Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
MALIK
I'm dating a fucking assassin.
A free one at the moment, but in a little bit, she could be a paid damn assassin.
My head is still reeling, everything I've learned sitting heavy in my chest. Indigo—my Indigo—grew up in care, and it wasn’t pleasant. Too many people took, too many people hurt her, and they made her this. A force of nature. A monster wrapped in silk, beautiful and deadly. And she has a serial killer friend who tried to kill her once? Does she even hear how unhinged that sounds? I haven't even started with her about that.
Then there's Jake. Except he's not just Jake. He's Emil—no, scratch that, his real name is Jake, and he’s the one who's been cleaning up after her for lord knows how long. The bouncer at the bar wasn’t just keeping an eye on the place—he was keeping an eye on Indigo. Making sure her work never led back to her.
And the icing on the fucked-up cake? The quiet city I thought we lived in? Yeah, that was a lie. A joke.
I follow behind as Jake—because that’s who he really is—leads Indigo down a dimly lit hallway, his steps confident, like he owns the place. Maybe he does. I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. The walls are old brick, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and something metallic. Blood? No, it can’t be. Can it? I don’t even know anymore.
When we reach the door at the end of the hall, Jake knocks three times. The sound echoes, heavy and foreboding.
A raspy voice calls out, “Enter.”
Jake pushes the door open, stepping aside so Indigo and I can walk in first. The room is small, all dark wood and old leather. A single desk sits in the center, and behind it, a man I barely recognize—until he smirks.
Jake starts the introductions. “Sir, this is Indigo, the one I was telling you about. And this is her bo?—”
“Malik,” the man interrupts, his smirk widening like this is some inside joke I’m not in on.
My pulse jumps. What the hell is this? Everyone is someone else? My entire reality has tilted on its axis, and now I know this guy too?
I square my shoulders. “Brandon.”
He chuckles, leaning back in his chair like he has all the time in the world. He looks like a middle-aged accountant, the kind of guy who coaches little league on the weekends and grills burgers in his backyard. But there’s a sharpness in his gaze, a weight in the way he holds himself that tells me everything I need to know. This man isn’t harmless. He just plays the part.
His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed back, not a strand out of place, like he never lets anything slip through the cracks. His skin is a warm olive tone, smooth for his age, with only the faintest lines at the corners of his dark eyes—eyes that scan me with amusement and calculation, like he’s already three steps ahead. The slight creases around his mouth deepen when he smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. Just another mask.
“You remember me, then?”
Before I can answer, Indigo crosses her arms, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. “How do you know each other?”
Brandon hums, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Well, we’ve only seen each other a handful of times. He remodeled my house.”
My eyes narrow slightly. “You said you worked from home in…”
“Dispatch.” He smirks.
I nod, my expression unreadable. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Brandon gestures vaguely, like this whole thing is casual business meeting. “The house is fantastic, by the way. You and your crew did an amazing job. I have another property for you to quote.”
I cross my arms. “I’m pretty backed up right now.” And it’s the truth. The burned house has become quite the project.
“Ahh, yeah. Baby, I forgot to tell you when we were being honest.” Indigo turns to me, her voice light, but there’s something underneath it—something dark. “The house you’re working on… I’m the reason it’s burned.”
I blink. “What?”
“Technically, I burned it after she created,” Jake adds casually, like we’re discussing a home renovation instead of a crime scene.
My stomach tightens. “You killed someone there?” My voice is too steady, too controlled, but my mind is racing. “Who? Why? When?”
Indigo tilts her head, considering. “Right before we met? Or maybe it was when we were just texting. I don’t know, but it was a prick from the bar who grabbed me, tried to assault me, and called me a whore.”
Something sharp slices through me. Anger. Helplessness. The knowledge that I wasn’t there to stop it. But that’s the thing about Indigo—she doesn’t need me to stop it. She stops it herself. Permanently.
I force myself to nod, swallowing down the questions piling up. “Okay.”
Brandon claps his hands together, reclaiming the room’s attention. “Enough catch-up. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Indigo doesn’t hesitate. She takes a seat across from him, her posture relaxed, but I know better. She’s calculating. Weighing options. I drop into the chair beside her, keeping my focus on Brandon.
Jake murmurs, “I’ll leave you to it,” and moves out the door.
I glance at him. He must sense what I’m thinking, because he smirks. “She could take care of herself if it came to it.” Then he shuts the door behind him.
Indigo leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “I’m not gonna tiptoe. I like to have creative freedom, and I don’t do innocents. I need hard proof they’re guilty.”
Brandon doesn’t even blink. “Done.”
