Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 4

  Memories flickered behind her eyes of other men. Hands, mouths, and too many things that she tried her best to forget, to push down.

  Breathe. Center.

  Smith’s voice echoed in her head, and she followed orders like he’d actually spoken them. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady.

  By the time her pulse had calmed she wasn’t quite as red faced, and she raised her eyes to look at her reflection. Her blonde hair was caught up in a knot at the back of her head, strands that had escaped draping across her forehead and cheeks. Blue eyes sparked with the fervent energy she was still unable to let go of after yet another version of the same argument that she had wanted to avoid.

  When was she going to be ready to him?

  Growling, Camille turned away from her reflection, hating it. Hating the pathetic girl in the mirror who had failed to protect herself from the men who had used her. The waste of a body that was failing now to get the attention of the only man she’d ever actually wanted. Keeping her eyes clenched tight she tore the tie out of her hair and stripped. She left her clothes in a pile under the sink, and climbed into the shower without checking it. Scalding hot water nailed her and she suppressed the urge to scream as she scrambled to turn down the temperature. A moment later it was tolerable, and she stood under it. Letting the water sluice away the sweat and grime of the day, along with the alcohol that was probably already exiting through her pores. Her muscles were sore, she was covered in bruises and scrapes from their sparring session, the broken skin stinging in the water – and still she wasn’t good enough for Smith.

  “Motherfucker…” she cursed under her breath as she grabbed for the shampoo container, pouring way more than necessary into her hand to rub into her hair and scrub at her scalp. The memories were crackling inside her head as the alcohol blurred the barriers she usually kept up, so many hands on her, too much to remember – and four out of five were still alive.

  She wanted to crawl out of her own skin. Leave it behind like a snake would. She wanted to be someone new, someone fresh, someone she could carve into the kind of controlled, strong person that no one would ever dare fuck with. Someone Smith would look at as more than the lost puppy he’d found and taken in. She wanted to be the monster that haunted their dreams, instead of the reverse.

  She wanted to be a vicious killer.

  She wanted to destroy.

  With a shout she punched the tile in front of her. The right way. Her thumb wrapped outside her fist, her arm lined up properly, her feet planted and her hips twisting – and fuck it hurt. The shock ran up her arm and a stream of curses left her lips as her knuckles took the brunt of her well-guided force.

  A whimper escaped her as she slid down into the basin of the tub, her long blonde hair forming a warm curtain around her face, making it hard to breathe. “Joe. Joe is the first,” she whispered it like a dark prayer. Repeating it all so that she would never forget. “Then Clinton. Roger. Barry.”

  Camille had let herself be distracted for too long by Smith’s pretty promises. Promises of learning to fight, of learning to kill – the right way – and she was done. Done waiting. Done looking for his seal of approval so she could finish the job she had planned over half a year before. There was no point in asking. If he wasn’t going to give her permission to even accompany him on his own job, he’d never let her hunt the assholes down.

  Which meant she still couldn’t tell him how she’d ended up in Bill’s bar in the first place, no matter how many times he asked.

  She finished her shower quickly, wrapping a towel around her hair and another around her body, and then she walked into the living space to find him flipping through the newspaper at the table in a pool of lamplight.

  “C…” Smith looked up at her and she waved a hand to stop him.

  “I’m going to bed.” Camille waved him off and walked into the bedroom, dropping the towel from her body so she knew he wouldn’t follow her to continue the discussion. He always turned away when she undressed, left the room, avoided her naked body like it was something contaminated.

  And it was, wasn’t it?

  Tainted.

  Used.

  Damaged.

  The soft sound of the bathroom door closing ended the idea of a discussion, but her decision was already made. If he wouldn’t take her to kill on his terms, she’d just do it on her own.

  Chapter Three

  C was still asleep when Smith woke up, his eyes opening like an alarm had gone off but none had. Sitting up as quietly as he could he looked over at the tiny ball she formed under the sheets on the other bed, her blonde hair pooled around her head as she had burrowed into her pillow.

