Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Part of my job is to read the room and the people inside it.
And right now, I know something is wrong with Sammie.
Really wrong. Most people wouldn’t know it.
He’s good at keeping up that easy-going persona of his.
If it weren’t for the slight tic of his jaw, the way his shoulders straightened, his eyes darting around the room, you would have no idea that he’s stressed.
“I know I asked you here tonight, and I want you here. I forgot I had a meeting downstairs, though,” he says.
“You want me to wait for you?” I know he wants me out of here and I refuse to make it easy for him.
“No, I have no idea how long it’s going to be. I’ll have one of the guys take you home,” he tells me.
“I’m okay. You don’t need to do that.” I walk into the living room and pick up my bag.
“You’re not walking out on the streets alone, Lailani. It’s late,” he says to my back.
I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I’d love someone to try. I could use the entertainment.
“I walk home every night, Sammie. I’m fine,” I tell him.
“It would make me feel better if I knew someone was with you. Please,” he says.
“Okay, fine.” I sigh.
Honestly, it’s nice that he cares. It’s also a little insulting to the whole female population that he thinks I need a man to protect me. Again, I bite my tongue because he can’t know just how capable of defending myself I am.
“Thank you,” he says.
As soon as I step into the hallway, I pull out my phone and text Emmanuel. The guilt eats at me, but it’s a job. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a job.
Me:
Just left Sammie’s place. Something’s wrong.
My phone rings, Emmanuel’s name flashing on the screen. “Mom, I can’t really talk now. Can I call you back?” I ask him.
“He’s having someone follow you, isn’t he?” E says.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I don’t know how much the guy walking two steps behind me is actually listening.
“Okay, you left him in his apartment? Was something out of place? Like his shit?” E continues talking anyway.
“What’s the deal with that?” I counter.
“Answer the question, Lailani,” E grunts.
“Yes, I’d love to have coffee with you soon. My machine broke, and then I dropped my favorite mug into the sink and cracked that too. I was so upset I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out, so I just left it sitting there, in the sink,” I say cryptically.
“A cup was left in his sink?” E asks without missing a beat.
“Yes,” I answer, and the line promptly goes dead.
“Thanks, Mom. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you too,” I say before pocketing my phone. I turn my head and glance over a shoulder, making eye contact with the guy strolling behind me.
He stops as we approach my building, but when I go up to my apartment and peek out onto the street from my window, I spot him still standing there. I head to the bedroom and reach a hand into my closet. I have no plans of staying in tonight when clearly something’s wrong.
Whatever it is, whoever Sammie thinks left that cup in his sink, he doesn’t want me anywhere near the problem. I get that he’s trying to distance me from the danger. And I can’t break my cover, because: one, I happen to like being paid; and two, I also like keeping my head on my shoulders.
I pull down the duffel bag that’s shoved towards the back of the top shelf and throw it onto my bed. “Who do I want to be tonight?”
I have three different disguises that I use. One is a fiery redhead with long, thick waves. I call her Gina. Then there’s Trinity, a brunette with a short pixie cut. Picking up the blonde bob, I smile. Tonight, I’ll be Diana.
I scope out my makeup kit, because each persona has their own unique look. And when I transform into any of them, even I have trouble recognizing myself. It takes thirty minutes for me to become Diana. And a few minutes after that, I’m strolling out of my building in a tight black latex mini dress.
I smile at Sammie’s soldier. He takes his time perusing my body before he gives me a smirk in return. If I had time, I’d test him out more. Try to lure him from his position. Find out just how good Russo’s men really are.
I don’t have time, though, so I keep walking.
And Sammie’s guy doesn’t try to stop me.
A few minutes later, I’m walking back through the doors of Wild Card.
I can’t go up to Sammie’s apartment. What I can do is walk the casino floor.
See if I notice anyone hanging around. After thirty minutes of not spotting anything out of the ordinary, I decide to go up to the front desk and book a room. Requesting the best available option.
I end up getting a room two floors below Sammie’s apartment. I don’t bother going inside it. Instead, I open the door to the staircase, making sure to keep my face turned downwards. Any cameras pointed in my direction will have a hard time running the top of my head through facial recognition.
I take slow steps up the concrete staircase. It’s not until I reach the next level that I hear voices and stop. Bending, I slide my heels off and then continue to walk up the stairs, pressing myself against the railing so they don’t see me while I listen.
“They got him,” a male voice says. “It’s only a matter of time before he leads them to us.”
“No, he won’t,” another voice replies. “You need to chill, man. Russo is already on high alert. If you don’t calm your shit, you’re going to give us up.”
Who the fuck are these guys? It doesn’t take a genius to realize that whatever they’re talking about, it’s not good for Sammie or his friends.
I slide the pistol out of my thigh holster at the same time I grab for the silencer I have hidden on the other side. Careful not to make a sound as I twist it in place. The idiots don’t notice me until I’m literally five steps behind them.
“Who the fu—” The rest of the fucker’s words are cut off by the bullet I put between his eyes.
The second guy reaches for his waistband. I land a shot to the shoulder of the same arm, and he falls against the door.
Fuck. That was loud.
“I wouldn’t,” I tell him as I close the distance. “What are you up to? What are you planning against Russo?”
“What’s it to you?” the guy sneers—yes, sneers. Spittle and all.
“Call me an interested party.” I smile at him.
“Fuck you, bitch!” He yells as he lunges forward, trying to disarm me.
I step aside and knock him over the head with the butt of my gun. I’d love nothing more than to end the fucker right now, but if I leave him alive, maybe Emmanuel can get information out of him.
When the door knob starts to jiggle behind him, I turn and run down the stairs.
“Looks like these two have seen better days.” Emmanuel’s voice has my steps slowing. I’m one floor below them, which means he’s talking louder than usual. On purpose.
The door to the stairwell creaks open and two distinct footsteps push through it.
“What the fuck?” That’s Sammie.
“You know these two?” Emmanuel asks him.
“Yeah, they’re low level. Ours. What happened?”
I can only assume he’s talking to the guy I left alive.
“Some crazy bitch was here,” the guy grits out.
“What’d she look like?” Emmanuel questions him.
“Blonde, hot little thing. Tight ass,” the guy replies. “She went down that way.”
One set of footsteps moves closer to me, only to pause when Emmanuel yells out, “I’ll go. You stay and call for cleanup.”
I don’t move, waiting for him to catch up to me. Then I bring my finger to my lips and gesture down the next flight of stairs. When I reach my assigned floor, I exit the stairwell and walk into the room.
Emmanuel follows closely behind me. “Care to explain why you’re leaving witnesses alive?”
“You need to question him. They were plotting something against Sammie. Talking about how they found the guy and it was only a matter of time before they gave them up,” I rush out in one long breath.
Emmanuel gives me a curt nod and immediately steps back out into the hallway. He doesn’t return.
I sigh, falling onto the floor. The adrenaline I get after every kill is slowly wearing off, leaving me completely drained. It happens every time.