Chapter 5 Misty
MISTY
“Take off your clothes.” The deep voice sounds bored. Cold.
“My clothes?” I squeak. “Wait…” I’m reeling. “So, we are going to”—Gulp—“do it? I’m not prepared.”
Technically, I am. Sienna stashed a whole goodie basket of condoms, lube, and sex toys because “it’s been a while and you might need a warm-up.”
“I don’t fucking care if you’re prepared, Ms. Evans. I’m on a schedule.” He pulls a pair of black latex gloves out of his pocket.
“But I thought I had to pay you the rest of the money before, you know, the Merry Christmas ending?” I stall.
“Yes, but you need to take your clothes off first. I need to check you out.” The gloves snap on.
“I don’t have STDs or anything,” I babble. “And I did get—” I gesture. “Everywhere. Even places I didn’t know needed to be waxed. Though they did randomly leave a Christmas tree…” More awkward gesturing.
He’s advancing on me. “Take your fucking clothes off, Ms. Evans.”
“Are you going to watch me?” I wrap my arms around myself.
“I wasn’t going to, but now that you’re trying to fuck with me, I don’t trust you, so yeah, I’m gonna watch you.” His teeth flash. “Clothes. Now.”
The pale gray eyes are a demonic silver.
I step out of my shoes, ankles Jell-O. Regret. I regret all of this, all of my life choices that have led me here. I reach behind me to tug at the zipper on my dress.
Wait, I’m wearing shapewear.
I panic. Talbot can’t see me in shapewear; he really won’t want to have sex with me then.
I try to wriggle out of the shapewear at the same time as I slide the dress off.
It doesn’t work. I topple over, palms of my hands burning on the thick carpet as Talbot stares down at me.
He holds out a hand.
Tentatively, I rest mine in his larger one.
“The dress, Ms. Evans.”
Confused, I wriggle out of it.
He turns it over in his gloved hands, running his fingers along the seam of the dress while I squirm out of the shapewear like a slug. Then I stand there in the cold in my bra and panties while he does the same to the shapewear.
He tosses it over the back of the couch and steps up to me.
“Arms up.”
Austen was not—according to Sienna, who gave two thumbs-down on my description of nightly activities with him—good at sex.
But this really doesn’t seem like Sienna-approved foreplay either. Certainly not life-savings worthy.
Talbot runs his hands along the seams of my bra, the plastic slightly tacky on my underboob as he quickly and efficiently searches me.
Wait, searches me?
Yeah. Like, I was getting a pat down.
My stomach flip-flops as his fingers trace the band of my lacy panties. So glad I didn’t let Sienna talk me into wearing a thong.
I bite back a groan when one of his hands slips between my legs and squeezes briefly.
“I really have been in a dry spell,” I croak, trying to break the tension. Or maybe it’s just me who’s really turned on. That was enough to get me going.
Talbot scowls at me, walks to the closet, and pulls out a robe.
“Put that on.” He sits down at the table by the minibar.
“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” I ask, slipping on the robe.
He scowls up at me and makes a disgusted noise.
Well, shit. Guess I didn’t pass inspection. “Oh, um, okay, that’s fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want a drink?” I hurry to the minibar.
“I’m working. Sit down.” He pulls out a satellite phone, dials a number from memory, then barks out a series of numbers and letters in military jargon.
“Sierra. Niner. Fiver. Charlie. Echo. Fow-er.” He waits a beat to confirm.
I realize he’s looking at me. “Do you have it?” the deep voice demands.
I make a helpless squeak.
“The money.”
I gulp. Just say no. Just say you changed your mind.
But those monster eyes are boring into me.
I can’t just sit here half naked and tell him that actually, no, I don’t want to have sex, right? Hell no.
“Now, Ms. Evans.”
“My phone… I think I might have left it…”
My purse is slammed down on the table.
Hands trembling, I fish out my phone and type as he repeats the new account information for the wire transfer.
That’s it. Tears swim in my eyes as I stare at my phone. That’s all my life savings. All for a fake boyfriend who ignores me and is bad at sex. I’m so pathetic. I hit send and watch the little bar as everything I’ve worked for the last fifteen years of my life disappears.
Talbot listens on his phone then nods. “Funds receipt confirmed.”
“Actually, I think I’m going to need that drink,” I gasp.
He ignores me, pulls a chair over to a wall, and stands on it. I pour two mini bottles of peppermint schnapps into a glass and chug it as Talbot pries open the air vent in the wall.
He reaches in, then a black bag falls to the floor. The vent slams shut.