  Guilt gnawed at him from the way they had ended the night before. She was angry with him for refusing to take her on the next job, and unfortunately he already had it lined up or he might have contemplated it, just to pull her back before she did something idiotic. It was in Connecticut, and he was leaving today. Some idiot who had stolen money from the wrong people, and now he had a price on his head. A price Smith was happy to collect, because he’d long since stopped feeling anything about the lives he took.

  Another life. Another payday.

  Round and round.

  He was cold, and he knew it. All the death had twisted him up into something bordering on inhuman, but then C had walked into Bill’s bar. A tiny, blonde waif with an attitude the size of Manhattan. Her sass had felt like someone turning on a light switch in a dark room. He’d laughed for the first time in years, and no matter how much she infuriated him again and again, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  No matter how brutal this life was.

  And why, exactly, was he bringing her into it?

  That question was what haunted him the most. It was what kept him up. Not her skill, of which she seemed to have a natural ability, or her commitment, which was almost disturbing. No – it was the idea that he was training this damaged girl to be a killer just like him.

  On a good day, Smith didn’t think twice about what he did. He had tumbled into this world after he’d done a little underground work in other countries. It had started as opportunistic, and turned into a career. One he was very adept at, that kept him well-stocked with cash, free to take or refuse jobs at will.

  But on a bad day? On a bad day he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if he’d ignored emotion for so long that he couldn’t even pretend to be human. Before C, weeks would pass where he didn’t have a real conversation with anyone, where he didn’t smile, where he didn’t feel any fleeting glimpse of emotion inside him. Not joy, not anger, not anything. If that was what this life did, he wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to pass on to another person.

  Not even one as driven as she was.

  Looking over at C he knew she had been damaged by something beyond his understanding. She never spoke about it, never even hinted at it, not even when she woke them both up shouting and begging and crying in her sleep. No, she was closed up tight, like a lockbox. Too strong for her own good, and it was eating her alive from the inside out.

  What the hell had she wanted the gun for in the first place?

  Why had she tracked him down at Bill’s?

  Those questions kept him up at night. If it was just for the johns, he’d understand, but her tenacity to learn how to kill had never faded, even after she’d stopped turning tricks the night he’d taken her with him. Whoever had hurt her wasn’t a john. The street life had been the result, he was sure of that. So what was driving her?

  She was feisty, and beautiful, and strong, and –

  Smith forced himself out of bed as his cock kicked to attention, remembering her lithe body as she had run the obstacle course he had laid out for her the day before. Remembering the way she had moved on the rooftop, the feel of her soft skin under his hands as they had fought. He scrubbed his face he tried to wipe the images from his mind, and he found himself on the uncomfortable, stiff chair by the table in the livi
ng space of the hotel room. The crossword puzzle was under his hand and he dragged it into the dim light coming from the curtains, ignoring the rock hard flesh between his thighs.

  “Alright, distraction time. A two-ton animal that can run 35 miles per hour…” he mumbled under his breath as he read, scanning the letters he’d filled in the day before, wracking his brain, even as his thoughts wandered against his wishes.

  C deserved so much better than him, than this life. She deserved a real life, a normal one, but he seemed to be the only person she had and she didn’t seem to want to be anywhere else. Worse, he didn’t want her to leave. Now, he couldn’t imagine coming back to an empty hotel room. A room with nothing but mindless television as company. No smiles for weeks at a time. No smart ass remarks to frustrate him and make his eyes roll. Just death, payday, death, payday, and more death.

  A soft yawn broke the silence behind him. “Are you seriously doing the fucking crossword at six o’clock in the morning?”

  “Yes.” He glanced over at her as she dropped onto the couch, her limbs all akimbo as another yawn nearly cracked her jaw. Too beautiful. Don’t stare. “You should go back to bed, you’re probably hungover. I’ll wake you in a while.”

