Chapter 7
SEVEN
MAVEN
One thing about my job is that I never assassinate someone based on my emotions.
It’s why I don’t meet the clients or associate with them.
It keeps it clean and professional—no strings, no attachments, no mistakes.
Carrie handles all that and somehow also manages the money while still keeping contracts coming.
And none of that gives anyone the right to touch her.
While I tell myself I never mix work with personal life, that doesn’t mean you get to fuck around and find out.
Right now, my hands twitch at my sides, fingers flexing near the knife in my jeans. My muscles are taut, my pulse beats rapidly, and a low hum of adrenaline buzzes through my veins.
I pull up to her building on the Ducati, the roar of the engine fading as I kill it and tuck my helmet under my arm.
My gaze immediately locks on a car parked out front I’ve never seen, its dark silhouette unnatural against the dim glow of the streetlight.
My body stills for a fraction of a second as every instinct I’ve honed over the years kicks in—scanning angles, approaches, escape routes, the way the shadows fall, the possibility of someone waiting … watching.
My jaw tightens. I’m already running contingencies, calculating the weight of my fury at the man who attacked her versus the simmering annoyance at Carrie for her reckless choices.
I stay seated on the bike for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, every nerve ending firing. Because if that car moves, if someone steps out, I’ll have them accounted for before they even know what hit them.
My eyes remain glued to the car like it might explain itself if I stare long enough.
It doesn’t.
The walk up the stairs feels heavier than usual. With my pulse ticking faster, I don’t bother knocking as I shove the door open, shoulder first, scanning the room in a single sweep, when my gaze suddenly lands on someone who shouldn’t be here.
And I stop dead.
Boston is standing in the living room.
For a second, we stare at each other. His gaze slowly scrolls over me, from my boots to my legs, where it lingers just long enough to be irritating, before landing on the motorcycle helmet tucked against my side. One corner of his mouth lifts like he’s amused by something only he understands.
I give him the same treatment, noting the black trousers and dark blue jacket encasing his body. My jaw clenches at the sight of him. He looks too good. And I don’t trust him.
Why is he here?
Glancing around again, I look for Carrie, and my gut clenches when I don’t see her.
My grip tightens on the helmet. “Why are you here?” I bite out.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps staring at the helmet with a strange expression on his face.
“Motorcycles are deathtraps,” he finally says, and I can’t help but scoff under my breath. Like I haven’t heard that a thousand times before.
“Why,” I repeat, sharper this time, “are you here?”
His gaze snaps to mine then, calm as anything, as he says, “Just a checkup.”
Something about the way he says it makes my jaw clench.
Like he belongs here.
Like I’m the one interrupting.
He shifts, and the movement pulls his jacket just enough for something metal to catch the light.
A badge.
I blink once, my mind processing it slower than I’d like. I didn’t take him for a cop. Not that it surprises me that someone like him could be law enforcement, but it complicates everything, and my chest tightens, caution snapping my spine, my heart racing even as I try to keep it steady.
That crooked half smile is still aimed my way as he waits for my reaction.
Like this somehow just got interesting.
“What is a police officer doing in my sister’s apartment?” My voice is calm, but my muscles are wound tight. What does he know? What has he seen? What could he do? Having a cop here isn’t a comfort; it’s a threat.
He tilts his head, as if my question amuses him.
“Detective, actually,” he corrects smoothly. “And like I said … I’m doing a checkup.”
I move toward him until we’re almost toe-to-toe.
He towers over me, but I refuse to shrink back.
My chin lifts, my shoulders square, and my hands flex at my sides, as if readying for anything.
I’m aware of the space he takes up, the way his jacket hangs on him, the faint scent of his smell, but I don’t retreat or flinch. I refuse to give him any leverage.
We’re too close, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between us. My eyes lock on his, sharp and calculating, scanning him for tells, for a weakness. My chest rises and falls, my mind racing.
“A detective,” I murmur, letting the words spill from my tongue. “How cute.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t move.
I give him a quick wink before stepping to the door and pulling it open, gesturing toward it.
“You’re not welcome here,” I say with a tight smile. “So leave.”
For a moment, I think he might argue. Instead, a confident smile spreads across his face.
“Very well, Miss James.” He winks back, and I hide the shock that he knows my surname.
Then he walks past me, and his shoulder brushes mine, his hand grazes my fingers where they’re wrapped around the doorknob.
The touch is light, barely there, but deliberate enough that I know it wasn’t an accident.
My jaw tightens as he steps out into the hallway. He glances back at me before sliding on his sunglasses, hiding his eyes behind the dark lenses.
“Have a good day,” he drawls.
The way he says it makes the words sound wrong.
I raise my hand and flip him off. That only earns me a crooked smirk before he heads down the stairs. I slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame, then I turn to go looking for Carrie.
I find her sitting at the dining table, sunlight spilling across the room. Her face already looks better than it did earlier. Some of the color is back, and the tension around her eyes is gone. I drop my helmet on the table with a dull thud and then pull out the chair beside her, sitting down.
“What did he want?” I ask.
She fidgets with the bracelets in front of her. She likes to make friendship bracelets to sell on Etsy. “Just to tell me not to make a report, and if I needed anything to contact him.”