Like a panther, Talbot springs off the chair, then he’s fishing in the bag then pulling out rope, a black mask, and soft shoes like a rock climber wears.
“Oh.” It takes my alcohol-drenched brain a second to catch on. “Wait, I didn’t want it like that. I’m not prepared for that. I didn’t like Fifty Shades of Grey, the book or the movie.”
“Don’t drink too much, Ms. Evans,” he says as he kicks off his boots and socks. “I need you to let me back in.”
Too late. I’m four mini bottles deep.
Maybe another two and I will let him tie me up and fuck my brains out. This could be the kick in the pants I need to make some real-life changes.
Talbot turns and walks to the window, all hips and shoulders and swagger.
I fantasize about him ramming into me in that black mask.
“Wait, where are you going? I thought we were having sex,” I wail as he opens up the window and swings one leg out.
“Excuse me?” He swivels back inside and pulls off the black mask. “Why in the hell would I have sex with you?”
“Are you kidding me right now? Are you fucking—because you’re a fucking prostitute.” I’m sobbing now. “And I paid you a fuck-ton of money to pretend to be my boyfriend and to have sex with me.”
His mouth drops open.
It would be funny if all my money weren’t gone.
“Gumdrop.” He jumps back into the room, the soft shoes silent on the carpet. “You did what?”
“You’re a high-end escort, but you really don’t live up to the promise.” I sniffle.
I’m fishing for more mini bottles. Talbot slams the fridge door.
“You really have drunk too much.” He cups my face. “Gumdrop. You paid me to assassinate your ex, Austen Langley. Remember?”
“Assassinate? Like kill, kill? Or just like, you’re going to glitter-bomb him?” I squeak.
“Yeah, ‘Grandma gets run over by a reindeer’ level of dead.”
My knees collapse, and I plop down on the floor like Christmas cookie dough.
“I did a… you’re a… I hired an…”
“Assassin?” He unzips the black bag and pulls out the biggest gun. Like, comically large. Movie-villain large. Plus three knives and what might be a torture device along with zip ties and duct tape.
My stomach twists.
“I prefer hitman,” he says, cheerful, like we’re chatting over wine and charcuterie. “Assassin sounds a little bougie. I just kill people and make it look like an accident.”
“I’ve made a huge mistake,” I groan.
“For Austen,” he rambles, obviously pleased with himself, “it’s going to look like he partied too hard and paid the price.”
“Then, but the—” I point to the gun, trying not to hyperventilate.
“This?” he gives it a kiss. “Just a little insurance policy in case things go south. But I have a pretty good plan in place. No one will think he’s been murdered. Everyone saw him downing drink after drink. All the women are off in the hot tub. All his NHL friends are super drunk.”
Talbot shows me his phone. There’s Brielle on the livestream doing a stripper dance, all for the eyes of my fake boyfriend. Shoot, my fake fake boyfriend, because…
Because a cold-blooded killer is standing in my suite, grinning like this is the most fun he’s had in weeks. I start scooching back on the carpet.
Now that I see it, I can’t unsee it. The dead eyes, the total lack of empathy in his face, the glee as he describes how he’s going to kill Austen, my Austen, my one true love.
“He’s blackout drunk. Everyone saw him doing shots.
They know Austen and the boys are going to go upstairs and do more drinking.
Shit, they’re NHL players, so hard drugs are a given—also already planted in his room, thanks to my cousin Noelle.
When Austen is discovered drowned in the bathtub, stuffed to the gills with the best pharmaceuticals an NHL paycheck can buy, it will be just a tragic accident.
They’ll do a tox report, find drugs in his system, more drugs in the room. ..”
He’s pacing in front of me.
“Hockey culture strikes again. They’ll drop the puck at the next game and have two minutes of silence and everyone will move on. No one will suspect me because I have an alibi. Your granny, your auntie, your stepdaddy, and your mommy will vouch that they saw me go into your room and pass out.”
Talbot preens. “There are no cameras pointed on that wall because there’s bird shit on the lens.” He hoists the rope over his shoulder and turns like he’s going to return to killing the love of my life.
“You can’t hurt him,” I blurt out.
“Yes, I can. This is my job,” Talbot says patiently. “And no, I won’t lose sleep over it.”
“You can’t kill him. I love him. I love Austen.”
Talbot blinks down at me. His lips thin. “Seriously, Gumdrop? This is a fucking good plan. Even though I had to throw this together last-minute, I actually think this is one of my better hits.”
“No hits! No hits!” I shriek.
He claps a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. Shit, I had to give my cousin pictures of my feet for her to sneak in as a housekeeper and plant those drugs.”
“You’re having foot-fetish sex with your own cousin?”
