Page 130 of Himbo Hitman
“Tell me something good about Colin,” I say as we eat. Am I convinced that he didn’t disappear to leave St. Clare to pick up the mess? Nope. But it does sound like he’s in some serious shit, and I’d very much like to help St. Clare get him out of it.
He’s quiet for a moment. “He’s always been an old soul. Our parents split before I can really remember—our mom couldn’t handle being a mom—and when Dad met our stepmom, I was a bit of a dickhead to her. Mostly it was that someone new was coming into our space. Colin sat me down—he was probably ten?Eleven?—and told me to cut it out. She didn’t deserve it, and since Dad had looked after us for so long by himself, it was our turn to look after him by making sure she felt welcome in our home. Things didn’t change overnight—I was a kid; I didn’t really grasp it—but he kept at me, and I’m glad he did because she’s great. That always stuck out as this huge divide between us. The way Colin sees the world so black-and-white. Sometimes I worry he doesn’t have emotion, but then he does things like get me this watch …” St. Clare holds up his arm so I can see the one he’s wearing. “And I remember we show how we love each other in different ways.” St. Clare sighs. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
His sadness makes me sad. “You won’t have to figure it out.”
“I wish I could be like you.”
That’s shocking because never ever in my life has anyone ever wanted to be like me. “Why?”
“You always believe in the best. There aren’t many people like that. Some people say they do, but most don’t really believe it.”
I tug at the bracelet on my wrist. “I wasn’t always like this,” I say. “My parents died when I was eighteen. It feels like so long ago, and then it also doesn’t.” The bright red plastic strawberry stares up at me, and it’s like I can see Mom’s fingers as she threaded it onto the elastic. “I sort of lost myself for a bit. Like I existed in a dream and I was waiting for the real world to blast back into focus.” Grief doesn’t work like that though. There’s no stark moment where everything is better again. “I had to fight my way out of that funk. I don’t even know how long it took, but one day, I’d wake up and have the energy, and the next, I’d be back to blurred edges and numbness.”
“I can’t imagine.”
I chew, deep in thought for a moment. “It’s hard to remember that time, but I obviously did it. I got there.” I pull myself from those thoughts. “Now I figure it’s easier to look ahead and see happiness when I’ve already been through the worst moment of my life and survived.”
“The more I learn about you, the more you catch me off guard. I like it.”
I settle back into the couch and smile at him. It’s not very bright in here, but I swear I could find St. Clare even in the dark. When it comes to being hopeful, my main hope right now is that we can make it through this mess and that once it’s over, St. Clare will give me a chance to see if there’s anything more between us than scorching hot sex.
If he didn’t look exhausted, I’d suggest it now. But his usually amused eyes have dulled, and his permanently quirked mouth is a flat line.
“You need to sleep,” I tell him.
“Don’t know if I can. It feels like we keep running into dead ends, and I’m stressed out of my brain.” St. Clare rubs his eyes. “I just wish I knew whether it was Colin who made those withdrawals. Maybe if I had evidence he’s still okay, it’d make everything so much easier.”
How the hell do we get that evidence? Walking into a bank isn’t an option. But if he used an ATM, most of those have cameras … right? “Do you know which ATMs he visited?” I ask.
St. Clare thinks for a second. “Yeah, Livy sent me the list.”
“Right. So what we need is someone who can hack into surveillance systems, then.”
“You say that like it’s so easy.”
For once, I think it might be. “It is. When you’re friends with the baddie bunch.”
CHAPTER FORTY
ST. CLARE
They come.
After the conversation Perry had with the baddie bunch, where Arlie hung up mid-sentence, I really didn’t think we’d be opening the door to her, Tommy, and Ever.
They’re … an odd group. Now that I’m not obsessively jealous over Arlie, I can sort of understand what’s making Lars—and, sadly, Perry—so heart-eyed over her. She’s almost as tall as I am, a solid woman with a don’t-fuck-with-me face who still manages to have this warmth about her.
Tommy, on the other hand, has this general vibe that he has no clue how he ended up here, but he’s happy about it. Chaotic curls, short beard, eyes that look far too amused for the situation we’re in.
Then Everett is … well, he looks like the scariest of the bunch. The bald head, slightly manic smile, long chain earrings, and dark eyeliner don’t help the impression.
I’m not sure I can trust any of them, but they’re all we’ve got.
“No one can know we were here” are the first words out of Arlie’s mouth. The cabin is small as it is, but with the three of them here too, the room is feeling very squished. “Especially Luther. I’m not interested in him holding back work as blackmail to give you up. Because I’ll do it. Instantly.”
“Good to know,” I mutter, but Perry doesn’t seem worried.
“You’d never give me up,” he counters, dropping onto the couch beside Tommy, who’s opened a chunky laptop with a bunch of techythingsconnected to it. “Because then he’d kill me, and there’s no way you’d want to go on living without me in the world. I’m too bright and shiny.”
