18. nix
NIX
I glance at the clock. Five. My lips tip up, and pride expands in my chest. I have plenty of time to finish up here and make it to Stone Tower to surprise my wife with a trip down memory lane.
It’s amazing how much better I’ve become at managing my time since I started delegating to my staff, and they’ve easily stepped up to the challenge of more responsibility.
Maybe I’ve been a bit of a control freak. I shrug at the thought. Probably. But it comes with the territory. I had to be in control of every single aspect of my men and our missions. I mean, look what happened when I let something slide. I lost a good man, and another good man was badly injured.
I still need to employ more staff to lighten the load further, but things are improving for me. If Abbi hadn’t asked for a divorce, I’d still be slogging away and burning the midnight oil. Her request, as much as it destroyed me, has been the kick up the ass I needed.
I tidy my desk, ensuring everything lines up perfectly, then do one last check that next week’s roster and job sheets are up to date, and shut down my laptop.
The alert on my phone buzzes, letting me know it’s time to leave if I want to make it to Abbi before she leaves the office.
Harry’s suggestion to use the alarm and timer on my phone to keep track of time was genius.
I grab my keys and close my office door behind me, walking down the hallway to the back exit with purposeful strides and success resting on my shoulders.
Ten minutes from my office, I pull into the parking lot behind one of Abbi’s favorite corner stores.
I was surprised to learn that Mr. and Mrs. B still own the store.
They sell all the regular items you expect to find in a corner store, as well as Mrs. B’s delicious homemade pies, cakes, and pastries that Abbi used to love.
Climbing out of my truck, I have a spring in my step and a smile on my lips as I take the cracked sidewalk to the front of the store. The moment I enter, the scent of baked goods wafts around me, and I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth and memories this place holds.
“As I live and breathe, Nixon Steele is in my store,” a familiar voice calls. “Long time no see! Where have you been hiding?”
I snap my eyes open with a grin as I stride toward Mr. B. “Mr. B. It’s been too long. How are you and Mrs. B?”
Instead of answering, he takes a few steps toward the door that leads to the back of the store. “Annie. Come out here.” Then he comes back to me and shakes my hand. “We’re great. A little older and a little slower, but we’re still here.” He chuckles mildly.
A young woman wearing a backpack enters the store, distracting Mr. B for a moment as he greets her in his usual warm, friendly manner—nothing’s changed. I watch her for a moment as she heads toward the back of the store where the fridges are.
Mrs. B steps out from the back, concentrating on wiping her hands on her apron.
“What’s so urgent, Martin?” she grumbles.
When she finally looks up and her eyes land on me, her lips tip up instantly, and she makes her way out from behind the counter with her arms outstretched.
Her white curls bounce on her shoulders as she waddles her way toward me.
She’s always had bad knees from the sports she played in her younger days, and I can see they’ve only gotten worse over the years.
“Oh my goodness, Nixon.” She closes her arms around me, and I return her embrace.
“It’s been so long.” She pulls away and cups my bristly cheek. “You look so handsome.”
Mr. B clears his throat. “Eh, I’m right here, woman.”
She scoffs at him and winks at me. “I know.”
Mr. B huffs, and I chuckle. We spend the next few minutes catching up as if no time has passed at all as more people enter the small store.
Young woman still by the fridges, a guy who spends too much time at the gym by the protein bars, a middle-aged guy checking out Mrs. B’s pies, and another guy about my age heading toward the counter with snacks and drinks.
“You must bring Abbi and your beautiful kids in sometime,” Mrs. B tells me as Mr. B serves the man around my age.
The guy says his thanks, grabs his items, and is almost at the door when there’s a commotion at the entrance to the store. A young guy, who appears strung out, shoves the man back, causing him to lose his footing and land on his ass, dropping his purchases.
“What the hell?” he blusters as he tries to climb back to his feet.
The newcomer pushes him back down with a boot-covered foot to his chest. “Give me your cash,” he demands.
The hair on the back of my neck bristles, and Mrs. B gasps. My muscles tighten. I fucking hate these entitled pricks who think they can steal from hard-working people to feed their drug habit.
“Hell no!” the guy spits from his prone position. I don’t blame him, but we need to deescalate this scumbag, not intensify the situation.
