Page 107 of Himbo Hitman
“You are.”
St. Clare groans and rolls onto his side, blankets tangled around his legs, showing off his bare ass.
Lars rolls his eyes at me and presses his index finger to his lips. Imake my fingers into a heart in return, then tug the blankets up over St. Clare’s butt before I start getting ideas. I leave the bedroom, closing the door behind me, and find the one room of the cabin dimly lit and cozy. There’s no way I’m not falling asleep out here. So instead of flopping down on the sofa that’s calling me, I grab the painkillers, throw them back, then chug half the jug of water in the fridge before tearing into a loaf of bread. There’s nothing to have on it, which blows, but I choke it down plain, and once my belly is full and my shoulder is no longer actively trying to kill me, I can think a bit clearer.
Yesterday was a fucking mess, and I’m not sure I learned anything useful other than Luther wants me dead. I can see how that would be my fault, but he really should have given me full disclosure when I signed on for the job. Burying things in unspoken fine print isn’t a good idea for anyone.
Judge Judy is always very clear on that. If it’s not agreed on, it’s not an agreement, so how was I supposed to know that a little bit of money would be enough to get me killed?
Personally, it feels a bit extreme to me. Like,killingsomeone isn’t exactly a victimless crime. Taking someone’s life is … it’s … that’s it for them. Shouldn’t I have a say in the type of thing that will change my life forever?
So I guess that’s the first thing I need to fix. Which means handing St. Clare over to him. St. Clare. Whose dick I just sucked.
Right.
Can’t do that.
Other than the fact I don’t want to, there has to be something in gay code where exchanging blow jobs means you’re not allowed to give the other guy up for murder.
So. Plan B.
My brain sobs at the thought.
I’m really, really not a planning guy.
This is slightly more than my standard daily situation though, so I probably should try.
St. Clare. He’s wanted by … someone. Someone that Luther is maybe scared of? Someone who doesn’t actually know St. Clare is still alive. So … that part sounds good? Except it means someone else is trying to kill him now.
But that also means that Luther is our shared enemy.
Do we kill Luther?
Would that make everything go away?
Considering the person really behind this is bound to find out that St. Clare is alive soon enough, I don’t think so. We need Luther to tell us who it is.Thenwe kill him.
Which is definitely something I can do.
Even if Luther’s my friend.
He said so himself.
If I’d known a career as a hitman was this hazardous, I never would have bothered in the first place.
I huff and drag my good hand back through my hair. Okay.Think,Perry. Focus. You can do this.
St. Clare is convinced these nightclub people are after him, so maybe I need to pay them a visit? Find some things out. Work out if it’s them at all.
How will I do that? No clue. I assume an opportunity will present itself though.
You miss one hundred percent of opportunities if you don’t try. Of course, that opens up the opportunity for someone to shoot me in the head, but we have to start somewhere, and that’s one outcome of many.
They might shoot me in the chest instead.
I rub my sternum, not thrilled by that idea either, but what other choice do we have? None of us wants to be stuck here for long.
The penthouse would have been much better, and if they didn’t find us there, we’d still be living in luxury. I did everything I could to throw off the people Luther had following me, and I really thought I did it. I’d been content to ride around in circles all day to get rid of them, and the only reason I went back when I did is because I’d been so, so sure we were in the clear.
