Chapter 2
Gable
Iam two minutes away from murdering this woman.
Not an exaggeration.
Literally murdering her.
She hammered her way in here, all dark hair and insults, and has no idea what she almost walked into.
Actually, what she did walk into, because Asher had only just dragged Barnaby’s body into the bedroom before she barged her way in.
This woman stormed into a literal crime scene and is shouting at me over a pen. A fucking pen.
My knife is tucked up my sleeve, and I was about to use it—until she’d said, “You’re the detective; you figure it out.”
Those seven words saved her life, because there’s a detective looking for her, and that’s out of my remit for the day. I need her to get out, right now, before things spiral and I have to kill her and the cop. But Motor is staring at her, ears up, his feet fidgeting.
Do not move, boy. Do not fucking move.
Motor is a good dog. Mostly. He listens to commands, follows them to a T, and has saved my life more times than I’m comfortable admitting.
The dog is my best friend, but he also has a weakness when it comes to women.
And right now, Motor is staring at the brunette like he wants nothing more than to lie on his back and get his belly rubbed. I just hope she doesn’t—
“You’re so cute. Come here.” She kneels, holds her arms out, and that’s all it takes. Motor loses all training, all sense, and bounds over to the woman like a hapless puppy, tail wagging, tongue out.
The dog that has saved my life is on his back, paws in the air, kicking out his hind leg as the brunette scratches his belly.
“Who’s a good boy? You are!” she croons.
“Do not do that,” I snap, pointing at her. “He’s a trained guard dog. Don’t talk to him like he’s a baby.”
The brunette doesn’t look at me. “And whose owner is a jackass? Whose? Yours is! Yes, he is!”
People like her are why I enjoy murder.
She stands, and Motor hops to his feet.
“Okay, I’ll get out of your hair,” she says. “Since you and Barnaby are so damn busy.”
But Motor seemingly isn’t done with her. He jumps onto his hind legs, resting his massive paws on the woman’s chest, and she grins.
“What an attentive boy,” she says, wiggling his ears.
“Yes, very nice, now go,” I widen the door.
Motor jumps down, and I somehow manage to stop my groan, the eyeroll, and the sag of my shoulders when I realize what’s all over her sweatshirt.
Blood.
Barnaby’s blood.
A big, paw-shaped smudge of it on her chest.
Fucking great.
My dog, my wonderful dog, obviously walked through Barnaby’s fucking blood, and now it’s all over the neighbor.
Jesus H. Christ.
“Oh.” She examines her sweatshirt. “I think he’s bleeding. Are you bleeding, pup?”
She kneels again and tries to look at Motor’s paw, covering her hands in blood, too.
And now she has to die.
What a fucking mess.
I sigh and slip the knife down my sleeve just as the bedroom door opens, and Asher appears.
She glances up.
“He’s not bleeding.” Asher smiles warmly. “I am.”
Asher, with that killer smile, can deal with this situation a lot better than I can.
He has this whole blonde hair, blue eyes, Abercrombie thing going on that brings most people to their knees.
I’m fairly sure he could slit a man's throat in front of a room full of women and they’d claim they hadn’t seen him do a damn thing wrong.
I, on the other hand, look like what I do for a living. I’m rough. Angry most of the time. And I don’t hold back my temper. Luckily for the neighbor, Asher is here to save the day—and her life.
“You’re bleeding?” she asks. “What happened?”
Asher’s black shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he has a relatively deep cut across his forearm.
“Dropped a glass in the bathroom,” he says, laughing nervously. “I’m Asher.”
Her expression softens significantly, but most people are that way around Asher. Comforting son of a bitch.
She presses her evidence-covered hand to her chest. “Ella Gibson.”
My brows rise.
Well, well, well.
Hello, Ella Gibson.
Target number two.
Asher and I share an intrigued look, because Ella isn’t our usual job. Traffickers, murderers, rivals, people in our shadowed side of the world—that’s who we kill. Not cute five-foot-four brunettes in sundresses.
What could she have possibly done to have a bounty of fifty grand on her head?
Not that we can cash in right now. Not with a detective on her tail. Asher eyes my hand, where he knows my knife will be, but I subtly shake my head. He reads the gesture and beams a handsome smile at Ella.
