Page 75 of Himbo Hitman
Judge Judy sure as fuck would not stand for that bullshit.
It’s a trying time, and I need to lean on my friends more than ever. Even if those friends like to pretend we’re not friends, I know them better than that.
If we’re getting down to the bare bones of it all, I could argue that Luther owes me damages for my mental well-being of the last twenty-four hours. When I went to work yesterday morning, I wasn’t at all prepared to be shot at, on the run, and coming my brains out with a man on top of me.
It’s hard not to think of yesterday as a glitch in the matrix, but my lack of underwear right now is proof that it happened.
Today has to go well because I’m not so sure I want to die while I’m going commando. That’s the kind of thing that might become the punchline of a joke. Like when people die on the toilet. I’m much more sophisticated than that, even if the chafing on my inner thighs is trying to tell me differently.
I pause at the side of Lethal Poison and tug down the crotch ofmy jeans again. All this talk of planning has gotten into my head when what I really need to do is what I do best: wing it. My whole life is run off vibes, and I’ve done okay so far.
I scrub my ratty hair back from my face, pull up my hood, and duck my head as I push my way into the bar. Like always, I get that happy warmth of a home as soon as I step inside. Even on the morning side of noon, there are a few people here, catching up or trading stories on whoever they killed/robbed/kidnapped last night.
Surprisingly, all three of my baddies are here, so I throw them a wave before I head toward the bar.
None of them wave back. We’re still playing the pretending not to be friends game, I see.
There’s a woman behind the bar who I haven’t seen before, and I turn my most charming smile on her. She’s pretty. A dainty little face, wavy hair framing either side, and eyes that shine, and I have to remind myself that I’m not here to hit on her. I’m here for super-serious business.
“Hey, is Luther around?” I ask, trying and failing to sound professional despite the way my voice squeaks. I really need to get Lars out of my brain.
Bar girl gives me a flirty smile. “Who’s asking?”
“His best friend, Perry.”
Her smile dims. “Oh. He’s, uh, in his office.”
“Thanks. Can I bother you for a Coke before I go?”
She pours one, smile completely gone, and then adds a wedge of lime to it. Looks like Luther has briefed her on what I like, and I’m not surprised—he’s a labradoodle dad. It’s just how they are.
“I’ll head on back.”
She nods, and I make a mental note to give Luther the heads-up that she might need more customer service training. I send my friends another wave as I head for the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Luther’s office. Unlike Saint Clare’s, his office is small and windowless, like a storage closet, saving the larger back room for his staff. It’s a selfless choice that most employers wouldn’t make.
I’m halfway toward his office when I’m yanked backward, almost off my feet. I barely get a second to be surprised before I’m slammed into the wall beside me.
“What the hell are you doing?” a voice hisses by my ear. It takes me a moment to pick that it’s Arlie.
“Need a quick word with Luther.”
“Do you want to get killed?” She turns me roughly so I can see her, and the worry in her dark eyes throws me for a second. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need?—”
She slams me back against the wall so hard my head bounces off it.
“Okay, Ineedyou to stop manhandling me for a start. Damn, woman.” I rub at the sore spot. “I’ve had a rough day, and I’d really like to head home for a nap, but I need to talk to Luther first.”
“No. You really, really don’t.”
I finally pick up on her tone. “Why?”
Everett barrels into the hall. “What in the ever-loving hell are you doing here?”
“Like Ijustsaid?—”
“You need to go. Now.”
