Chapter 3 #2
Ricardo blinked, caught off-guard by the shift even though he’d known August long enough that he wasn’t actually surprised. “So… you’re saying you want to come out of retirement and—”
“If it means keeping NightRaven in third place where he fucking belongs? You’re goddamned right I do.” He cocked a brow. “So was Heidi contacting you about an actual job? Or was she just trying to lure you back in again?”
“I’m not sure,” Ricardo said with total honesty. “Her message said she had something interesting, but I haven’t responded to her. Since… you know…” He gestured at himself and August.
His husband nodded. “Well. Maybe you should get back to her.”
“Maybe.” Ricardo took August by the hips and turned him around. As he nudged him toward the door, he murmured in his ear, “I guess it just depends on if you think I should do that before or after we have makeup sex.”
August’s breath stuttered in the most delicious way, and he glanced over his shoulder at Ricardo. Their eyes locked for a few electric seconds.
Then he licked his lips. “If you contact that woman before you fuck me into the mattress, I will murder you for real.”
Ricardo laughed, relieved they were back on solid ground.
He did not, however, fuck August into the mattress. Not tonight.
After all, there was a reason they kept a bottle of lube in the bar up here on the roof.
August was, unsurprisingly, in a good mood the next morning. He usually was after Ricardo plowed him that hard, especially under the stars.
Coffee in hand, he eased himself down on their enormous sofa beside Ricardo. Sitting a little bit carefully this morning—perfect.
Fidgeting subtly, as if Ricardo wouldn’t notice, August said, “I heard back from one of my local contacts.” He tossed his phone on the coffee table. “No one’s heard anything about someone wanting to break into our place, and so far, no one’s been reported missing.”
“So, it was probably someone who could keep his mouth shut and wasn’t local.”
“Probably. Ah well. They’ll keep asking around. I doubt it was just some thrill-seeking teenagers if they made it as far as they did.”
Ricardo grunted. “Probably not. What did you do with the ashes?”
August sipped his coffee. “Put them in the compost pile.”
“You—” Ricardo eyed him. “You’re joking, right?”
“What?” August shrugged. “It’s good for the plants! And Karmena is still trying to unfuck the soil from when you tried”—he made air quotes—“gardening.”
“Wood ash, August. It’s supposed to be wood ash.”
“Meh. It’ll be fine. And if it’s not, I’ll just say it’s a leftover problem from everything you did to the garden.”
Ricardo groaned.
His husband elbowed him. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t put human remains in the garden.
” Rolling his eyes, he tsked, shifting gingerly on the cushion again.
“I drove a few miles and tossed them on a beach. That way if someone finds a tooth or a bone fragment or something, they might be able to identify him, but they’ll never identify him as our problem. ”
“Better than using him to kill the garden,” Ricardo muttered.
“Says the man with more confirmed plant kills than human.”
Ricardo gave him the finger.
August just snickered, because of course he did. Yes, they were definitely back on solid ground, as if that hadn’t been obvious when August was coming down Ricardo’s throat early this morning.
“So.” August gestured with his coffee cup. “Should we reach out to Heidi?”
Ricardo put his own cup on the table. “It’s three in the morning where she lives.”
“And?”
Ricardo elbowed him. “I’m not waking her up again.”
“Ugh. Fine.” August sipped his coffee. “We’ll do what you want to do.”
Ricardo chuckled. “She did, however, send me some details.”
August perked up. “Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” Ricardo handed over the phone, and he waited while August read what she’d sent.
It was exactly the kind of job she’d often sent him once he’d started working with August. There were plenty of gigs he could handle on his own, but when he’d partnered with the only other assassin who’d come close to knocking him out of the top spot on RateYourHit, the jobs got even juicier.
In this case, the client wanted the hit to look like a hit. That made things easy. Ricardo absolutely could make it look like an accident, like natural causes, or—in one memorable case—like a heart attack following an amorous encounter with some large livestock. Those were certainly doable.
But making it very obvious the person had been murdered by a professional? Ricardo was a sniper, for Christ’s sake. Nothing said “this was a professional hit” like a high caliber bullet through the head from a significant distance. Easy peasy, done and dusted.
The tricky part with this client was luring him out in the open.
And that is where your illustrious husband comes into play, Heidi’s message had said.
The mark is constitutionally incapable of refusing a potential investment opportunity.
August doesn’t even have to hide his identity, because this asshole would gladly meet with a member of the Mason family if it means getting rich.
Just draw him out someplace public and off him.
“Well, shit.” August handed back Ricardo’s phone.
“I just get to play myself, and I have an alibi because”—he touched his chest and switched to a dramatic bystander voice—“I was just sitting there eating dinner, and then he was shot! I could’ve died myself!
” He put the back of his hand to his forehead and mock-fainted in Ricardo’s lap.
Smirking, Ricardo peered at him. “You know, as long as you’re down there…”
August tsked and sat up again. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“You’re the one who put his head—”
“Oh my God.” August gave him a shove. “Focus, Ricardo.”
Ricardo chuckled, but he indeed focused. “So. You’re in?”
“How much does it pay?”
“Does it matter? You get to be yourself and then act dramatic after someone is shot right in front of you. You’d do that for free even if you weren’t richer than God.”
“Rude.” August cradled his cup between both hands. “Is the pay enough to motivate you? Even though, thanks to community property, you are also richer than God?”
“I get to be a sniper again, and I can menace you and make you wonder if I’d shoot you.”
August’s eyebrow rose. “Bitch, please. We both know you wouldn’t shoot the man who made you come like that last night.”
“No, but you’ll wonder,” Ricardo teased. “The whole time, you’ll wonder.”
August huffed. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re making me dial back the lethality of our home security and you want to menace me with a sniper rifle. Yes, I hate you.”
“I’m also the reason you’re not sitting comfortably.”
The response to that was a middle finger.
“So.” Ricardo bumped August’s shoulder with his. “Are you in or not?”
“Pfft.” August brought up his coffee for a sip. “You had me at ‘here’s the information she sent.’”