Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 2

Turning around she saw the tight cluster of shots in the very center of the paper outline. He had blown a hole through the middle of the thing. “Holy shit.”

  “So, do you want to listen?”

  “Fuck yes, I’ll listen if you teach me to do that.”

  “Alright, come here.”

  She stepped up next to him and he walked her through how to hold the gun, how to brace her stance, how to squeeze the trigger instead of pulling it. Then the man clapped a pair of headphones over her ears and let her spend a clip. Her shots were scattered along the bottom right corner, nowhere near the center. An embarrassed flush crept into her cheeks, but his face didn’t even change.

  “Hmm, try this.” He adjusted her again, his hand overlaying hers to pull the trigger alongside her as she stared at the paper outline. Then he released her, and she got a new clip. He was endlessly patient, calm and steady, as he showed her again and again, until finally she was able to spend a full clip hitting the form on the paper. Her shots were scattered across it, the last few clips at least hitting the outline of the man, but his shots still taunted her from the very center.

  Camille ripped the headphones off, the thrill of not missing the outline at all filled the hollow spaces inside her, and the edge of his mouth ticked up into a small smile.

  “That was better, you’re a quick learner.” His praise made her stand up straighter, even though she knew her array of shots were mediocre at best.

  When was the last time anyone had praised her about anything that she hadn’t done on her knees?

  “What’s your name?”

  Camille turned towards him, tucking strands of her white blonde hair behind her ears. “Candy.”

  He laughed low. “Right.”

  “You have a problem with my name?”

  “I just thought you would have picked something better if you were going to make up a street name.” He was breaking down the gun and putting it back in the duffel and she opened her mouth to protest, but then he zipped the bag shut. “Where are you staying, Candy?”

  “You don’t fucking need to know where I live to sell me a gun.”

  The man took a slow breath, bracing his hands on the table behind him as those eyes evaluated her again. “You have a family?”

  “No.”

  “Finally, something true.” He shook his head, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “Alright, you’re going to come with me.”

  “Wha -”

  “No. Don’t argue, because if I think about this too much I’m going to change my mind. You’re going to come with me, I’ll get some food in you so you’re not skin and bones, and I’ll teach you how to really use the gun.” Hoisting the duffel over his shoulder he held up his hand when she opened her mouth to speak again. “I don’t want anything from you, so don’t worry about it. Just keep your mouth shut for a bit or I’m likely to realize what an idiot I’m being.”

  Camille was too stunned to respond for once, so she nodded and followed him silently back out to the car while he shut everything off and locked up. As they settled into their seats she turned to look at him, confused and doubting. She didn’t trust him, hell, she didn’t trust anyone – but then why the ever-loving fuck was she in this unknown guy’s car? Again?

  At least he hadn’t killed her yet, and he clearly could if he wanted to.

  “So, what am I supposed to call you?”

  He muttered under his breath as he turned out of the parking lot. “You talk too much.”

  “You know my name!”

  “No. I don’t.” His eyes met hers as he turned to look at her, that gaze pinning her in place. “Seatbelt.”

  With a grumble she buckled herself in, and then she raised her hands up. “Seriously, do I just call you weirdo with the green eyes?”

  “Smith.”

  Camille laughed. “Your name is Smith?”

  “As far as you’re concerned, yes. Now, what do you want to eat?” He navigated a slow turn, another car passing by them with the bass thumping so loud she could feel it in her seat.

  “I’m not picky.”

  “Good.”

  After a short, silent drive they pulled up to a 24-hour café and he nodded towards the interior as he stepped out. “Let’s eat.”

  Camille watched him as he shut his door and walked towards the entrance before glancing back, his silhouette outlined in the yellowed light from the interior where only a few stragglers from the streets were huddled. She muttered to herself, picking at her nails, “What are you doing, Camille? This isn’t part of the fucking plan. This guy is probably going to drag you off somewhere and sell you.”

  Smith gestured towards the café and she wavered between going inside and running. His head leaned back and then he held an arm to his side, clearly tired of waiting for her. She shoved the door open with an internal curse, and stepped out, forcing herself to walk towards him. “Still don’t trust me?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. Let’s get some food in you.” He turned away from her and opened the door, letting it swing shut behind him as he nodded at a waitress behind the counter and grabbed a booth just inside the glass.

  She followed and felt the blast of air conditioning cool the damp sweat on her skin. The place was mostly empty, the waitress loitering near the window to the kitchen as she flirted with the cook. Most of the others in the place were alone, a drunk couple slumped in a booth to her right in club clothes, and only one of the other patrons glanced her way before staring back at his plate. She avoided the loner’s gaze and dropped into the seat opposite Smith, her stomach rumbling at the smell of fried food and brewing coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Buying you food? Because you look like you’re about to drop dead.” Smith waved a hand at the waitress.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are. Pick something off the menu, and no coffee, you need sleep after this.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.” Camille bristled, but the look he gave her as the waitress approached was cold as ice and froze her tongue in place.

  “I’ll take a water, and the reuben.” Smith smiled politely at the woman before he turned to her. With a mechanical glance at the menu she looked over the list of sandwiches and salads and rolled her eyes.