She blushes. “If you want, I can look at that for you; I’m first aid trained.”
Asher’s eyes light up. “That would be great, thanks.”
Ella goes to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, and Asher eyes my knife. The tilt of his head relays a question that years of friendship means he doesn’t have to voice.
Why aren’t we killing her now?
Another shake of my head. I’ll explain later.
“Okay.” Ella finds a first aid kit under the sink and returns to sit on the couch where Barnaby died about two hours earlier. Asher sits beside her, and I stay at the open door, arms crossed, my temper fraying. The longer she’s here, the more chance the cop will show up.
“So, how do you know Barnaby?” she asks as she rests Asher’s injured arm on her lap.
“Old friends.” Asher’s gaze moves over her face as she concentrates. His expression is no longer the calculating side of him I know so well. He’s softening. I can see the fucking problem before it even happens. “How do you know him?”
“I live upstairs.” Ella is focused on his arm as she answers. “And I’ve threatened him once or twice.”
Asher smiles. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep, he’s a creep.” Her flush deepens. “No offense.”
“None taken. We’re friends out of obligation more than anything,” Asher says.
I sigh. “Can you hurry up?”
“Can you shut up?” Ella suggests. Asher doesn’t even hide his satisfied grin. “Is he asleep?”
Asher tilts his head. “Who?”
“Barnaby.”
“I told you, he’s out,” I snap. “I said it when you barged through the door like a fucking wrecking ball.”
Ella pauses for a moment and tears open a packet of gauze. “Out.”
“Yes,” I say. Is this woman deliberately obtuse? “Out.”
I notice the change in her demeanor, and so does Asher. She isn’t expressionless as she works on Asher’s arm; now, she’s … confused.
“Barnaby doesn’t go out.” She looks between us. “Ever.”
“It was an exceptional circumstance,” Asher answers without missing a beat. “His mom is sick, so he asked us to look after the place while he’s visiting her. The first thing we did was clean. It was a mess.”
God, this man can lie. I was just gonna try and kill her again, detective be damned.
“Ugh, I don’t blame you.” Ella rolls her eyes, the explanation seemingly satisfying her. “He keeps all these boxes and then does like ten trips to the trash, and then there’s no space for any of our recycling. He’s an ass. Again, no offense. So, you’re both staying here?”
“Just me,” Asher says. “Gable tags along because he’s lonely.”
Prick.
“I can’t imagine why,” Ella says, arching a brow. “Gable like Clark Gable?”
“Gable like Gable,” I bark. She rolls her eyes again, and someone knocks on the door. “Fuck me; how popular was this guy?”
Asher looks at me, and I can read his mind again. Current tense, dipshit.
I open the door. A brown-haired man stands on the other side, suited up, his brow furrowing as he examines me. Even if he didn’t have the badge around his neck, which he fucking does, I can spot a cop a mile off.
“Who are you?” the cop asks, hands on his hips. He narrows his eyes, and I can’t blame his unease. I look suspicious. And my unwillingness to be polite definitely doesn’t help matters, either.
“Who am I?” I barely hold back a sneer. “You knocked on my door.”
See?
“This isn’t your door. This is Barnaby’s door,” he very aptly points out, eyes dropping down me. “Where is he?”
Dead in the bathtub.
“Relax, dickweed,” Ella shouts. “Barnaby’s mom is sick.”
Maybe I like Ella a little more now. I open the door further but don’t step aside, just so the cop can see her.
I’m assuming by her attitude and his rush to get here that they’re dating and mid-argument, so I hope it pisses him off that she’s sitting on the couch with Asher, because I like pissing cops off.
Even if there is a dead body in the next room.
“Ella,” the cop says. “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck yourself!”
He glares at her. “Why are you here?”
“Because I dropped my pen,” she says, showing him. This woman really likes her pen.
“Oh.” And seemingly it’s a well-known pen, because the cop doesn’t argue. His attention drops to Asher’s arm. “What happened to you?”
“Glass.” Asher’s tone is cool, close to chilly. He’ll be thinking the same thing I am. Fuck this cop.
“You’ve found me, RoboCop; now you can go,” Ella says, dismissing him with the wave of her hand.
Yeah, I like her a smidge more.
