Page 80 of Himbo Hitman
I pat behemoth’s terrifyingly wide man titties. “Are you, umm, in the mood to play?”
At his grunt, I shrink back from him.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Office, Perry.”
I nod so fast my head is in danger of coming off. “Ohhh, you saidPerry. I thought you meant theotherPerry. Of course I’ll go into your windowless dungeon room with you and not at all fear for my life.” My throat is closing around my words, but there’s no way out now, and on a scale of dumb to probablyshouldhave made a plan, I’m on one side, and Lars is laughing at me from the other.
“Both of you too,” Luther adds, stare shooting lasers Arlie and Everett’s way. Unlike me, the two of them come without arguing, and I guess the whole stoic thing was what I was missing in my aborted career. As it is, I’m holding back from begging for my life, and I’m mostly only able to do that because my voice has failed me.
They don’t need to know that though. I’ll let them assume I’m channeling their super-serious vibes.
I’m first into Luther’s office. It’s big enough for his desk, a chair, and four different computers lining the back wall on top of old-school metal filing cabinets. I have no idea about any of his shady business stuff, but none of that looks like a normal, average bar owner’s setup.
I take the small chair in front of his desk and realize that was a mistake a moment later when Arlie and Everett hover, standing behind me, and Luther remains standing on the other side of his desk.
I’m a literal sitting fucking duck right now. Good to know.
Instead of shrinking down, I wipe my palms off on my jeans and rock onto the chair’s back legs.
“This is a cute little group huddle. Are we going to wash each other’s backs in the shower later?”
Luther sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I keep telling myself this is my fault.”
“Awesome.” I bring my hands together. “Agreed. Can I go now?”
He reaches into his top drawer and wordlessly sets a gun on the desk.
The heavy metal meeting wood makes aclunkI feel so deep in my gut fear tries to shoot out of my ass.
“Luther …” Arlie says in a warning voice. “You really want to do that? Overhim?”
My first instinct is to be offended that I’m not worth murder, and then I remember that I don’t actuallywantto be worth that. I want them to decide I’m a worthless little gutter rat so I can go home to Sir Squeakerton and get back to disappointing Margot at every turn.
I love disappointing her, I’m good at it, and if I’m allowed to go free, I’ll make sure it happens every day for the rest of our lives.
I think that’s how bargaining with the universe works?
Maybe I should have asked Lars to check my horoscope before I left?
Luther’s rubbing his jaw, and this whole silent Bond villain thing is working for him. It makes his head-face meld slightly more sinister.
“It was an easy hit,” he says. “I gave you three sitting ducks. You had to have actually wanted to botch the job to fuck this up.” He cuts a look toward Arlie.
“Why would you give him this job in the first place?” she asks before he can direct anything her way.
“He knew about us. It was either bring him in, or kill him. This is what I get for trying to be nice. You said he was ready.”
“No. I said he could make any shot.”
“And yet …” Luther spreads his hands out to the side. “He didn’t. He let his guy go free when a toddler could have made the shot and then thought he could steal from me and take his payday anyway.”
Everett’s disappointed groan stings because yeah, yeah, I get it. Not my finest moment.
“About that,” I say before he can list any other of my idiocies. “I have the money, and I thought I could, you know, pay it back. Call it even? Then we can pretend like this whole thing never happened.”
His—I think blue? I dunno, it’s dark in here—eyes bore into mine. “You have my money?”