“God no. I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing with those photos.”
“You shouldn’t send racy photos to people.” I look down at his feet. “Now I want to see them.”
“No. Fuck off.” He makes a disgusted noise.
“Okay.” He presses his gloved hands together and takes a deep breath.
“It’s fine. We can pivot. I always get five-star reviews on my customer service.
You can have me kill someone else. Maybe,” he warns.
“Depends on who and how difficult the job is. Might be extra.”
“How is this happening?” I moan. I feel sick. “I don’t want anyone to die.”
“You’re getting cold feet. It’s perfectly natural. But remember why you wanted your ex dead in the first place.”
“I don’t want him dead. I just needed a date. Oh god, I paid you all that money.”
“Yeah, Gumdrop, so that’s nonrefundable.”
“I’m filing a complaint with the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau.”
Talbot crouches down in front of me, deep voice dripping with condescension.
“So, let me get this straight, Gumdrop. You’re going to call the US government and say that you accidentally”—he uses air quotes—“hired a hitman to take out one of America’s most beloved hockey stars, and you want the FBI to pretty please help you get your money back? ”
He sits back on his haunches. “You’ll go straight to jail.”
The door to the suite’s bedroom creaks.
Talbot’s head whips to the sound. The huge gun comes up.
“Don’t shoot!” I squeak as Cocoa, yawning, stumbles into the living area. I brace myself for her to start barking angrily.
She stops in the middle of the living room. Surveys the scene—my half-naked state, the gun, the deranged, dangerous man who just threatened to kill someone I once did and will forever love.
And then—she wags.
She wags her entire body like she’s just met Santa Claus made of bacon. With a joyful grunt, she shuffles straight past me and plops herself down in front of Talbot and rolls over, exposing her belly.
The hitman’s face lights up.
My jaw hits the carpet.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Talbot purrs. He grins down at her. “A corgi in a sweater? I bet you like peppermint lattes too, Gumdrop. So, tell me, if you never wanted your ex dead, what’s a basic white girl like you doing with a hitman like me?”
“Did you swap my dog? She hates people. She barely tolerates me.”
Cocoa licks his hand.
He gives me a sly grin. “She has good taste.”
My terrible life choices are stacking up like yule logs for a fire. “I never should have adopted you. Traitor,” I hiss at Cocoa.
Talbot picks her up, clutching her to his chest like his newborn baby. “And she had everyone fooled with her cute-girl shtick. Misty’s just as much of a psychopath as all those other evil people who hire me to kill their enemies. Yes, she is!”
“I just wanted a date.”
“Well, I’m not fucking you, so…” He peers over the top of Cocoa’s head.
“I paid you an ungodly amount of money, asshole.” I slap at him.
Cocoa snaps at my hand.
“I should at least get to see your dick. Ugh,” I groan. “I shouldn’t. It’s probably soaked in the blood of your victims.”
“Gross. I don’t play with my food before I kill it.” He shrugs. “I’ll fuck girls on their period, though. I don’t give a fuck.”
“Revolting.”
“Like early period, even, when it’s Chunky Campbell’s.”
“Stop talking.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We need to figure this out.”
“We don’t need to do anything.” He kisses Cocoa’s furry face.
“Last time I tried that, I got peed on.” I’m surly.
“Either Austen or one of the other hockey players could go.” He mimes with the gun. “Or, shit, I could take out your granny. The mean one. Hey, I tell you what, Gumdrop. I’ll take out her and your crazy bigoted aunt instead of Austen. Two for one, and we can close this contract out, how’s that?”
I flop on my back.
“Maybe… gosh, I’m such a horrible sister. But maybe you can take out Brielle, then Austen will be heartbroken and he’ll run to me for comfort?”
I hear him shift, then he and Cocoa appear in my blurry vision. “If I actually cared about you, I’d say you should have hired a therapist, but I don’t. And no can do. I’m not killing your sister. No young, blond, pretty, rich white girls. I don’t want to be on a true crime podcast.”
He checks his watch. “Look, lady…”
“You think I’m old.” I sob.
“I don’t think you’re old—I think you’re crazy. Now, my window’s closing, so am I authorized on this hit?”
I blink up at him. The alcohol, the stress, the fact that I’m a freaking idiot and nothing ever goes right in my life is making him spin in my vision.
Doesn’t matter. No man was ever going to marry you and give you children anyway.
I’m going to have to eat this. I’m not going to be able to buy anyone presents for Christmas for the next fifty years. I’m just going to have to start all over.
“No, no hits,” I croak. “No authorization. You can keep the money. Just leave. I never want to see you again.”