The cop shifts on his feet, eyes flitting between the three of us.
“Can we … talk?” he asks, glancing between my brother and me, as if we’re eavesdropping on their conversation and not that Ella has made herself at fucking home without an invitation.
“Nope.” She waves him off again. “Bye!”
I smirk.
The lady has spoken, RoboCop. Now fuck off; I have a bone saw I need to use.
“In fact,” Ella says suddenly. “Why don’t we get Asher and Gable’s opinion on our little discussion?”
The cop groans. “Ella, don’t.”
“No, you’re so goddamn sure you’re right, so let’s ask! Asher, Gable, are you both single?”
Asher is transfixed by Ella’s face when he answers. “Right now, yes.”
I’m sure my eye twitches as I glare at my brother. “Depends on the day of the week.”
Ella pulls a face. “Lovely. Well, imagine you’re not.
Imagine you’re dating a lovely, five-foot-four, blue-eyed brunette, who also happens to be hilarious.
” She places her hand on her chest, and now I roll my eyes.
Asher is looking at her like he’s already half in love.
“And you’re walking in the park one day and some guy runs by and snatches the brunette’s purse.
” She looks between us. “Are you with me so far?” Asher nods.
I’m wondering how slowly I can kill her. “What would you do?”
Asher doesn’t falter. “Probably run after the guy and beat the living crap out of him and get your purse back.”
Ella looks at me. “And you?”
I sigh dramatically. “Same.”
“Guess what RoboCop did?” She pats Asher to indicate she’s finished with his bandage. My brother looks reluctant to take his arm back, and I want to throw something at him for being so fucking obvious.
“No-thing.” She emphasizes each syllable.
I arch a brow at the cop. “You watched a guy mug your girlfriend and you did nothing?”
“I did get my purse back, though,” Ella says. “Because I chased him!”
Asher barks out a laugh and leans back, draping his arm over the back of the couch behind Ella. “Wow.”
The cop falters. “I was off duty; no one was in danger until Ella ran after him! It was a reckless thing to do, and you know it was!”
“I avenged myself!” she cries. “My purse had my pen in it!”
What the fuck is with this pen?
I lean against the open door and stare at the cop. “That is pretty shitty.”
“She put herself in danger,” the cop insists, but the splotches of red on his neck and cheeks tell me even he doesn’t buy his own bullshit.
“Because you were too busy pissing your pants,” she says.
I cackle, and I rarely laugh. The cop glares my way, but I have about four inches on him, and now I know the guy is a chicken. I’d easily, and happily, beat him up.
“You really chased the mugger and got your purse back?” Asher asks Ella.
“Yep,” she says proudly. “And I used this kick-ass line, too; I caught him and tripped him up and was all ‘You give the city a bad name!’ I was awesome.” She grins, and Asher is looking at her the same way he’d looked at Motor when I first brought him home: absolutely head over fucking heels.
“You were reckless,” the cop says.
“And successful,” she snaps back.
“You make bad decisions, Ella! I mean, for Christ’s sake, you’re sat in an apartment with two strangers. They could be serial killers! No offense.”
“None taken,” Asher says. I don’t bother responding.
“Your dad would have been worried, too,” the cop says.
“My dad worries about me because he’s my dad,” she hits back. “And you’re only sucking up because he’s your boss.”
Boss?
“Just because you’re dating the chief’s daughter, doesn’t mean you have to kiss ass,” she adds.
Chief?
Great. Two contract killers, a dead body, a detective, and the chief of police’s daughter all in the same room. What could possibly go wrong?
Ella’s phone rings.
“Hey, Dad.”
Wonderful. Why not just drag Barnaby out here, too? Let’s Weekend at Bernie’s this afternoon.
“As nice as this is,” Asher says to the cop. “I have to unpack and get groceries … so maybe we can bring this to a close.”
“No, that’s the new neighbor,” Ella says into the phone.
“What time are you coming to pick me up?” She stands and heads for the door and slaps the cop’s hand away when he tries to touch her.
She puts her palm over the phone, bloody pawprint still on her sweatshirt, and smiles at Asher. “It was nice to meet you, Asher.”
Her attention lands on me, but before she can comment, I slam the door in her face. Again.