5. Isolde
Isolde
“I’ve got muffins!” Ren holds up a brown kraft box as she walks inside. She flings her high heels off and then shimmies over, proudly displaying her offering.
The kraft box is stamped with the name of my favorite bakery.
“Thank you.” I open it up, letting her steal one.
“Did Luis let you up?” Tristan asks.
She nods, munching on her muffin, not at all concerned with his scowl. She does, however, look guiltily at me. “I let him have a muffin.”
Tristan’s already got his phone out.
“Don’t get him in trouble!” Ren wails.
“He got himself in trouble,” he replies.
She crams the muffin in her mouth. “Am I not on the guest list or something?”
“What happened to taking some time off?” I ask her.
She smiles brightly and whips out her phone. “I booked our cruise last night. Look.”
She shows off her itinerary before swiping through photos of Alaska. It’s not until Tristan begins speaking in Spanish that we’re pulled out of our little world.
“Did everything go okay last night?” Ren’s tone is light, but I don’t like her green, prying eyes.
“Yeah, it was fine.” I take the remaining muffins into the kitchen. Ren is right on my heels, and I know why. “I haven’t started a pot, but I can get you some.”
Ren purses her mouth, slightly dejected by the lack of coffee. “Nah, it’s okay. Abe’ll have some ready when I get there.”
“You sure you want to go into work?”
She proved after last night’s shootout that she’ll be the only broker operating out of Fujimori’s. But she also declared she’d be having better work-life boundaries from now on.
“I know what everyone is thinking.” She helps herself to another muffin. “I want to show my face. I want everyone to know I’m back to business and that the Stuarts can fuck right off.”
I pull out a lemon poppy seed. My side slightly twinges, my breath catching. Tyler gave me pain medication, but I don’t like popping pills.
“You okay?” Ren hums.
“Mhhhmmm.” Slow, deep breaths stabilize me.
“Hey, so.” Ren leans up against the counter. The lights are off, the windows letting in plenty of natural light. “I wanted to run something by you.”
Ren is zany. She claps her hands when she’s excited or cusses a mile a minute when she’s worked up. She’s more subtle today, but my brow furrows the slightest as I catch her peeking up. Not only that, but she tries to bite back a smile but can’t.
Is she about to announce a fucking engagement already?
That’d be awfully fucking fast. Ben will lecture her and then make her sign one hell of a prenup. I know she’d be happy, though.
“You know how everyone kept harping at me about taking on too much work?” she says. “Well, I’ve got the most perfect, brilliant, amazing plan in the whole entire world.”
Oh, I misunderstood her facial expression. The smirk is hinting at a sneaky bit of planning.
“And what is your most perfectly brilliant, amazing plan?” I ask.
“You!” Her nose wrinkles, an impervious grin splitting her face.
“Me?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. Her black blazer is fashionable, but I’ve always wondered if it’s uncomfortable. I hate any fabric that’s too restrictive. “I want you to come work with me.”
A dry wad of the baked good I’m eating sticks in my throat. Coughing into my elbow, I grab some orange juice from the fridge.
“What?”
“Come work with me.”
I offer her a glass of juice. “I already have a job.”
Ren lets out a deep breath. One of her little half-sighs and she stomps her foot, silently telling me to keep up.
“I’m a triggerman,” I remind her.
“And a damn good one,” she compliments, “but let’s say you want a change of pace.”
“I don’t want a change of pace.”
I’m a triggerman, through and through.
Ren has always loved her job and worn it like a badge of honor. Her business is a part of her. I knew she’d never give up her career. It’s why she looped me in before Bennie and Abe, because I knew she’d never actually sell her business.
How could she think I’d willingly give up my career?
“I like my job,” I tell her, swallowing a mouthful of tart orange juice. Wiping my lips, I add, “Why would you think I’d want to stop doing it?”
“Well. . . No.” She shifts in place, her knee bending as she bumps into the counter. “It’s not that I think you’d want to stop doing it. I just. . . Would you consider it?”
“Consider it?”
Her lips part slightly. She reminds me of Sammie in a lot of ways. There’s this stunning beauty that’s such a natural part of her, it should hurt me. Except she’s so damn endearing, my best friend. Even her glitch of confusion passes for pretty.
“I need help,” she admits. “Which means I need to hire somebody. Somebody I can trust. Who I like. Who gets me. And ideally, that person would also like me and get me. Also, they’d need to be able to look someone like Cain Murray in the eye and tell him to get fucked.
You inherently have all of those qualities.
So, I’d like you to take this job. To come work with me and Ben. You’d be good at it.”
“But I’m good at the job I have now.”
