Rubbing my hands along my arms for warmth, the chill on my chest lessens while the bareness of my limbs divulge the lack of Chanel threads that clothed my skin a mere hour ago. Ugh, I was too caught up in Detective Mason Cole’s allure to remember to pick it up on the way out. I curse him and myself.

“Well, Olly, we were a little tied up and unable to call. Come on, let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

The thought of leaving my favorite coat behind, dampens my mood beyond repair, but the radiating pain of my freshly bruised skin and throbbing joints scream at me for rest and strong pain killers.

Opening the door to the loft, I push through and hold it open for Ali and Olly. Ali falls straight onto the couch, while Olly heads for the kitchen on the other side of the room.

“Well, geez, just make yourselves at home, guys,” I mutter, taking off my scarf and hanging it on the hat stand beside the door.

Pulling out some juice from the fridge, Oliver takes a swig from the bottle before putting it away. “Lindsey, after the hell I put our staff through today from worrying over you, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened. We’re going to talk about this,”—he motions his hand up and down the length of me—“and then work shit.”

I glance over to Alison to see if she’s listening, but the light snores drifting from her let me know she’s asleep. Nodding toward the bedroom at Olly, he follows me in, closing the door softly behind him. It’s not that I have secrets from Ali. She has some idea of how we’ve survived all these years, but not the gritty details. What she doesn’t know can’t bring harm to her. The less she knows the better, which is something we actually agreed on. I sigh, taking in the safety of my bedroom, and my bed. My aching body believes it’s never looked so enticing. The loft might not be an apartment in Midtown with a jaw-dropping view of Central Park, but it still cost me a pretty penny and is special nonetheless. Its beauty is within—the floor-to-ceiling bookcases full of stories, the restored vintage furniture, my walk-in closet full of beautiful clothing, and the soft pink roses in the middle of my coffee table. This is my own private sanctuary with high ceilings and chic décor most women would be envious of.

Already guessing the ‘work shit’ we need to discuss, I prepare to ask the one question I’m dreading the answer to. If he’s fucked this up, our client won’t be pleased. While we no longer worked for Giuseppe, we still took on jobs for the right price. We worked for ourselves and our rules were simple: criminals only. We don’t hurt the innocent. I tell myself it’s okay—they’re rapists, drug dealers, gangsters, felons. They deserve what’s coming to them. It’s the only way I can live, to push through without hating myself for what I’m doing every moment and thereafter.

Turning my back to Olly, I undress, starting with my stained white silk top.

“So, what happened with Marissa? I’m guessing by your mood right now things went south.” Aiming for my grey wingback armchair sitting in the corner of the room, I throw my clothing in that direction. In just my bra and panties, I head into my closet for clean clothes.

“Yeah, you could say that. If by it going south, you mean walking in on her working south on her fucking drug dealer.”

I jerk my head back out to look at Olly, eyebrows raised in shock. “No shit, seriously?”

Well, that’s an unexpected turn of events we could work with.

Letting out a long sigh, he flops onto my bed. “Yeah, seriously, Linds.”

No eye contact, no confident attitude. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the bitch has done a number on him.  Never once, in the seventeen years of having Oliver Davenport by my side, have I ever seen the man look emotionally affected by a living, breathing woman who isn’t his foster mother. You’d never guess it now after taking in his well-dressed appearance, but he grew up in the system after his parents were killed in a drive–by shooting when he was ten years old. He originally came from an elite family in New York. They were wealthy and loving, and they adored their only son according to the tales Oliver shared with me. But with no other family to take him in, Olly became a child of the state and lost in the system. At eighteen, he was to receive his trust fund, the money left for him from his parents. But his foster mother stole every cent and had her boyfriend beat him half to death. She was one hell of an asshole.

Throwing an arm over his face, he grunts in obvious frustration. He has to know this thing with Marissa would never end any differently than any other job. The outcome is always the same. They end up dead, and we get paid. They are a business deal, one people pay an exceptionally high price for. We’re hit men, contract killers. In this business, there are no feelings. There is no trust, no loyalty.

I walk back out from the closet, a fresh set of clothes in hand. “Well, she just made our job a whole lot easier.”

“Yeah, guess she did.” Olly’s voice breaks as he sits up. Hunching his shoulders forward, he stares vacantly out my bedroom window. What had she done to him? She’s the Madame of a brothel in Brooklyn that pimps out underage girls. What the hell could Olly see in her?

“Hey.” I walk over and put my palm to his cheek. “Are you all right?” I pause, brows knitted. I want to fill his head with hope, wishing him nothing but happiness. But it can’t happen, not with her.

“This one’s got you all twisted up, hasn’t she?”

Leaning into my hand, he turns his gaze to me and I’m overwhelmed by feelings I’d rather keep buried. The sadness in his eyes is all it takes to cause my heart to ache and a need to lift his spirits. Oliver can sell the perfect lie to even the weariest of people, but not with me. We’re two peas in a pod, best friends for years. His perfect disguise for the rest of the world does nothing to conceal the true identity of the man behind the beautiful face. Oliver runs his hands through his hair. “I just didn’t see it coming. There’s something about her that doesn’t seem all bad. I should have seen this coming though. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.” I frown, worrying his guard is down, an uncommon occurrence and a potentially deadly one.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You know as well as I do she isn’t a good person. Now,”—I point in the direction of my bathroom—“I’m going to take a shower and freshen up. Then I’m going to sleep for a few hours. You’re going to get your shit together and stop moping around like someone stole your porn stash, and later, we’ll head out for a drink. I’ll fill you in about earlier and then we’ll drown ourselves in alcohol and temporarily forget all about this horrible damn day. Deal?”

Olly smiles. “Okay.”

***

My long hair cascades down my back as I pull it out from under the tan leather jacket I threw on over my white sheer top. I step into my navy skinny jeans and move to the mirror to check over the light touch of makeup I applied. The last thing I felt like doing was getting up, but I did. Only because Olly had been banging the door down for me to ‘hurry my ass up’ for the past ten minutes.

“You ready to head down to The Vic?” I yell from the bedroom as I search for my clutch bag.

“Looking for this?” Ali stands at the door, leaning a shoulder on the doorframe and waving around the bag in question.

“Argh! Yes!” Collecting my clutch, I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, babe. Go rest and don’t go anywhere while I’m out, okay? I’ll be back soon. And P.S., if I come home and find you off your face, you’re out. You know the rules when you’re under this roof.”

Searching for Ali’s eyes, she eventually meets mine. Her guilt–stricken face is brutal on my heart and, for a second, I question leaving her alone tonight. I should stay with her, comfort her if she needs me to, Lord knows the day took an unexpected toll on both of us, but the girl is as easy to crack open as a vault in a bank.