“So he was threatening you?” I growl, sitting back in my chair.
She glances up at me and shakes her head. I’ve never had faith in the system, and I bet he was here to cover up for his friend.
“No.” She seems to think about her answer, then scoffs and puts the bracelet down. “Actually, I think he was. Asshole.”
“How are you feeling today?”
“Good. Just a little sore,” she replies, smiling, but I know her well enough to know it’s forced.
“Do you need anything? I thought I would check on you before I head out for the day.”
Her gaze meets mine. “Where are you going?”
“Shopping,” I lie.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re a terrible liar,” she says, but thankfully doesn’t push. I stand and then lean down to kiss her on the top of the head. “Are you mad at me?” she whispers.
“Mad?” I ask, pulling back.
“About the money,” she explains.
I knew what she was asking. I pause before I answer. She’s older than me, and I shouldn’t be the one to clean up her mess. I can’t say I’m not disappointed in her; I am. But I know Carrie, and right now, she needs to hear what she wants me to say. So I let the words fall from my lips.
“No, I have enough put away,” I tell her, and that’s half the truth.
“I thought I could double it. I really did,” she whispers.
“Don’t do that again. If you want to double it, ask me.” I pick up my helmet and then leave the apartment before I say something I’ll regret.
What I do is a form of art. It takes great skill to be able to take a life and not get caught doing so. I have excelled in this career for well over five years. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
I sit out front of Bailey’s office building on my Ducati with my helmet on my head as I watch him leave, his trousers pulling tight with each step he takes. He’s laughing with the woman at his side. I wonder if she knows he likes to get handsy with women.
I stay where I am as the two of them walk down the street and then descend the stairs leading to the subway, and out of my view. But that’s okay because I already know where he’s going.
Turning my bike around, I head in the direction of his home.
When I get there, I drive by slowly, noticing all the lights are off, which is a good thing.
When I researched him, I found that he’s single and has no children.
I could only find the basics on him; Carrie does the deep-dive background checks, and she doesn’t need to know what I’m doing right now.
A few blocks away, I find a side street and park my bike. Removing my helmet, I place it on the seat and hope to God someone doesn’t steal it. The neighborhood is considered a good one, but you never know when someone like me is lurking around.
The sun has started to set, and the streetlights flicker as I reach his house.
Everything is so quiet right now. I don’t bother going up to the front door.
Instead, I go around the back, where I find a doggie door built into the main door.
Biting my lip, I contemplate whether I can actually fit through it.
Deciding that’s my best option, I get down on all fours and push it open before I start wiggling through.
Just as I’m halfway in, I hear a noise, and my heart pounds in my chest. What I’m doing is so unlike me.
I don’t kill for my own personal reasons; it’s usually all business.
I lift my head and see two eyes level with mine, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Animals don’t scare me, and thankfully, this one looks like a fur baby.
It immediately starts licking my face, probably thinking I’m here to play.
Once I’m finally able to stand after wriggling the rest of the way through the tiny door, I look around at the dishes stacked in the sink and the garbage on the counter. He clearly doesn’t spend enough time at home to worry about the mess that is his house. Or maybe he doesn’t care.
My boots crunch on something on the floor, and I stop, looking down to see chips scattered all over the place.
He really is a fucking pig.
The dog follows me while I make my way around the house. When I reach the bedroom, the door is already open, and right away, I scrunch up my nose at the smell.
His room literally stinks.
He probably hasn’t washed his sheets in … who knows how long, and even in the darkness, I can tell they aren’t clean. The dog starts barking, and I know Bailey’s home. I also know that I have to make this kill clean; it cannot come back to Carrie or me in any way.
Stepping into his closet, I hide behind his row of clothes and patiently wait until he enters the bedroom. I hear the creak of the mattress and realize he doesn’t even shower before he climbs into bed. That is disgusting. Not long after that, his snores fill the room.
I reach into my pocket to grab the needle I have stored in there. Ever so slowly, I push the clothes out of the way and make sure I don’t make a sound as I press closer to him. His shoes are still on, and he’s lying on his stomach with his head to the side as he continues to snore. Loudly.
Taking the cap off the needle, I bend down and slam it into his ass, quickly pressing down on the plunger. Immediately, he begins flailing, trying to push me away, but I’ve already taken a step back and recapped the needle as I stand there and stare at him.
“You,” he seethes.
“You should save your voice. It won’t be long until the drug takes effect.” I smile at him. “But I did want you to see my face one last time, just so you’d be aware the reason for your death is because you thought it was okay to touch another person in a way that hurt them.”
His hands fall to his chest. He tries to sit up, but the venom is already working.
His muscles start spasming, and I laugh.
Usually by now I’d have left, letting the venom do its work, but this kill is personal, and I want to see the life seep from him.
I want to know that he will no longer be breathing and can never come near my sister ever again.
I step back, my foot hitting something as I do.
I glance down to see a mask. It looks like a broken mirror was put back together to create it.
“You like to play hide and seek?” I ask and lift the mask.
“They’ll kill you,” he gasps.
“Pity you won’t be around for that,” I say, and slide the mask into my jacket as I wait.
The asshole will be dead in minutes, and there’s not a single thing that can be done to save him.