Chapter 5
FIVE
MAVEN
“Carrie.” Bailey pulls his head away from the crook of her neck as she looks at me. “I’m going to head out. Will you be fine getting home? Or do you want me to stay?”
I know Carrie can look after herself, and I’m well aware that she’s been to a few of these parties. But my patience is already fraying. I came here for her, not for this circus. And yet, as always, she’s chosen the wrong man. Predictably, a man who thinks charm can substitute character.
“Yes, thank you.” She giggles and then goes back to kissing Bailey.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, keeping my distance.
Of course, she dragged me here, and the moment we walk in, she disappears into the mess she clearly enjoys.
My jaw tightens. Every muscle is coiled, ready to act if I need to.
Because she might be fine, but that doesn’t mean I trust anyone in this room.
And still, I can’t stop watching her, even as she lets him take her attention. The way she leans in, the tilt of her head, the way she laughs. It’s infuriating. She is brilliant and capable, but somehow she keeps picking men who are beneath her.
Turning, I stride to the doors, exiting without an issue, which is funny, considering when we tried to enter it was difficult to get in.
I step out into the night, the air crisp against my skin.
The valet pulls up a sleek black car, and I notice him before he even slips behind the wheel.
Boston. He moves with that controlled, deliberate precision that seems to set my nerves on edge.
He’s already aware of me; I can tell by the shift in his posture.
As he slides into the driver’s seat, our eyes meet across the space between us.
Just a fraction of a second, nothing more, but enough to know that he knows I’m watching.
I let my gaze drop, forcing myself to stay calm.
Inside, I’m annoyed at Carrie for ditching me, leaving me to this shitshow.
And I’m annoyed that this asshole has my attention once more.
I take a deep breath in, tension springing up in my body, but not from fear, from curiosity, irritation, and a reluctant sense of intrigue I refuse to acknowledge.
I take a step back, watching as the valet closes the door for him, then I keep moving confidently down the dark sidewalk, letting the city swallow me.
Even as I pull my coat tighter around myself and quicken my pace, I know he’s still watching me, and the thought makes anticipation coil tightly inside my chest.
Thankfully, it isn’t long before I get home, and when I do, the weight of the world outside starts to fall away.
My heels click against the hardwood, and I breathe a little easier, even as the ache in my feet spreads like fire up my calves.
I kick the shoes off, letting them thud softly against the doorframe, and for a moment, I close my eyes.
The apartment smells faintly of perfume and linen, the way I like it.
Passing one of my favorite rooms filled with pretty shoes, I pad to the bathroom.
The tiles are cold under my bare feet as I start the hot water.
I strip out of my dress, then sink in slowly, careful not to dunk my hair, because once the bathtub water goes blue, I’ll be blue.
And trust me, I’ve fallen asleep in the bath after freshly dying my hair and come out with blue skin. Carrie laughed for weeks.
The heat spreads through me, loosening muscles I didn’t realize were tense, washing away the lingering pulse from the party.
I let my thoughts wander. Why did she bring me to that party if she was just going to disappear with a man?
I get it, she’s working a contract, but I’m sure there are other ways to go about it.
I adjust my position, letting the warmth lap against my shoulders, and look around with a contented sigh. When I was looking for apartments, one of my must-haves was a bathtub that would be big enough to lie in comfortably.
My mind starts to whirl with questions. I haven’t really asked Carrie lately what she’s been doing to get clients. I guess a part of me hasn’t wanted to know. But does she do that often? Go into parties and hook up with strange men so she can get contacts?
I hope not.
I’ve earned enough money for both of us to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, so we could stop this at any time.
When I first started, my kills were intentional and purposeful.
I wasn’t just a hitwoman hired by the mafia.
And I got paid the same as a hitman would.
Except I have a handler, and all my kills are high-profile targets.
If they want someone knocked off from the street, I am not your woman. I don’t deal in that low-level stuff.
There are people out there who do, and I don’t plan on taking their job.
Unlocking the door with my key, I walk into Carrie’s apartment the following day, as she lives close by. I’ve been trying to call her all morning, and she hasn’t answered.
The first thing I note is my heels discarded near her front door. Huffing out a breath of annoyance, I lean down and pick them up.
At least I know she made it home.
“Carrie, you know better than to treat my shoes like this,” I yell.
When she doesn’t answer me back, I move deeper into the apartment, and something in the air shifts.
It’s subtle at first, a quiet wrongness.
The kind you feel before you understand it.
My stomach dips, a slow, sinking pull, and my steps falter as I reach her bedroom door.
It’s closed. That alone is enough to worry me.