Ren opens and closes her mouth again.
“You don’t think I should keep being a triggerman?” I ask.
After a moment, Ren says, “I’m not saying you aren’t good at it. If you want a chance for some growth, I’m offering you a really good job.”
Being a triggerman is a really good job. Sure, most people don’t think it’s moral, but those same people don’t bat an eye at corrupt businessmen. I make good money, and I’ve earned every single dollar I’ve stockpiled away.
My hands squeeze around my orange juice glass, my earlier smoothie discarded on the counter. “I’m sorry, Ren, but I’ve got a job.”
She looks put out. Maybe it’s because she’s the first true friend I’ve ever had, other than Sammie, but my insides twist. Over my lifetime, I’ve learned to take care of myself. At the end of the day, it’s me that’s got to make sure I survive. But that doesn’t mean I like disappointing people.
“You won’t even consider it? It’s a good job opportunity.”
I shake my head, trying to let her off gently.
“Why not?” she asks.
“I like my job.”
“But don’t you want to grow?”
“What does that mean?” Ren is clever as fuck, but she’s not pretentious. Why is she sounding like an HR representative?
“Grow,” Ren repeats the word as if that will explain it. “I mean everyone likes you, and they’d be happy to see you transition.”
I snort. “This about Jules? That fucker thinks if I move on, he’ll suddenly get more contracts. He can’t even fucking shoot straight.”
No one likes a showoff, my sister used to say. As if she hadn’t gotten into fucking Oxford. But I understand. In this world, it’s better to keep your mouth shut sometimes. Don’t get cocky.
Even Tris would probably agree with that. And he’s the only person in this city who rivals my skill.
Ren’s face has grown eerily blank. My heart beats faster when I notice the press of her disappointment leeching around us.
“It’s not about Jules. I want you to come work for me. I think it’d be good for you and good for me.”
How would it be good for me? Her increasingly pale face stops me from asking. She’s acting like I’ve physically wounded her.
Ren is used to getting her way, but there’s no way I’m changing careers.
“I’ve got a job,” I tell her again. “And I’ve got a lot of contracts lined up.”
Summer in New York City brings a wealth of opportunities.
Ren repositions her arms, though they remain crossed over her chest. “Yeah, about that,” she says with an air of bluntness. “I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”
“What?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She enunciates each word, confirming my suspicions that she’s pissed off.
“I’ve got the contracts.” People know I’m good, so I stay booked and busy. Some of these hits have been scheduled months in advance. I’m only waiting on the targets to come to town.
Ren knows this but shakes her head slightly. Great, now she’s snippy.
“I’m putting a pause on them.”
Like hell she is.
“I’ve already got the contracts.” I swear we’ve just repeated the same five things over and over again. But Ren stands there like a perfect marble statue. “You seriously that pissed that I turned down your little job offer?”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m pissed that my best friend keeps getting shot at! Seriously, Isolde, just chill out until we get this figured out.”
“You didn’t fucking chill out when we found five of your ex-boyfriends dead.”
“You hired me a bodyguard!”
“We didn’t know why the fuck your boyfriends kept showing up dead!”
Ren’s brows lift. Her eyes widen. Her mouth becomes a perfect little ‘O.’ “Oh, so you do know what the fuck is going on. You know exactly what’s going on with this Cade guy. Did you expect him to show up? How long have you known he wants you dead?”
My heart starts racing.
Ren blinks, gauging my reaction. “Isolde. . . Tell me what’s going on. Why the fuck is this guy after you?”
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes. “Seriously, it’s not that big of a de—”
“That’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”
“Just leave it alone.”
“Leave it alone?”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“The fuck you do!”
“The. Fuck. I. Do.” Each word is pulled from within my soul. It’s the only option I’ve got. It’s me or Cade in a body bag.
“Are you afraid of the Grim Reaper?” Sammie’s ghost asks.
“Not right now,” I tell her. I’m not having a conversation about death with the one person whose final moments saw her breath taken away from her.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Ren demands.
“No.”
“Isolde—”
“I said no.”
Ren stomps her foot. “And I said—”
“Fuck off!”
Her face drains.
My heart beats and beats and beats. It rushes in my ears. My jaw aches. I try to loosen it, but it’s like I don’t know how to work the muscles anymore. Which I might not, based on how tight everything feels.
Me or you in the body bag.
That’s the last thing Cade said to me as blood gushed from me.
I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to be like my sister.
Not then. Not now.
Ren is hurt. I know she is.
Just like when I tried to talk to Tristan earlier, no words come. They never do. Instead they ball up in my chest, a tangled mass I can never seem to explain.