  “A coke and the French dip.”

  As the woman walked away Smith stared at her, his gaze drilling holes through her until she felt stuck to the seat.

  “What the fuck do you want from me?”

  “I have no idea,” he replied smoothly before tugging out a few napkins from the dispenser on the table.

  “So, then what is this?”

  “Like I said, I still don’t know.” Smith sighed and folded his hands on the edge of the table, his cool eyes still glued to her. “You intrigue me, C.”

  “It’s Candy.”

  “No. It’s not.” He glanced up as the waitress returned with their drinks, and then he was looking at her again. “And to be clear, I’m not calling you that ridiculous name. It makes you sound like a stripper.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Maybe you are, but it doesn’t mean I have to call you that. I think that ‘C’ will work just fine.” He took a sip of his water. “I want you to stay with me.”

  “I don’t do relationship-”

  “Sorry, I rather mean I’d like you to work for me.”

  “Listen, I don’t need a pimp. I’m doing just fine. What I need is the item we talked about earlier, no other shit necessary.”

  Smith raised an eyebrow and leaned back from the table, his hands slipping into his lap. “You think I’m a pimp?”

  “You don’t look like one, but yeah, probably.”

  “I can assure you, I am not a pimp. I’ve never had any interest in the skin trade.” He glanced around, his eyes moving over the few other patrons in the café. “Tell me, where’s the waitress right now? Don’t look.”

  “Chatting up the cook through the window,” Camille answered quickly, keeping her
gaze locked on him.

  “And how many other diners are in here with us?”

  She had to think back to what she’d seen, counting in her head. “Five.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  The edge of his mouth ticked up again, but he suppressed it with a drink of water. “So, you’re observant.”

  “Have to be in my line of work.”

  “Hmm,” he made a sound under his breath. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

  The question struck a chord inside her, plucking at the things deep under her skin that she tried to ignore. Her hands balled into fists unbidden under the table. “Does that matter?”

  “To me.”

  “No.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “I have to eat, don’t I?” As if her words had summoned it, the food appeared from the smiling waitress. Plates sliding across the shiny table in front of them.

  “Need anything else?” she asked.

  “No, this will be fine. Thank you.” Smith nodded at her and the thirty-something brunette headed back behind the counter to continue her flirtation. He gestured at the plate in front of her. “Food will not be an issue anymore, if you choose it.”

  The French bread piled high with sliced roast beef, nestled in a bed of fries, taunted her. The cup of au jus was just a garnish to the temptation he’d planted in front of her so carefully. “What exactly are you offering? You want me for yourself?”

  “Not in the way you think. Eat.” He gestured at her plate before he picked up his own sandwich and took a bite.

  With a grudging glance, and another twist of the ache in her empty belly, she dipped her sandwich and then bit into it. The crunch of the bread was music in her ears, and her growling stomach echoed it. Before she knew it, she’d devoured half the sandwich and most of the fries. Just as she was about to grab the second half of the sandwich she noticed his odd expression. “What?” she asked defensively.

  “Nothing. Go on, eat.”

  Camille rolled her eyes and took another bite, the burst of flavor on her tongue actually registering beyond the joy of real, warm food. This was good, delicious, and it made the man across from her way too tempting to trust.

  Hell, he hadn’t even asked for a hand job in the car.

  “So, C, are you interested in doing something different?”

  “Such as?” She spoke through a mouthful of food, and he seemed vaguely amused.

  “I want to teach you some things. See if you have an aptitude for them.”

  “A what?” she asked, the word way above her head.

  “I want to see if you’re able to learn the things I want to teach.”

  She swallowed, setting the last bit of the sandwich back on the plate, ignoring the small pile of napkins he’d set on the table, opting to use her hand instead. “Depends on what kind of shit you want to teach.”

  “More of what we tried earlier tonight. A lot more.” Smith tilted his head a little, evaluating her reaction, and she tried her best to stay still, to not give away the frisson of excitement that had rushed through her.

  He wanted to teach her to shoot? To do more than shoot?

  “Okay.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. If you’ll teach me to do it like you do, I’m in.”

  He laughed low, swirling the ice in his glass. “That will take time. A lot of time.”

  “I’ve got time.” And she wasn’t lying, all she had was time. Even though she wanted to go after those bastards one after the other, being able to hit someone with the kind of accuracy he’d displayed would make it a fuck of a lot easier.

  “Alright then, finish eating. Then you’ll sleep, and we’ll start tomorrow.”

  “Where will I sleep?”

  “In a bed.” His answer was infuriatingly short and she rolled her eyes.

  “Will you be in it?” Camille pushed the mostly empty plate away from her and grabbed the coke to sip the last dregs from the bottom. Smith waved the waitress over and gestured at her glass.

  “No. I won’t.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and accepted the fresh glass from the waitress, who cleared the plates and left the paper check on the table. Smith grabbed it before Camille could even glance at the handwritten total scratched across it.

