Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (33 page)

“Sorry!” She giggled. “Vodka goes straight to my head, makes me all kinds of crazy.”

“Really? I think vodka was a great choice then.” Eric squeezed her ass through the skirt as they wandered down an alley, past other cars, and then he stopped her at one and unlocked it with the push of a button. “Come here,” he growled and pushed her back against it. His hand stroked up her thigh, and she let her legs open so that his fingers could brush her underwear.

Not yet. Not out here.

“Fuck, it’s so cold,” she whined, and he pressed himself against her. Hard cock already, well-distracted as all of his blood went south.

“Why don’t we get in the car then?” he suggested, and with a quick movement he pulled her away from the car and tugged the door open. Eric the soon-to-be-dead sat down first, in the passenger seat, and then he slid it all the way back. “Want to join me?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” A giggle slid past her lips, somehow sounding natural, as she shifted into the car and straddled him. He shut the door, his hands running up her waist to squeeze her breasts. Immediately she started to tug at his belt, and he got with the program, undoing it and shoving his jeans down. She reached between them, slipping her hand under the waistband to stroke his stiff cock inside his boxers. At least being a whore paid off sometimes, because the act felt about as important as washing dishes with this asshole.

“Fuck!” He hissed air between his teeth as she sat back on his legs. “You’re some kind of angel, you have no idea the week I’ve had.”

“Bad week?” She pushed the words through gritted teeth, shutting down so she wouldn’t think of Smith in this moment. Think of his still outline, his vacant eyes –
stop
. “I bet I can make it better…”

“Oh yesss,” he groaned, his head lolling back against the headrest as his hands kneaded her ass under the skirt. “We need to get you out of this, I might need to tear these tights to get to that sweet pussy.”

“Just a minute.” Running her thumb over the head of his cock, she reached her other hand up the back of her shirt, toying with the blade until she was able to slide it out from under the back of her bra. “You’re so hard…”

“Fuck yeah I am, you’re so hot.”

“Am I?” she asked, leaning forward so his back pressed more firmly against the seat. “I lost a close friend this week, why was your week so bad?”

“Ungh,” he groaned as she stroked him again. “Old boss being an asshole, nothing I can’t handle, sweetheart. I took care of that problem.”

“Did you?” Camille fought the urge to dig her nails into his dick, and instead made sure she had a solid grip on the knife. She forced a little laugh. “You know, I never do this kind of thing.”

“Really? You’re fucking amazing.” His hips rolled against her grip.

“Oh no, not the handjob. I’ve had a lot of practice with those.” She smiled when he looked up at her, chocolate brown eyes lifting to hers with a hint of surprised confusion. “I mean, that it’s only been once before that I’ve straddled a guy like this, and…”

“And?” Eric asked just before she sliced his throat open with the blade, yanking her hand out of his pants as the warm spray painted her chest. His next words were a gurgle, and she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“This is for Smith, you useless fuck. The man you killed last night. Look me in the fucking eyes and know why you’re dying. You should have let him fucking kill you.” With a sharp thrust she buried the knife deep in his belly and the pain was evident as he widened his eyes. “Because it would have been
much
faster.”

Camille twisted the knife and waited until every last twitch of his muscles stopped. He was dead, and she was covered in the blood it had taken to clean the last name off the list of people worth vengeance. She adjusted him, left his dick out so they’d look for street girls in the area, and then she wiped the knife on his shirt and tucked it away into the back of her bra again.

Her heart was racing, as if it wanted to remind her it still beat.
The unwelcome bastard
.

With a growl she stepped out of the car, keeping her head down so that her hair formed a curtain, and she walked the long way out of the alley, onto the next block. Using the dark arm of her coat she wiped away the blood on her chest, spitting into her palm to help clear it free of her neck, then she wrapped the warm wool tightly around her. On the street there was a loud group of girls, laughing and talking, and she stood near enough to them that she would blend in.

After a few minutes, when passing glances would effectively attribute her to them, she stepped out into the road and flagged down a taxi. The dark helped her out as she shoved a wad of bills through the plastic and turned up the wasted girl routine, “Oh fuck, uh. I’m staying at this one hotel? Umm…”

“Do you remember the name?” Bored tone, already irritated with his latest fare, but she stumbled and slurred through the address until he understood it. Then she slumped down in the backseat and let him drive.

Back to the hotel. So she could pack up. Call Donovan, Lacroix – and leave this fucking city where her world had come crashing down.

And then? Then would come the hardest part.

Surviving.

Without Smith.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Of course, Smith would be the kind of guy with contingencies set up. He had never been someone who had ignored the worst parts of this life – and within a week of her verifying to Lacroix that he was dead Camille had started to receive calls.

Smith’s finances? Now in her name. Well, technically her alias – Caroline Smith. The same name he’d given her the night of the gala, the night when their relationship had changed for good. It was like a love letter from beyond the grave, cementing his choice even though he was gone. He had chosen her, above all else, to the death.

