21. Connor
Chapter 21
Connor
We pull up to a nondescript two-story house in the middle of nowhere. Dominic kills the engine, and the three of us sit in silence for a moment. The target's house looks like it belongs in a damn Sears catalog—neat lawn, white picket fence, the whole nine yards.
I glance at Isaac. "You ready for this?"
Isaac cracks his knuckles. "Always ready to take out the trash."
Dominic rolls his eyes. "You guys sound like a bad action movie. Let's just get this done."
We get out of the car and walk up to the front door. I ring the bell, my finger hovering just a second too long. The guy answers, looking like he’s seen better days. Probably doesn’t know today’s his last.
“Who are you?” His voice trembles, eyes darting between us.
“We’re your friendly neighborhood watch,” I say, stepping inside without waiting for an invite.
Isaac pushes past him and heads straight for the living room. “Nice place you got here.”
The guy stumbles back, trying to keep his distance. “What do you want?”
Dominic smirks. “Esteban sends his regards.”
The guy’s face goes pale, and he starts shaking. “Please, I didn’t mean to?—”
“Save it,” I cut him off, shoving him into a chair. “You’ve been leaking information. That’s a no-go in our line of work.”
Isaac starts rummaging through the guy’s cabinets, pulling out random knick-knacks and tossing them aside. “Where’s your safe?”
The guy stammers, “I don’t have a safe.”
Isaac smashes a vase against the wall, shards flying everywhere. “Wrong answer.”
Dominic leans against the wall, arms crossed. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“I swear,” the guy pleads, tears welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t tell anyone anything important!”
I grab him by the collar and pull him close. “Important or not, you talked.” My fist connects with his jaw before he can respond.
He yelps in pain but doesn’t fight back. Typical.
Isaac finds what he’s looking for—a small metal box hidden behind some books on a shelf. He cracks it open and pulls out a stack of papers.
Dominic takes one look and shakes his head. “Do you guys smell that? Smells like a fucking rat.”
The guy sobs, head hanging low.
I pull out my gun and press it against his temple. “Any last words?”
He mutters something incoherent through his sobs.
“Didn’t catch that,” I say, cocking the gun.
Dominic steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s not make a mess here, just more for the maid to clean up.” He looks at Isaac. “Bag him.”
Isaac grins and pulls out a plastic bag from his pocket—a black one with no markings.
The guy tries to struggle as Isaac slips it over his head, but it’s no use. He goes limp after a few seconds of flailing.
Dominic nods approvingly as we stand back and watch our handiwork.
I shake my hair out of my eyes and glance at Isaac. "Nice touch with the vase."
Isaac shrugs nonchalantly as we head back to the car. "Thought I'd add some flair."
We pile into the car, leaving behind another clean job done right.
“Another day in paradise,” Dominic mutters as he starts the engine.
I glance back at the house one last time as we drive away, wondering how long before someone notices Mr. Leak is missing.
In an effort to get out of my head, I pull up the live news feed on my phone as Dom navigates through evening traffic. Senator Thomas Cope stands at a podium, his face a mask of practiced concern. The bastard's good at his job, I'll give him that.
"As you know, my beloved wife Tatum is missing," he says, voice catching perfectly on cue. "I'm asking anyone with information to come forward."
"What a piece of shit," Isaac mutters from the front seat.
I turn up the volume as a reporter shouts a question: "Senator Cope, when did you first notice your wife was missing?"
"I returned home from a late meeting to find the house empty." Thomas dabs at his eyes with a handkerchief. "At first, I thought nothing of it. Tatum often volunteers at local charities. But when she didn't return my calls..."
"Volunteers at charities?" Dom snorts. "More like he keeps her locked up like a fucking bird in a cage."
"He didn't even report her missing. His fucking side piece secretary did." I say.
We watch as Thomas continues his performance, promising a reward for information leading to Tatum's safe return. The camera pans across his face, catching what looks like genuine tears.
"Oscar-worthy," I mutter, closing the feed. "Think he actually believes the Asian mob took her?"
"Probably, he's a dumbass afterall," Dom says.
I check my messages, wondering if Tatum's seen the press conference yet. The image of her in that oversized shirt this morning flashes through my mind. I push it away. Getting attached isn't part of the plan. But I can't seem to fucking help myself.
I pull up the security feed on my phone, telling myself it's just to check if everything's secure. The pool camera fills my screen, and my breath catches.
Tatum glides through the water in nothing but white cotton underwear that's become practically see-through. Her long auburn hair fans out behind her as she does another lap. The afternoon sun catches the droplets on her skin, making her gleam like some kind of water goddess.
"Fuck," I mutter, adjusting in my seat.
She pulls herself out of the pool, water cascading down her curves. My fingers tighten around my phone as she wrings out her hair and stretches. The movement makes her breasts strain against the wet fabric.
She settles onto one of the loungers, completely unaware she's being watched. A thick book rests in her hands – looks like she raided our library. Something about the way she's so comfortable, so at home, makes my chest tight.
"What are you looking at?" Dom's voice makes me jump.
I lock my phone screen quickly. "Just checking the security feeds."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. Thank fuck.
I try to focus on the laptop in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting back to that feed. To wet skin and white cotton and the way she bit her lip while reading.
Dom taps the steering wheel, breaking the heavy silence. "Ready for round two?"
I shake my thoughts of Tatum away, focusing on the job at hand. "Where we headed?"
"Greenwich. Got another leak that needs plugging." Dom pulls out his phone, showing us a photo. "This one's been selling info to the feds."
"Ambitious," Isaac snorts from the back seat.
I study the photo - middle-aged guy, expensive suit, typical corporate type who thinks he's smarter than everyone else. "What's his story?"
"CFO at one of our shell companies," Dom explains as he pulls onto I-95. "Started getting greedy, thought he could make some extra cash by playing both sides."
"Moron," I mutter, watching the city lights blur past. The sunset paints the sky in shades of orange and purple, turning the clouds into cotton candy. Beautiful evening for ugly business.
The rest of the drive passes in comfortable silence. We've done this dance so many times it's almost routine. Almost. But I can't shake the feeling that something's different now. Maybe it's the woman swimming laps in our pool, or maybe I'm just getting soft.
Dom pulls up to a gated driveway in one of those neighborhoods where every house looks like it belongs in Architectural Digest. "Game faces on, gentlemen."