  “I’m fine. Why do you do that shit every day?” Her blue eyes pierced him as she pointed at the newspaper from the day before. He sighed, forgetting about the list of large mammals running in his head to entertain her question, as vulgarly as she’d phrased it.

  “I read a while back that doing the New York Times crossword puzzle every day is the best way to keep your brain active.” Smith shrugged a bit as he abandoned that clue and scanned for another that had more letters available.

  “Worried you’ll crack up one day?”

  “I plan to live a long time, and I’d like to have my faculties when I eventually retire from all this. Head to a cabin somewhere, in the mountains, away from the city and all these people packed in like sardines.” He snapped his fingers. “Rhino.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Rhino. A two-ton animal that can -”

  “No. What the fuck, Smith? Your dream vacation is to go hide in some cabin in the wilderness? That’s your idea of retirement?” C laughed under her breath and rolled her eyes. “What about a fucking beach? Or Europe?”

  “I don’t like beaches, and I’ve been to Europe. I far prefer America.” He wrote the letters in carefully, and then answered an adjoining clue as it became obvious.

  “I’ve never left the state, much less the country.” She leaned forward on her knees, the gap at the neckline of her shirt forcing him to jerk his eyes away before he saw too much. “Maybe someday we could -”

  “C, this is where the work is, this is where we stay.” Laying the pencil down across the paper he shifted in his seat and rubbed his eyes. She was in shorts, the oversized t-shirt boasting some random words in faded calligraphy, but as relaxed as she looked – her tone was unmistakably challenging.

  “You mean this is where your work is right now.”

  He rolled his neck, feeling the vertebrae crack as his stress level increased by notches. The girl could be infuriating, but he still reveled in feeling something. “I am going to take you on a job. I did not lie.”

  “Sure. Of course you didn’t fucking lie to me, we’re super close and shit.” She leaned back, scoffing. “Oh wait, no, we’re abso-fucking-lutely not. No friends, right? We don’t matter to each other?”

  “What did I say about the language?”

  “I’m not a fucking lady, Smith. I’m never going to be a fucking lady, and I will fucking curse all I fucking want to.” C stood up and walked past him into the bedroom, flipping on the light by her bed. A moment later she was stripping out of her sleep clothes and he turned back around, boring holes into the newspaper in front of him, unable to even read the clues.

  You will not look. You will not look.

  The sound of her tugging on clothes continued for a moment, and he risked a glance behind him to see her pulling on socks. Her boots waiting on the floor just below her. With a sigh, he stood up to block the doorway. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Out.”

  “Will you tell me where?”

  “No.” She tied the laces tight and stood up, and he saw her expression change the instant she realized he was blocking her way out, that raw anger exposing itself again. “Move, Smith.”

  “I’ll take you on the job after this one.” The words left his lips before he’d thought them through, and her eyes narrowed on him. Hell.

  “And why exactly can’t I come on this one?”

  “I’ve already got it planned.” And I don’t want you taking a life yet. Not yet. Just wait.

  “So re-plan it. Fucking take me out there, let me show you that all this shit you’ve been teaching me has stuck.” There was a desperate note to her voice, hidden under the brash language, the constant rage that was ever-present in her.

  “No. I said I will take you on the next job, and you should be glad I’m even willing to do that after the act you pulled last night.”

  “I guess you want me to be grateful? I’m sure you’ll make sure it’s a bullshit survey and report job.” She threw her hands up, a frustrated sound escaping her lips. “You don’t believe I can do it. That’s the real issue here, you don’t believe I can pull the trigger.”

  “No one knows if they can pull the trigger until they’re in the moment they need to do it.” Smith shut himself down, drained out all of the emotion this girl was capable of bringing up in him so that he could hold the line he’d drawn.