Smith’s storage locker? Full of weapons, and gear, and personal mementos from his life in boxes she might never have the courage to open – also in her name. The company sent a new auto-draft contract to Smith’s lawyer, who was now
her
lawyer as well. A man that asked no questions, didn’t seem interested in who she was, just as long as he got his hourly rate when he managed little things like storage units and requests for identity documents. The fact that he called her Ms. Smith was… oddly comforting in the week following his death.

Jean called from France, at four am, to tell her that he had heard, and confirm that he and all of his contacts were always available if she was in Europe. An open door. After that, it seemed the word spread through a hidden web of connections, because Jean’s was not the only call she received. Whether on Smith’s phone, or hers. All of them verifying the rumor first, and many of them acknowledging her as some kind of successor.

Some just ended the call when she confirmed it, disappearing like ghosts into the smoke that seemed to cloud the world post-Smith. It didn’t bother her. The holes that were left would be filled by new contacts. She’d find what she needed, when she needed it – it was the name of the game.

Lacroix continued to call, almost daily, and it seemed like he was doing it out of guilt or some other level of concern. Camille never managed to ask how much he knew, or how much he’d figured out from the list of names he’d been given – but it became clear he was going to keep calling to check in on her. Which was why she cursed him out one night and told him not to call her again unless it was for a job.

She was sick of being the victim, exhausted from years of feeling like one. That was over. Smith’s last gift to her was confirmation that she was who she had always wanted to be. Self-sufficient, dangerous, unbreakable – free.

Yet, there were strings from her time with him that she needed to cut, so she could stretch and be someone new. Build a reputation free of Smith’s long reaching shadow.

That was how she found herself in Bill’s bar, sitting under the
Albatross Brewing
sign on Christmas Eve. Of course the old guy was there, handling the place with just one waitress who Camille didn’t even recognize, with a room full of lonely people who had nowhere else to be.

“Alright.” Bill set a bottle of top-shelf vodka on the table and took the seat across from her, handing her a glass filled with ice, and sliding across another with limes. “Talk.”

“Hi, Bill.” She couldn’t suppress the small smile that lifted the edge of her mouth.

“Yes,
hi
. Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, all that shit. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you guys for weeks.” He nudged the glass of ice closer to her and unscrewed the cap on the vodka, pouring heavy-handedly before he put it back upright. “Time to talk, C.”

With a sigh she reached for a lime, squeezed it, and then dropped it into the vodka, watching the bubbles crawl up the inside of the glass.
Get it over with.
“He’s gone, Bill,” she whispered.

The words seemed to freeze him in place, his words false starting a few times, and then he slammed his fist onto the table making the ice clink and the bottle jump. “That’s…” He wiped a hand down his face. “I can’t believe it.”

Camille shrugged one shoulder. “I know it’s shitty of me to bring you this – especially tonight. Fucking Christmas Eve of all nights.”

“You know, it’s actually not that strange, your arrival is more like an answered prayer.”

She laughed, because there had never been a time in her life when her arrival would have been related to any kind of holy intervention – more of the unholy, time to sell your soul side of things.

“I’m serious, C. I went to mass earlier tonight and I prayed for you two.” He lifted a hand when she started to speak. “Don’t comment. I’ve been worried about you both, and I’ve told Smith more than once that I wanted more for him than the life he had. I prayed for it, and I think he did too – don’t give me that look. Whatever issues you have with religion, Smith and I saw eye-to-eye on most of it.” He sighed. “Dammit, I wanted so much for that boy. Seeing you two together… it made my old heart happy, for you and for him. Smith loved you, and -”

“Bill -” She flinched.

“He did. You two both had so many secrets from each other, so much bullshit, and I won’t pretend to know the world you live in, or the things you’ve been through, and I don’t think I want to, but -” He waved at the waitress as she passed by, tilting his hand in the shape of a glass. With a sigh Bill returned his gaze and locked eyes with her, completely serious. “But he
did
love you, C. I’ve known him for years, longer than you have, and I could read that boy like no one else. Better than he
thought
I could, and…”

It made a place in Camille’s chest ache as she watched the older man’s eyes water, but the waitress rescued him by delivering a glass with ice. He poured the vodka and drank it down fast, barely giving it a breath of a chance to chill.

Refilling his glass, he cleared his throat. “I was glad you two found each other. He came to life after you appeared, C. I don’t know if you just drove him crazy, or if your kind of crazy was what he needed to reconnect with humanity again – but he was
better
with you. More whole. Happier.”

“I…” She swallowed. “Thanks, Bill.” The words were rough, and she tried to smooth the growing pain behind her ribs by finishing the vodka. Ever the solid bartender, Bill replenished her glass as soon as she set it down.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, are you sure that Smith is -”

“I saw him, Bill.” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, “I buried him. Trust me, I’m sure.”

“Fuck.” He took a drink and she did too.