“I mean it. And I don’t want any rules like ‘I want an arrow to the eye’ or ‘a decapitation.’ My art, my choice.”
His lips twitch. “Done.”
“You cover the cleanups. I’ll schedule it with Jake, but you handle the bill.”
“Done.”
“No kids.”
“Never.”
Indigo tilts her head. “So tell me what you do and why this? Why me?”
“The Chamber is what we call ourselves. An elite group of people with one purpose—rid the world of scum. Specifically rapists, women-beaters, and child abusers. Sometimes drug lords, but only the worst of the worst. Jail cages them and sets them free. That’s not fixing the problem. We decided to fix it ourselves.”
She listens intently, her fingers tapping against the desk. “What would my role be?”
“You’d oversee more than just our little town. It’s a country-wide operation. Expenses on us. But the Western region would be your zone.”
“What states?”
“Washington, Oregon, California, Idaho, Nevada. Unless one of our contractors refuses a job, you’ll never go farther than that.”
Indigo’s expression is unreadable. “How much?”
“A million flat, per contract. Each target is their own contract.”
I suck in a breath. That’s a fuck-ton of money.
“How many a month?”
“Depends.”
“And if I quit?”
“We’ll give you a severance and go our separate ways. This isn’t some B-movie drama, Indigo. We’re upscale. You won’t find another assassin at your door. Unless you spill our secrets.”
Indigo smirks. “I would never.”
Brandon nods, then turns to me. “And you, Malik?”
“Me what?”
“Why are you here?”
I exhale slowly. “Indigo is my girl. I wanted to make sure she’s safe.”
Brandon studies me. “And your thoughts on all this?”
I shake my head. “I’m not real sure.”
“Same rules—you talk, you die.”
“Understood.”
Brandon’s lips curve. “Good.”
“You touch him, you die,” Indigo snaps.
Brandon smirks, clearly entertained rather than threatened. “Then I guess it’s good we’re all excellent at keeping secrets. Yes?” His gaze flicks between the two of us, a knowing glint in his eye.
Indigo glares at him, jaw tight, but gives a curt nod.
Brandon turns his attention to me. “Indigo, he can go with you. Expenses paid. How you split the payment is between you.”
“I don’t want the money,” I say, my voice even, steady. “Only to make sure she’s safe.”
Brandon studies me for a long moment, then nods like he approves of the answer. “Fine. Now, let’s iron out the rest.”
What follows is a painstaking breakdown of logistics, contingencies, and rules that make my head spin. Indigo listens intently, asking the right questions, her mind working through every angle of this deal with a level of focus that unsettles me.
She’s not just considering it. She’s in.
Brandon explains that her assignments will come to a phone he will provide her. The first contract will be delivered to her within the next few days, details encrypted on the phone solely for communication with him. No outside calls, no traceable activity. The Chamber operates in the shadows, and they expect the same of her.
“This isn’t just about skill, Indigo,” Brandon says, sliding a folder across the table. “It’s about discipline. If you slip, if you attract attention?—”
“I won’t,” she interrupts, flipping open the folder without hesitation.
Brandon smirks again, like she’s just proven a point he already knew. “Good.”
She skims the contract, flipping through pages like she already understands every word, before picking up the pen and signing her name with a smooth, practiced motion. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
A phone slides across the desk next, sleek and black, completely unremarkable—except for the weight of what it represents.
“That’s your only line to me,” Brandon says. “The messages will encrypt five minutes after they’re sent.”
Indigo tucks it into her pocket, then leans back in her chair, exhaling like she’s just crossed the finish line of a long race.
And just like that, it’s done.
When we step out of the office, the air feels heavier, like we’ve walked into a world that wasn’t meant for me. Indigo strides ahead like she belongs here, like she was always meant to take this path.
I trail after her, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened.
The truck ride is silent, tension coiling between us. I grip the wheel too tightly, my thoughts racing. I knew she was dangerous, but this? This is something else.
Indigo stares out the window, her expression unreadable.
“Say something,” she whispers, barely audible over the hum of the engine.
I press my lips together, shaking my head. “Give me a minute.”
We pull into her driveway, and before I can even put the truck in park, she’s already unbuckling her seatbelt. She throws the door open, storms up the front steps, and shoves the door wide before slamming it behind her.
I sit there for a beat, hands still gripping the wheel. Then I follow, stepping inside to find her in the living room, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Her eyes snap to mine, burning with something I can’t quite place.
“What the hell?” I ask, voice low but edged with frustration.
She lets out a strangled noise—somewhere between a groan and a scream—before she completely loses it.