Chapter 9
Specter
Three weeks.
Three fucking weeks since I’ve seen Cashmere and I’m feeling every second of it.
I light a cigarette while perched on the rooftop of an apartment building.
Foster is next to me, his eagle-eyed gaze trained on the people milling around below.
He’s been with us for almost two months now, and fortunately, he blends right in with our motley crew.
He doesn’t need me or anyone else out with him, but Shadow never deviates from his training schedule.
He’s also quiet when he’s working, unlike Ghost and Carnage, giving me plenty of solo time to wallow in my thoughts.
So here I sit, bored and missing the only source of light in my otherwise gloomy world. Does Cashmere notice? Does he wonder if I’m coming back? Does he give a fuck at all?
Giving him space is the right thing to do. I know this, but staying away is a hefty task. I can hardly think of anything but him. Is he safe?
“There,” Foster says. “You see him?”
I peer over the side in the direction Foster is pointing and spot the target right away. “Yep. What do you want to do?”
“Follow him on foot. Get him alone.”
“I’m right beside you.”
We hustle down the fire escape stairs and walk at a brisk pace to catch up with the target. Neither of us know shit about this guy except that he’s potentially armed, probably coked up, and he absolutely can’t live to see the sunrise.
He seems unaware of his surroundings, a common weakness among the arrogant and stupid. He thinks he’s untouchable—honestly, my favorite kind of target. Foster doesn’t fuck around with his targets. He doesn’t drag it out. He gets the assignments that have to be swift and tidy, and he loves his work.
“Sometimes I make up stories about them,” Foster says as we navigate the crowded sidewalks.
“Yeah? Like what?”
He shrugs. “Whatever vibe I get.” Foster taps my arm.
“This guy, he used to be a solid employee. His boss could count on him, but then he got a drug habit and a mistress. He got sloppy. When the money turned up missing, his boss knew it was time. Too much bad press if the public found out, so…” He shrugs. “He’s gotta go.”
“I like it.”
Foster flashes a big, toothy grin. I heard he’s close to the same age as me, but he wears it differently. He seems young, whereas I sometimes feel like I was born in the wrong decade. Hell. The wrong century. I like Foster. He’s pretty cool.
“Got any plans after this?” he asks.
The question pings around my brain, urging me to say yes, to drive to Segreto for just a little peek of him.
Maybe I will. I could watch him from a safe distance, follow him home, and make sure he’s safe.
I blow out a breath. But if I want a chance with him, I have to stick to my word, as hard as that is.
“No.”
“I get to see Joss tonight. I’m gonna pick him up after this.”
“How does that work? Isn’t he a senator’s son?”
Foster nods. “He is. He’s also a grown man who makes his own decisions. Lucky me. He’s amazing.”
“You’ll have to tell me the story of how you met sometime.”
“Yeah, for sure.” He lightly smacks my arm again. “Look. Is this guy a total idiot or what?”
The target just darted into an alley, so either he is an idiot or he’s on to us. “Be cautious just the same.”
“Always.”
We follow the man, darting around people until we make it to the alleyway. Foster peeks around the corner first and sees the target talking to another man.
“Drug deal,” Foster whispers to me, and I nod.
“Good. He’ll have drugs on him. It’ll look like a deal gone bad.”
Foster grins. “Love it when a plan comes together.”
It quickly becomes apparent that this is not a friendly or even neutral interaction when the two men’s voices rise over the urban din.
I peer around the corner in time to see the drug dealer slam the target against a building.
The target has his hands raised, and he’s speaking too rapidly for me to make any of it out from where I’m standing, but he sounds panicked.
Then the dealer hauls off and punches the target in the stomach, then the face, then as he slumps to the ground, he kicks him several times in the ribs.
“You better get my fucking money,” the dealer says before spitting on the target. “You won’t get another chance.”
“Oof,” Foster says. “Dude’s not gonna get his money.”
“Nope.”
Once the dealer is gone, me and Foster swoop in. The target is still lying on the dirty ground, holding his ribs.
He looks up and grunts. “I need help. Can you call an ambulance?”
“We can make the pain go away completely,” Foster says, pulling his Ruger Mark IV from its holster. “Marc David Johansson?”
“Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”
“Delivery guy. I have a message for you from John Stadley.”
“Fuck.” Marc flinches and tries to crawl away, but Foster is right over him, delivering several shots to the back of the head and neck, the sound barely noticeable with his silencer and the noisy surroundings.
Foster tucks his gun away and looks over his shoulder at me as he does a quick search of the body. “No drugs on him.”
I shrug. “We weren’t expecting it anyway. Any directions about the body?”
He’s already got his phone out, taking pics and rolling the body over to make sure he gets the face. Marc’s cheeks are still flushed, his face frozen in an expression of permanent terror, or at least until a good mortician gets their hands on him.
“Nope. Dirty alley is as good as anywhere.”
“Perfect. Let’s get out of here.”
We head back to where Foster parked, several blocks away from the scene. The body will eventually be found, and depending on how high-profile Marc David Johansson is it might be on the nightly news.
“Do you think Shadow feels comfortable with me now?” Foster asks as he pulls into traffic.
“He’ll ask my opinion and I’ll tell him you definitely don’t need any more training.”
“Is this the same process for everyone? Wraith said it was, but I wondered if Shadow didn’t trust me yet.”
“Shadow doesn’t trust anyone for a long time, so don’t take that personally. And yes, it’s the same for all of us. He just wants to make sure you get the culture embedded in you right away. That’s important to him.”
“He doesn’t talk much, but he seems cool.”
Glancing out the window at the passing buildings, I nod. “He is. He’ll warm up the more he gets to know you.”
“So is it like a prerequisite that everyone he hires is queer?”
I actually chuckle at that. “Just lucky.”
Foster nods. “Do you date any women?”
“I used to.” I drag a hand through my hair as memories of my closeted youth flood back.
“I was in a rough situation, all that shit. It wasn’t safe for me to be out so I dated girls and convinced myself that I could be straight.
” I also made a lot of money that way, but that’s none of Foster’s business.
“But you’re not bi?”
“No. You?”
“Nope. So, so gay.”
I chuckle. “Same.” Rubbing my hands together, I glance at him. “You’re lucky you found Joss. It’s hard dating with this lifestyle. It’s not like you can put the fact that you’re a hitman in your dating profile.”
Foster laughs. “No. You’re hot though. I don’t imagine you have a hard time meeting men.”
“I don’t, but I do have a problem with obsessing over men I can’t have.”
“Dude. Who would say no to you? Not flirting or anything, man, but you know, seriously?”
“It happens.” At least with one man. “I’m not ready for all that domestic shit anyway. I got a lot of time before someone locks me down.”
“I love it,” he says, his voice softening. “Never thought I would, but Joss is like…” He shrugs. “He’s a bright spot in a dark world.”
I bite my bottom lip. That feeling is familiar to me. Even though I hardly know Cashmere, he lights me up, and things have been pretty bleak since I’ve made myself stay away.
“I’m happy for you.”
“It’ll happen for you too. When you’re ready.”
“Yeah.”
We finish the drive in silence, and when we get home, we part ways.
Foster joins the guys in the rec room to talk about his job tonight while I head straight to my bedroom.
The only way I can make sure I won’t go right back out to Segreto is to get in the shower and knock one out.
If I can’t see him, I can at least fantasize about him.