  “I can kill, Smith.” The cold calm in her voice belied the cocky, smartass attitude she usually used with him. A strange, intense expression filled her features and it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  “I believe you, C, but it will be on the next job. Not this one.” He swallowed and raised a hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Now, no more arguing, you got what you wanted from me. I recommend you spend the time I’m gone practicing. Go to the shooting range, train, eat well – and not that terrible food you buy when I’m not here. No fried stuff, and no harassing Bill for drinks at the bar.”

  “Fine, I don’t need to go to Bill’s bar. I’ll get a drink somewhere else.”

  “I don’t want you doing anything with anyone for a drink. Not even flirting.” The mere idea of it turned his stomach, and she leveled her crystal blue gaze at him.

  “Alright, that’s fine. I’m twenty-one, leave me some extra cash and I’ll -”

  “Don’t insult me, C.” Smith forced himself to turn away from her, because while he’d never pushed the subject with her, he knew she wasn’t twenty-one. Hell, he worried sometimes that she wasn’t even eighteen yet. Her cheeks still had the rounded edges of youth, and even though she filled out her clothes in all the right ways, he had sworn before she’d even climbed in his car on that first night that he wouldn’t be another monster taking advantage of her. The johns she’d dealt with before she’d stumbled into Bill’s bar hadn’t cared, but he did. He wouldn’t prey on her. He was making her strong, making her someone that wouldn’t have to worry about defending herself. She’d be a weapon, and then she’d be free to go anywhere.

  To do anything.

  To be anyone.

  “So, when do you leave?” C’s voice was quiet behind him, and he had to swallow before he could speak, keeping his eyes trained on the steadily growing winter light from the windows.

  “In a couple of hours. It will only be a day or two.”

  “Fine, but I’m in on the next job. I’ll be ready.”

  “Good.” He shook off their discussion and turned around to find her sitting on the edge of her bed again. “I’ll get dressed and then we’ll go get breakfast.”

  “Sure thing, Smith.”

  He paused, because he wanted to say things that he couldn’t force past his lips. He wanted to tell her how impressed he was with her, with how far she’d come in just six
months. Wanted to tell her that he believed in her, and that he was proud of her. Give her a hug that asked for nothing in return.

  But that would cross a line, it would change things, and he couldn’t do that.

  Couldn’t make himself a liability to her, or vice versa.

  No, instead they would go eat breakfast and he’d choose a neutral topic of conversation. He’d leave her enough cash to last a few days, and then he’d make a call while he was driving to see about a job to take her on. One that wasn’t risky. Something easy.

  And then he’d be there when she took her first life, and be there to catch her if she needed it, and release her to the normal world if she wanted it.

  Even if it meant she would leave him.

  Chapter Four

  There were plenty of people on the sidewalk, shoving past each other, shoulders bent forward against the wind and the cold. January in New York City could be brutal, and with the snow from the night before piled in filthy hills on the edges of the cleared paths there was even less room for people to mill about. Tucked against a street lamp, Camille ignored the cold, ignored the loud traffic and the bustling population – and focused across the street.

  Joe Wilson.

  He was bent over the engine of a car, the hood raised above his head, and for a moment she imagined slamming it down on him over and over and over. Hearing him scream, listening to him beg for mercy, beg her to stop, but she had to wait.

  Not yet. Always observe first. Know the surroundings.

  The blue coveralls he wore were faded and even from across the street she could see the dark patches where oil and grease had stained them beyond repair over time. Six months and he was still in the same place, as if he’d been waiting for her.

  Only now she had more than just her knife, and she wasn’t the weak girl he had known who had stalked him in those early days after she’d escaped. No, now she had a gun, she had bullets, and she had training. Keeping her hand inside her coat pocket she aimed her finger at him from across the road, breathed in and out, and – “Boom,” she whispered, imagining the bullet tearing through his chest. She’d aim for a lung to give her enough time to stand over him, enough time for him to see her face like Steve had as he bled out. Enough time to realize who had killed him and why.