Page 51 of Unwritten Rules

“Like they can hear us.”

“At least lower your fucking voice.”

A small group formed near the entrance of the building. Like Reaper said, I couldn’t hear shit. Voices were obscured and my best bet was catching some lip reading with my view.

The men who arrived handed over their locked cases to the overly dressed guards and said what looked likefor the boss. Too bad they didn’t just sayJason Hainesto make my life easier. The smaller one took the first case inside—to check it I supposed.

Standing awkwardly, one smoking, until he came back out with a nod to take the other case back, we waited to see what it would turn into. The second case came back with the same nod of approval. The two suits nodded at each other before handing over a duffel bag to the trench coats to send them on their way.

“Looks like a regular business deal to me. I’m hungry.”

Bang!

“Mhm.”

The suits gunned down the trench coats. Hostile deal?

The only reason for gunning down a business deal is if you had the upper hand on another company and wanted to tip the first domino. Make them think you were coming in guns blazing. In reality, their plan had been set into motion a long time ago. Was the attacker Jason? Or was Jason the one being attacked?

If only we had the proper intel to know what the fuck was going on.

Feeling a step behind in every situation was getting really fucking tiring.

The driver stepped out and calmly walked over to the suits and shook each of their hands. There was no good view of him in that big ass jacket with the hood up and a hat obscuring most of his face. Casual body language told me this had been a large setup.

I hesitated to speak or look away from the view. “Think we can ID the two dead guys?”

“Can try. Unless they burn the bodies.”

“Why would they—”

He pointed to where they were drowning the dead in a liquid from a red canister.Well, fuck me sideways.

Flames. The bodies went up in flames after the driver tossed a match onto them. They weren’t even good enough for a lighter. Just a wooden match. With them up in flames, so went our opportunity to figure out who they were.

I slumped in my hiding spot. “I am literally never going to get this shit right.”

Reaper clapped a hand to my shoulder. “Probably not, but I bet there’s a good burger out there with our names on them.”

––––––––

Go do the job. Comeback and report. That was the majority of my time spent working under the Dictator. We had a regular group of specialized cleaners who trained me after I got in one too many situations thatwouldhave landed me in jail—if I were anyone else.

Maybe he had a plan for me by training me under these guys. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe I was just a nuisance and doing the dirty work wasn’t a complete waste of time to my grandfather.

The Dictator. The man was one.

“Thanks, Martha,” I nodded as she set our plates down.

She gave me a sideways look with a raised eyebrow before turning away and walking to the back of the kitchen.

“Damn, what did you do to Miss Martha?” Reaper rolled up his mask to expose his mouth.

“Youreallynever take that shit off, do you?”

“Nope.”

There were only three times I’d seen him eat; this was one of them. What I saw was five o’clock shadow and tanned skin. Some tattoos peeking out on his neck, too.

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