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the sound of the heat pumping into the bar and the low chatter of the TV fill the emptiness. “So, what does this mean?”

“It means you get this table back. Permanently.” Camille ran her fingers over the well-known grains, adding a fresh lime before tilting her drink up once more.

“I don’t need it, C. You can come here any -”

“No.” She shook her head because this was the one thing she’d known for sure before she’d even decided to come. “I won’t be back, Bill. I
can’t
come back. This was Smith’s place. It was how I found him, it’s how so many others have found him, and -”

“I get it.” Bill swallowed hard, not even flinching as he set the glass back down and refilled it. “I don’t like it, but I get it.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, when you first walked in here I pegged you for trouble. I said it in my head, and when you walked towards Smith I was just waiting for him to send you running – but then he went with you.” Bill chuckled and leaned back in the seat. “I didn’t know if you were some kind of blonde witch, or just his particular brand of woman since he’d never even looked twice at anyone else, but from that moment on I knew something had changed. When he started to bring you around, with your terrible fucking mouth and your razor sharp attitude, I would have bet money that you’d disappear in a month or two. As soon as you realized you wouldn’t get whatever you wanted from him – but… week after week, month after month, there you were.”

“Is this supposed to be a compliment? Because so far you’re kind of being an asshole.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about. No one that knew Smith would have picked you out of a crowd to be the person that brought him back to the world, that warmed him up, made him smile again – but you did that. You made him happy, and I don’t fucking get it, I don’t think I ever will, but I want you to know that as his friend, I’m glad he met you.”

She felt the smile on her lips, even though on the inside she felt raw, like she’d swallowed shards of glass instead of vodka. “I told him you were his best friend. He didn’t believe me.”

Bill shrugged. “Who knows, it definitely doesn’t matter now.”

“Right.”

There was a stretch of silence again where they both nursed their glasses, and he refreshed them again before he let out a slow breath. “So, what’s next for you?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that, Bill.”

He chuckled low, tilting his drink towards her like a toast. “You are probably right about that, C, but if I’m never going to see you again I want you to know that I’ll keep you in my prayers. No matter what you believe.”

Smiling she raised her glass and tapped the edge of Bill’s. “I’m just going to shut the fuck up for once and say thank you.”

“You’re welcome, C. And I mean that literally, you will always be welcome here.” He kept his glass in the air, his eyes hazing over again. “To Smith.”

Swallowing down the rush of emotion she clinked her glass with one of the only other people on the planet who had ever known him to any real level. “To Smith.”

They both took a deep drink, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was a person alive who knew him completely – but she doubted it. He had always been a ghost, a shadow, her own personal gun-toting, male-model gorgeous, guardian angel of death.

And fuck everything if she wouldn’t do everything in this life to make him proud.

With a sigh she stretched out across the luxurious bed in the suite she’d booked. The sheets were cool, but the room was comfortably warm – and it was technically Christmas now as the clock ticked past two AM.

Merry fucking Christmas, Camille.

Her veins were abuzz with alcohol, a pleasant hum, and she was ninety-nine percent sure she’d spend the entirety of Christmas Day watching television in her underwear while ordering room service. Pancakes, and bacon, and spaghetti. Comfort food.

Maybe they’d even deliver a bottle of vodka and she could just ride this bender into the New Year.

Just as she rolled over to fall asleep, awash in a swath of pillows, she heard the buzz of her phone. Reaching for it, she went to answer and realized it was
not
hers that was buzzing. Jumping out of bed she dove to grab Smith’s cell phone off the table before the call rolled to the voicemail she had not figured out how to access yet. “Hello?”

“Hey, I’m – uh – looking for Smith.”

“Ah, he’s no longer available.” The phrase had seemed to work well on other calls, explaining the situation without making her actually say it.

“Who is this?”

“C. I worked with -”

“Oh, yeah, I remember you. He talked about you. You still up for a job?” The man on the other end of the line sounded bored, distracted, and uninterested in her personal tragedies.
Perfect
.

“Depends on the work.”

“I have someone who I need to disappear.”

“Where and when?”

A low laugh thrummed over the line. “Not going to ask me why?”

“Does the why fucking matter?”

Another laugh. “Oh, I think I’m going to like working with you. Listen,
C
, you take care of this job for me and I’ll guarantee I’ll have more for you. There’s always stuff that needs handling.”

“Distractions are handy right now, but I can’t promise I’ll always be available. You’ll pay me Smith’s regular rate, deal?”

“How do I know you’re as good as he is?”

“Because the man who took Smith out of the game is also permanently retired – because of me.” She smiled against the phone as she laid back on the bed, the man chuckling.

“Alright, deal. Same rate. Ready for the details?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” She smiled as he started to speak, because she didn’t even feel the need to reach for a pen and paper. The names and locations formed themselves in her memory, and the only concern she had was that she’d need to run by the storage unit to check her ammo stock. It would be a good idea to restock before the New Year, which meant a call to Sandra – the matron of guns for NYC.