? No requested date for completion?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
When Dimitri’s scowl deepens, Mac glances at me, then asks, “Is that normal?”
Dimitri shrugs. “Not much about our handler is normal.”
My brows shoot up—he’s never voiced that particular opinion before. “Oh? How so?”
“We may choose our targets, but we are not bidding for jobs? And there is no deadline?” he snorts, like the very idea is ridiculous.
Mac scratches at the stubble on his jawline thoughtfully. “You think this means the General is new to this? We’ve only been working for him for what, four years now?”
“New… or unconventional, perhaps. Like no handler I have known.”
“Or he just doesn’t care who gets it done,” I interject. “I’ve been reviewing our old jobs, like we talked about. Nearly every person whose name we’ve been sent is dead or missing-presumed-dead, even if we didn’t take the job. Seems like if we don’t take it, the General sends it to someone else.”
Mac’s eyes flash. “We’re not the only hitmen on his payroll.”
I nod. “A harrowing thought.”
There’s a beat of tense silence, then Mac hunches forward and shoves another bite into his mouth. He chews, then tucks it against his cheek to ask, “You find anything else?”
“Well, this batch is different,” I say carefully.
I don’t like to make assumptions too early because often we only find out the sordid details once we really start digging into the person.
But on the surface, these three aren’t much like the lowlifes we usually get, and it’s leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I’ve only just started collecting information, but it’s not drug lords and black market dealers; it’s…
Jeremy Umberlee is a whistleblower, and Louis Whitcomb is a tech journalist.”
Dimitri winces. As a Russian, he knows the token target of a dictator regime when he hears one. People who tell the truth are often silenced by those whose power is threatened by it. “And the other name? Madison Cooper?”
“As far as I can tell, she’s a streamer—a content creator. At least, that’s what the IRS thinks she does. I’ll find out soon enough. I figured I’d start with her, since she’s local. Umberlee is in Chicago, and Whitcomb is in New York.”
Mac frowns. “Wait, you’re going out? Like, alone? You want me to grab my stuff and come with?”
I shake my head. “If Felix is following you, it’s best if I handle this alone. I’m an unknown to him. Unlike the two of you, Felix has never seen my face. Plus, we need to do things differently—Alfano’s laptop was a dead end. I can’t get past the bloody SmarTech encryption.”
“I’ve heard of SmarTech,” Mac nods. “Biggest tech security company in America.”
“Second biggest,” I correct.
“Only the second?” Mac snickers. “What, you having some performance issues, Short Round?”
I lift a brow. “Remember Rossi?”
“You mean the guy we killed almost two years ago? Yeah…”