  “Wonderful. We can get your things tomorrow from wherever you’ve -”

  “I don’t have anything worth getting.” Cutting him off, she shrugged as he tugged his wallet out to lay some cash on the table. It wasn’t really a lie. He had her knife on him somewhere, or in that duffel in his trunk, and that was the only thing she really cared about. The ragged clothes she’d collected, the small collection of plates and utensils she’d stolen from diners like this one? Those she could leave to Thomas and the other boys.

  “Then let’s get going.”

  Chapter Two

  Six Months Later

  “Get up.” His voice was rough as Camille brushed at the tears stinging the edges of her eyes, but that was a terrible idea since the heels of her hands were skinned and bloody. “I said get up.”

  “Shut the hell up, Smith!” Roaring out her frustration, she shoved herself off the gravel of the rooftop, ignoring the pain in her busted elbow, the blood on her palms, and formed her stance again.

  “Make me.” The cocky tilt to his head had her growling and she lunged for him, but he pivoted like a ballet dancer and twisted to deliver a hard kick, which she barely blocked with both forearms. Just as she was recovering to look for a strike, Smith grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her forward, off balance, and sent her face first into the rooftop again.

  This time she felt the raw skin scraping at her elbow inside her shirt and she buckled, trying her hardest to suppress a sob of pain through gritted teeth.

  “Are you crying, C?” He crouched beside her, his voice completely devoid of sympathy.

  “No.”

  A hard punch to her ribs sent her flat, and he sighed above her as she mouthed a silent cry feeling the pain spread. Taking a ragged breath, she screamed at him, “FUCK OFF!” Camille hated how her voice broke, hated how he got under her skin worse than anyone on the planet, but hated more just how much she needed this. Clenching her jaw tight she planted her boot on the ground to push herself up, facing him again.

  “You think one of your targets will give you a break?” Smith went to sweep her legs but she jumped it, stepping close to land a one-two punch to his midsection. His arms moved to come around her, and she heard his voice in her head, ‘Never let a man get a hold of you.’ Turning and ducking out of his arms she slammed her knee into the back of his and sent him to the ground, with a grunt of effort she kicked him between the shoulder blades and for the first time that night he was on his belly on the fucking rooftop instead of her.

  “My targets aren’t going to be fucking ninjas!” She shouted above him, circling him out of his range as he gathered himself and stood. “I’m a hundred times better than I was.”

  “That doesn’t mean much. You couldn’t even hold a gun when I met you.” The moonlight carved his profile out of the darkness, highlighting the slight tilt of his lips. “And you still can’t hold your temper.”

  “If you’d let me go on a fucking job with you, if you’d let me fight someone who isn’t a black belt in four hundred -”

  “I am not a black belt. In anything.”

  “What the fuck ever, you know I could kick practically anyone’s ass.” She popped the knuckles on one hand as he shook his head slowly, letting out a deep sigh as he rested his hands on his hips.

  “But you still can’t kick mine.”

  “I just laid you out flat.”

  “And then you backed off.” A low rumble came from his chest as he walked towards her, her muscles tensing in preparation. “What did I tell you about pity?”

  “You -”

  He swung at her, and she could tell he wasn’t pulling his punches this time. Blocking with her forearm she du
cked the second swing and lifted her knee just in time to block the kick coming for her stomach. Camille returned the kick, aiming for his knee, but she caught the much more sturdy flesh of his thigh instead. Snagging the back of her ankle he lifted it, trying to throw her backwards, but she let him lift her leg, feeling the muscles stretch and strain, and then she jumped – knee bending and then extending, landing the heel in his grip directly into his chin with a force that snapped his head back.

  Smith’s stunned shout made her pause as both her boots met the gravel again and he stumbled backwards. “Again,” he growled through the blood in his mouth and he charged her.

  Almost six feet of solid muscle coming straight for her. She’d seen the ridged muscles under his shirt, the strength of his arms, the thick power in his legs that he kept hidden from the world so no one could tell what they were dealing with. But she knew, and in that moment he wasn’t her strange, gun-toting, robot-like version of a killer guardian angel, he was nothing more than an obstacle.

  Digging the toes of her shoes into the gravel she rushed him, watching as his body twitched in reaction to her sudden offensive, the meter of his steps off kilter for just a moment – and she threw herself into a slide. Catching one of his legs with hers she sent him tumbling to the ground, but he landed on his shoulder and rolled, coming up in a crouch. Jade eyes flashed at her, and for a moment a flare of what looked like pride crossed his features.

  Camille flipped herself back to her feet, and she couldn’t wipe the furious glee from her face. “You said pity is for the weak.”

  “That’s right.” He prowled towards her, and she swallowed as his long gait took him in a curving path towards her, forcing her to rotate to keep her eyes on him.

  Why does he have to be so gorgeous?

  “And that includes me.” Smith was suddenly next to her and she tried to lift an arm to block the flash of movement she saw from the corner of her eye, but in the moment she had dropped her guard to ogle him, he grabbed her by the throat and swept her leg at the same time, slamming her to the ground. All of the air left her lungs in a burst as her head cracked against the gravel, star bursting pain across the back of her skull. “That was amateur, C. Where was your head?”