I hold my hands loosely at my sides and take a single step toward the pair, hoping to calm the situation before it gets out of hand, when the newcomer whips out a gun from the waistband of his pants. I pause my steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements.
The tone in the store changes dramatically. The air grows heavy. Thick with tension. Dripping with anxiety.
All of my senses burst into overdrive. The blood pumping through my veins feels like it’s rushing too fast. I take purposeful breaths to slow my breathing and scan the store, making a mental note of the position of each patron. Thankful the young woman is as far away from the entrance as possible.
While the newcomer is focused on the guy on the floor, I turn to Mrs. B. “Go out back,” I murmur only for her ears. “Move slowly and quietly.”
She nods and carefully shuffles backward without taking her eyes off the commotion. Her worried gaze meets her husband’s, and he nods to her, silently encouraging her to keep moving.
“I fucking said give me your fucking cash!” he shouts as he points the gun directly at the man on the floor, who raises his hands in contrition.
The guy quickly shakes his head from side to side. “I-I don’t have any cash.”
A slimy grin slides over the gunman’s lips, and he straightens the arm holding the gun. “I don’t fucking believe you!” he shouts.
Everyone in the store collectively holds their breath as the drama unfolds at the front of the store. Frozen in place, making themselves appear small and non-threatening, and hoping not to draw attention to themselves.
A sharp bang shatters the silence, rattling the windows and making my ears ring.
Instantly, I’m taken back to my time overseas.
Dust motes float through the air, and the familiar metallic tang of blood fills the air.
My blood freezes in my veins, then rushes too fast, gushing through my body with unnatural force. My pulse pounds.
Every noise, no matter how soft, sounds too loud for my ears and my focus narrows to the two men.
The one on the floor falling lax as blood forms a dark pool beneath his body.
The other standing over him, his gun still aimed at the man’s chest as if he doesn’t realize he’s just murdered a human being.
Fuck fuck!
There are hundreds of corner stores just like this one across the city, and I have to marvel at the chances of this happening at this particular store at this exact moment.
What are the fucking chances?
I don’t have time for this.
I was doing so well with my time.
Frustration builds tension in my muscles, and my fingers tighten into fists at my sides.
I can’t be late and miss Abbi. I’ve been looking forward to surprising her and watching her face light up with happiness all day.
And while I know she’s not expecting me and won’t know that I’ve missed taking her out tonight, I’ll know.
But there’s no way I’ll make it now.
The young woman at the back of the store screams, causing the gunman’s head to snap up.
My anger burns at the situation and the fact that nobody should be subjected to experiences like this.
Let alone a civilian woman. I glance in her direction but can’t see the top of her head over the low shelves.
She must have dropped to the floor—smart girl.
The guy with the gun crouches, digging through the dead man’s pockets, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the customers in the store. While he’s busy, I glance around, ensuring Mrs. B is safely tucked out the back of the store and out of sight.
After digging through the man’s trouser pockets, he pulls out his prize.
The man’s wallet. He wastes no time opening it and dragging out a few dollar bills.
He just took a man’s life for less than ten bucks.
I’d like to say that I find it shocking …
alarming even, but this type of thing happens far too often.
He grins as if he’s won the lottery, then shoves the few dollars into his pocket and climbs unsteadily to his feet.
The asshole glances around the store with a sneer. “What are you fucking looking at?” he shouts, spit flying out of his mouth, and I wince. He waves his arm around the store, as if he’s not holding a loaded gun, causing anyone still standing to drop to the floor.
My heart leaps, and my blood charges through my veins as if the cells are electrified. My muscles bunch and flex as adrenaline pours into my system, overriding my normal resting state. A sense of knowing and calm washes through me, and decades of training and experience kick into play.
I draw a deep breath. “Dunno. Still trying to work it out,” I respond.
His eyes snap to me. Along with his gun.
Good.
First mission accomplished. I have his focus, and the civilians no longer have a loaded gun waving around in their direction. I fill my lungs with a deep, calming breath.
It’s showtime.
This motherfucker isn’t going to know what hit him. He’ll wish he’d kept his sorry ass at home by the time I’m done with him.