I hesitate for half a second, my hand hovering near the handle.
I don’t knock; I never have. I push it open slowly and then stop.
Everything in me goes still.
Carrie is in her bed, under the covers.
But the sheets…
Blood.
Too much of it.
My pulse spikes, heart slamming hard against my ribs. Adrenaline floods my system so fast it almost makes me dizzy, and my fingers tighten around the shoes in my hands without me realizing it, the leather creaking under the pressure.
“Carrie,” I say, but it comes out quieter than I expected. I take another step forward, then another. Each movement feels forced. Like I’m pushing through something thick and invisible. My gaze takes in the dark splotch spreading across the sheets, and the way her chest rises and falls, barely.
“Carrie.” She stirs at the sound of my voice, and the sight has me releasing a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.
As soon as I’m within reach, I pull the covers back, only to find her passed out with blood dripping from her nose.
Her hands look like they’ve been in a battle, the knuckles red and raw.
She’s still wearing the same dress from last night, though it’s slightly torn.
I grab her shoulders and try to shake her awake.
“Go away,” she whines.
“Carrie, what the fuck happened?” I demand, looking her over to make sure she isn’t hurt anywhere else.
“Oh, shit, that hurts,” she says as I press a hand to her stomach.
“Why is there so much blood?” I ask frantically. I know my voice is raised, but I don’t care.
“Don’t worry about it. I sorted it,” she states as she pushes the blanket off completely and then stands.
“Sorted what?”
Huffing out a breath, she goes to the mirror next to her bed and touches her nose, avoiding eye contact with me. “Nothing, honestly.”
I shake my head. “You’re refusing to tell me,” I accuse, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why?”
“I’m not doing any such thing,” she says, and winces when I step closer and poke her in the stomach.
“What happened?” I ask again. “This time, if you don’t tell me the truth, I will hunt everyone down from that party last night and kill them,” I add with a smile.
She knows I’m not joking. “Things got out of hand, and, as I said, I handled it. Don’t you do anything. That room was full of connections.”
I gasp at her response, the sound sharp in the space between us. My fingers curl at my sides, tension creeping up my arms. “We don’t need all the connections, Carrie. We do fine on our own,” I remind her, my voice tighter than I intended.
“About that…” She bites her bottom lip, hard enough that I see it blanch. Her gaze drops to the floor, and her shoulders pull in like she’s trying to make herself smaller. One hand drifts to cover the other, rubbing over her bruised knuckles like she can erase what happened.
Something in my chest tightens.
“What?”
“I’ve lost all the money.” The words don’t land all at once. They hang there, heavy, wrong.
I blink. Once. Twice. “What do you mean you lost all the money?” The words come out slower now, quieter, but there’s something under them, something building. My pulse starts to pick up, thudding in my ears, each beat louder than the last.
She doesn’t look at me.
She wipes at a smear of dried blood on her face, but it doesn’t come off. Her hand lingers there for a second too long before dropping.
“I gambled with it. I thought I could double it…”
For a second, I don’t move. My mind races, trying to catch up. Numbers, accounts, time, all of it crashing together. Gone. All of it.
My jaw tightens, a faint tremor running through it as my teeth clench. My hand shoots out, gripping the edge of the bed beside me, fingers digging into the fabric hard enough to ground me.
“You gambled it away,” I say, the words flat, like I’m testing them.
She answers with the barest of nods, still not looking at me.
Heat floods my chest now, fast and suffocating. Shock twists into something darker. Something louder.
“Fucking hell,” I breathe out, but there’s no relief in it, only pressure. “That’s why you were so pushy for me to go with you.”
Another small nod. Her shoulders slump further, like she’s bracing for what’s coming next.
I stare at her, really looking at her. The blood. The bruised knuckles. The torn dress.
My fingers curl tighter, knuckles whitening now. My pulse is racing, every instinct in me clawing for control.
“Was it Bailey who did that to you?” I yell. “Don’t you dare try to cover for him either. Tell me.”
“Yes, it was.”
And the shock burns away, leaving something more dangerous in its place.
I turn and immediately start for the door, Carrie chasing after me.
“Don’t do anything, Maven. I also lost his money. He found out last night, and, well—”
“That doesn’t mean he can fucking hit you,” I tell her.
“I gave it right back,” she says, smiling and lifting her hands to show me her knuckles.
“Good, but I’m still going to kill him,” I inform her.
“We don’t have a contract on him,” she calls out after me.
“Consider this your contract. I’m going to show him what happens when you fuck with someone I love.” I slam the door shut, effectively ending whatever it is she was about to say to try to stop me.