Page 86 of The Games We Play

“Do…what?”

She sets her cup down and makes a face like I should know what she’s talking about. She sighs, leans forward to brace her chin on her fist, and blinks at me. “You’re cute when you’re clueless.”

Doc laughs and covers it with a cough, and I look back at Puppet in an impatient stance. “Don’t make me regret keeping you,” I tease.

“Clearly, you’d be lost without me.” She takes another sip, then relents. “Somehow, he got information on you and learned everything about who you worked for. How did he do it?”

“He hacked our tech. Traced the signal back to the source.”

“Exactly,” Tess says, super proud of herself.

Setting my coffee mug down, I mimic her stance and place my chin on her fist. “One problem. We don’t have any tech linked to them anymore. I’m a traitor, remember?”

She shrugs like that is just a minor inconvenience. “So, we’ll get some.”

“How?” I scoff.

“By hiring a hitman to take someone out.” Her eyes sparkle, and I see her for the conniving woman she is.

“They aren’t just listed in the phone book, and you can’t Google them.”

“No,” Doc adds. “But I know who to call.”

I volley my attention between Tess and Doc. Both wearing grins, and I plop down on the barstool and shake my head at Tess. “Well, what are you waiting for, Doc? It’s time to hunt.”

Puppet’s eyes flare, and I recognize the bloodthirsty twinkle in her gaze. It mirrors my own, and I can’t wait to show her who I am when the hunt is on.

Forty-Three - Tess

It’s different seeing Xin a suit, complete with a tie and suit jacket. What I imagined hitmen wore was more on the grunge leather jacket bit. He looks like he’s ready to go talk about mergers and threaten your client within an inch of his life. I don’t have much room to talk as I twirl in my full-length evening gown that covers significantly more than my night at the auction.

“You look—” X starts, but he just stares at me.

The dress he got for me has a goddess neckline. It’s an emerald green with a sheer top layer that shimmers with every step I take.

“Do you have your knife and gun?” he asks.

“That’s some compliment, X. But yes. I do.”

“Good. If anyone touches you, kill them.” He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek. I thought we’d be sneaking into an abandoned warehouse, a boatyard, perhaps even a cemetery. But unbeknown to me, things like this occur at yacht parties, orchestra concerts, and wherever rich people need to buy fancy clothes.

After Doc made the call about setting our trap to gain access to Nadia, Xane took us to a friend of his who made us passports and licenses with our unknown names: Mr. and Mrs. Smith. They sound like a sweet enough couple, and we’re here for the pleasure of theexoticvariety.

Sitting in the back of the car, our fingers intertwined, my metal wedding band and engagement ring apply just enough pressure on my ring finger to remind me of its presence. I glance down at the glittering diamonds, then at the plain silver band on X’s left hand resting atop his knee.

They’re just for the illusion, he told me when I forgot how to breathe as he pulled out the ring boxes. The unsettling feeling in my stomach churns as the street lights dance off the facets of the largest diamond in the center.

Pretty expensive illusion, I responded, tamping down the unfamiliar sinking feeling at being told it was a simple lie and nothing more.

The car rolls to a stop, and X removes his hand from mine. “We’re here.” He opens his door and steps out while I wait for him to get mine. I take his extended hand and join him, looping my arm around his elbow. Honking horns and a cacophony of voices surround us on the busy city street.

A line of cars sits at a standstill down the busy four-lane street, and as each one stops, a couple gets out before ascending the steps of the carpeted stone. They’re marble, maybe? I’m not sure what stones look black, and the thick red material gives slightly under each step I take. Men in suits stand off to the side at every five of the black onyx steps, their hands folded across the front. Conspicuous earpieces wrap around their ears, and they scan the crowd, talking to whoever is on the other side.

“Who are we looking for?” I ask, trying to keep my wandering mind focused.

X presses his nose into my hair and places a soft kiss as he whispers. “The target is Frances Grundy. He has a scar on the right side of his face and has black hair. He’ll be wearing a ring with his family crest on his pinky finger with a tiger on it.”

X nods to the man holding the door open, and we step inside the immaculate…yet oddly empty house.

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