Chapter 8
8
Then…
“ T he job is what ? I mean…huh?” I asked, my voice hushed. This was a mistake. Meeting this stranger whose ass I’d recently kicked at a nearly empty diner across town was a humongous mistake in and of itself, but now that I’d heard his crazy business proposition, it was crystal clear just how young and dumb I really was. I mean, it’d been a couple of days since he approached me in that parking lot when I accepted his invitation, and to think, I’d actually shown up at this meeting. I was beyond stupid.
“You’re made for this work. I’ve been watching you in the self-defense class. You enjoy inflicting pain,” this nameless stranger said. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. It was late at night. I wondered if his eyes were still fucked up.
I truly hoped so.
“No, I don’t!” I hissed under my breath. “I just…I like being safe.”
He smiled while shaking his head, and I thought that was an odd sight, a true dichotomy. “You do and it shows. There’s a light in your eyes when you’re fighting,” he said.
“Wait a minute. How long have you been watching me? I’ve never seen you before.”
“ The Agency sees all.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Look, this is a little too crazy for me.”
He removed the shades and stared at me for a few moments before saying, “I’m going to give you some time to think about it, Miss King. When you are ready to move forward, let Mr. Riley know. He’ll get in touch with me, and we’ll start your training.”
Of course, he knew my fucking real name.
He stood to leave, dropping money on the table for our sodas, the only thing we’d consumed during this meeting.
“Wait…what is your name, since you already know mine?”
“If you decide to move forward, I’ll give it to you.”
The way he said that made me wonder if he was referring to his name or his dick, and well, what the fuck?
He left, and as I sat there pondering the entire interaction, a realization hit me. Riley. He’d mentioned Mr. Riley as a contact.
Again…what the fuck?
I didn’t wait for the next self-defense class to confront Mr. Riley. I didn’t even wait a full twenty-four hours. I headed over to the athletics building before my first class, hoping Mr. Riley would be in his office. He wasn’t, but after seeing the office hours posted on his door, I decided to wait. He’d be there in an hour.
He was late, so I ended up missing my first class. I hated that, but I’d make up for it. I had an A in that class anyway. Two hours later, I watched from my position standing beside his door as he approached with his head down, his stride purposeful. My fucking blood boiled.
Upon lifting his head and noticing me, his steps faltered, his eyebrows lifting and surprise illuminating his eyes.
“Miss Johnson,” he said, a key in his hand as he eyed me. “Were you waiting for me?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Well, I would tell you to schedule a meeting, but you’re not an on-campus student of mine.”
In reply, I stared at him, hoping to convey that I wasn’t about to play some dumb ass game with him. Evidently, he got the message as he unlocked the door and invited me inside the small space.
Dropping in the chair behind his desk and placing his backpack on the floor beside him, the fit older man nodded toward a chair sitting in a corner. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll pass,” I said with venom in my voice.
“Okay. Would you mind closing the door?”
I did, spinning around with my trusty pepper spray in my hand and leaning across his desk, placing the canister mere inches from his face as I growled, “Who the fuck are you, and what are you trying to get me into?”
He blinked a few times. “He told me about the pepper spray, said you really fucked him up.”
“Yeah, you want some?”
“Nah, it’s a bitch teaching classes with fucked up eyes.”
“Then talk!”
“Okay…I, uh…noticed your talent. You’re lethal. You were lethal when you joined my class. You’re smart and fast with an appearance that belies all of that.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “You’re gorgeous. Black and gorgeous. That alone is the perfect cover in this line of work. Black men will see you and want to fuck you. So will white men. White women will find you interesting, but they won’t see you as a threat of any kind, and black women? They’ll notice you, but the last thing they’ll see you as is a killer. In a word, Miss King—I mean, Johnson—you’re perfect for this job, a job that is very lucrative. In a few short years, you’ll be able to stockpile enough money to live the life of your dreams.”
So, he knew my real name just like his buddy did.
I eyed him as my brain completed a puzzle. “You…you are a…” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “…hitman?”
He smiled. “Now, I can’t tell you that.”
“And I can’t just kill someone!” I uttered.
“Really? No one? There’s no one in the whole world you want dead?”
Well, there was one someone, but he deserved it.
I must’ve unconsciously said that out loud because he pointed out, “Then you can kill someone.”
My brow wrinkled, exposing my confusion, or maybe I was conflicted? Whatever it was made me pocket my pepper spray and hurry out of his office.