3. Alex
THREE
Alex
The suite is silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner. I sit at the desk, cleaning the Glock 17 without making a sound.
Some dust got in the case on the way here and I’m not the kind of man to leave anything to chance. It all needs to be perfect. Last thing I need is a gun misfiring at a crucial moment.
To my left, a computer screen shows me a live feed of Bella’s bedroom.
She shouldn’t know I exist. I should be a ghost, invisible. But I’ve not only met her, I’ve given her my name and my fucking business card.
Just because her tits looked good? What the fuck am I doing?
I clean my guns and bring my focus back to where it belongs, putting the confusion behind me. She’s my target. Nothing more. I slip the clip back into place, relaxing a little more. Guns, that’s what I know. Not women. Violence, death, that’s my trade, not innocent little girls getting mixed up in things they know nothing about.
My phone vibrates, breaking the stillness. I glance at the screen—Ricardo Rossi. I answer it, my voice steady. “Boss.”
“Progress report?” His voice is all business.
“Fed the cameras through the air vents. Got a clear view, good sound.”
“Room above hers was available no trouble?”
“I paid the guests to vacate.”
“Anyone suspect anything?”
“Nope.”
“She said where it is yet?” His question is sharp, impatient.
“Nope.”
“Has she spoken to anyone? Given you any clues at all? The clock’s ticking on this, remember?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Does she at least know where he is? If we could get our hands on that son of a bitch, we could resolve this in minutes.”
“If she knows, I’ll get the intel from her. Got her eating out of my hand already. She’s got my number. I’m playing the horny businessman. Waiting for her to call.”
“We’ve only got two weeks. We haven’t got time for you to spend fucking the intel out of her. Russo’s hunting right now, eyes everywhere.”
“Vince Russo couldn’t find his cock with his hand on the fucking thing.”
“You better be right. If he gets to it first, we’re all fucked.”
“I know that,” I say, my jaw tightening.
“Just get it done,” Ricardo orders. “You know what’s riding on this.”
“I’d work faster if I wasn’t yakking with you on the phone.” I hang up.
I return my attention to the screen. She’s appeared in the footage, coming out of the bathroom, her movements hesitant and weary.
Been working here for a week under her own name. Her father didn’t tell her to change her name. That made her too easy to find.
My brow furrows. If I could find her this easily, so could Russo. Does she have any idea of the danger she’s in?
She crosses to the window, closing the drapes before starting to undress for bed, her hands trembling slightly as she unbuttons her blouse.
My body reacts involuntarily to the sight, my cock stiffening as her bra comes into view. I remember the sight of her hard nipples through that soaking wet top. I think of taking them into my mouth one after the other, listening to see what kind of moan she makes.
Mixing business with pleasure is a fatal mistake.
It shouldn’t matter that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She is the key to solving all my problems. I need to focus on the job.
I shouldn’t have asked her to join me in the shower earlier. She’s too innocent. I would destroy her if I brought her into my world.
When I was a kid, a teacher brought in this tiny delicate flower she’d found, wanted us all to see it, talking some shit about pollination or whatever it was we were supposed to be learning. She handed it around but when I stuck my hand out, she wouldn’t let me hold it. I begged her, said I’d be careful this time.
So she relented but the moment I got hold of it, Bobby Driscoll shoved me in the small of the back. I turned to punch him, forgetting the flower was in my fist.
She started yelling and I unpeeled my fingers and found that little flower crushed. The pieces fell to the carpet and I was in trouble yet again.
That’s what I do. I destroy things. I’m fucking good at it too. It’s how I ended up with this career. So why am I looking away from the screen and giving her some privacy to get changed into her pajamas?
I should be watching her right now, paying attention to every little detail. I should be looking for clues, not getting a hard on like some fucking sex-starved teenager. It’s a job. Just one more job. Who gives a shit what she looks like?
I glance back at the screen when I’ve got a hold of myself. Fate has got to be messing with me. She’s in bed and by the look on her face, it’s a safe bet she’s masturbating. Her eyes are closed. Under the blankets her hips are shifting in place, her hand between her legs.
Desire surges through me, and I force myself to look away again, my own hands clenching into fists as I fight the urge to run downstairs and kick open her door, swap her hands for my tongue.
I reach for the control to switch off the camera, conscience battling with my sense of duty. I shouldn’t watch this. She’d kill me if she knew I could see her right now.
But as my finger leans forward to shut the computer down, I glimpse a shadow moving in the corner of the footage. I look closer.
Someone is easing her bedroom door open. She hasn’t noticed. Whoever it is, they picked her electronic lock already. They’re sneaking in, hoping to get to her before she notices. She’s in big trouble. But her intruder is in much deeper shit.
He’s already made his fatal mistake. Doing it while I’m watching. It’s a mistake he won’t live to make again.