Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Read online

  She’d been too close to him. It had been too crowded. That was it.

  She just needed more space so she could pull the trigger, more room to breathe. Then she could kill him. He would never touch her again, she’d make sure of that, and then she would be able to banish him from her dreams too.

  Just a change of clothes, a moment to regroup, and she’d go back. She knew just where he’d be this afternoon, and it would give her all the space she needed.

  As soon as the door opened to the hotel room she knew Smith was back. Shit. The air was heavy with humidity from the shower, there was a fresh newspaper on the table, and she could smell his aftershave floating in front of her. Instead of the usual frisson of excitement she felt that he was back, this time she only felt fury.

  She wasn’t done.

  She hadn’t finished.

  “C?” His voice was brighter than usual as he stepped out of the bedroom, naked from the waist up, putting all that carved muscle on display. There were bruises shadowing his skin in places, and she couldn’t tell which ones she’d put there, and which ones might be the result of his job.

  “You’re back,” she said flatly.

  “I am. I thought we could head to lunch, and I could -”

  “I just came back to change. Slipped on some fucking ice.” Tugging at her jeans she moved towards him, shifting sideways to make her way into the bedroom. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I ate earlier.” Liar.

  “Alright, well, I’ll come with you then. I have -”

  “No.” Camille turned on her heel and held her hand out as if she could stop him. “I won’t be long, I just need to take care of some stuff.”

  “C…” his voice held a hint of a question that he left unspoken, and she rolled her eyes and turned away.

  “I’m changing.” Without another word she unbuttoned her jeans and ripped them down, toeing her shoes off as she grabbed for the comfortable yoga pants that were a lot less protection from the frigid temps, but easier to fight in if it came to that. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that he’d stepped into the living room while she took her clothes off, and for once it didn’t bother her that he avoided her. She needed him to, so she could leave to handle Joe before she lost the chance.

  Dropping onto the bed she pulled her shoes back on, and Smith appeared in the doorway. Still half-dressed, still impossibly gorgeous, and still completely uninterested in her. “You slept in my bed last night.”

  The words froze her hands in place, mid-tie with the laces. Camille swallowed and kept her eyes towards the floor. “Uh, yeah. Won’t happen again.”

  “I don’t care that you slept in my bed, I care that you apparently slept in my bed and then threw up in the trash can.” He blew out a breath and ran a hand across his face. “Did you get drunk last night?”

  “Yep. I got fucking plastered, so sue me.” She stood up and faced him. “Mind getting out of my way?”

  “Was it a nightmare?” There was a softness around his jade colored eyes as she met them, and that momentarily hurt worse than the accuracy of his question.

  “Fuck off, Smith,” Camille growled under her breath as she brushed past him, but he caught her by the arm.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, the softness bleeding into his voice. He was too close to her. Those quiet eyes boring holes through her, into her soul, and if she let him look too long he’d see everything. Every gory detail of her past – and then he wouldn’t want her around him.

  Damaged goods.

  “I’m going out.” Jerking her arm away from him she walked backwards towards the door. “You know, just because you show up early doesn’t mean I cancel all my fucking plans. I’ll be back later.”

  “Your plans?” He lifted his eyebrows, a doubting expression.

  “Yeah. My fucking plans.”

  “Cancel them. I want you to stay here. Go get a late lunch with me.” Was that a pleading tone underneath the cold command in his voice? Where the hell had that come from? He stared at her from across the hotel room, a matter of feet that he could cover in a breath if he actually meant to stop her.

  Does he want you? A flicker of hope burned hot for a moment until the memory of her nightmare destroyed it.

  Fuck this. No. You don’t have time for this.

  Joe.

  Joe Wilson was waiting. Waiting for a bullet in the head, or a lung, and maybe a few to his dick, and that was more important than a half-dressed Smith asking her to stay for lunch.

  “We don’t always get what we want,” she muttered and ripped open the door to the room, practically running into the hallway to get away from him. To get some space so she could think. Plan. Prepare.

  This time she wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t freeze. She would kill him.

  It took her longer than she wanted to get back to the area of the city where the auto shop squatted between run down tenement buildings and the bleary New York winter sky. Fortunately, that wasn’t the building she was headed for. It was the abandoned warehouse, half a block down, through the alley on the right.

  She could hear the radio blaring music from outside the door, and it only made her more angry to think of him lounging as he ate his lunch, taking his late afternoon break like any other asshole working a job.

  Taking a deep breath she checked around her for anyone that might have seen her enter the alley, but there was no one. Random people walking by on the street, their collars pulled up against the chilling wind that was biting through the thin cloth of her pants, and none of them were glancing down the alley. None of them wanted to know what was going on. Before she could second-guess herself she tugged at the door and flinched as it screeched, metal on metal.

  Too loud. Move fast.

  Camille ducked inside, out of the cold, and found that the radio seemed to echo off the concrete and the exposed metal beams. What had once been a storage place for some product to be delivered around the city was now long forgotten, and only used as a pit stop for bastards like him during the day and a crash pad for bums and addicts at night.

  Moving silently along the wall, keeping to the dark shadows cast by the high windows, she finally tucked herself behind a metal pillar and saw him. Facing away from her, baseball cap on the floor beside him, sitting in a fold-out chair with his legs crossed. Some kind of sandwich came up to his lips, his head bobbing to the music, and then back down.

  He hadn’t heard the door.

  It was luck, and she knew it, but she wasn’t going to waste it. It was now or never. Her hands were sweating and she wiped them on her pants before she drew out the gun, heavy in her palm. Safety off.

  Shifting around the pillar she pointed it at the back of his head, watching as he casually took another bite of sandwich. Completely unaware of her, unaware of the death just a squeeze of a trigger away.

  “JOE!” She shouted, surprised by the volume of her own voice as he jerked out of the chair and spun on her, surprise etched onto his face. This was what she had needed, she needed him to see her. He needed to know. He hadn’t earned a quick death, a death without knowing. Rage pulsed through her as she stared into his face. “Remember me?”

  “What the fu -” he wobbled on his feet, backpedaling a few steps as he focused on her, and then he laughed. Low and sinister. “Well, well…”

  Camille growled in her throat and ripped the hat off, letting her white blonde hair spill over her shoulders as she tightened her grip on the gun. “You motherfucker, you spineless sack of shit. I’m going to watch you die.”

  “You’re not going to shoot me, little girl.” He grinned, and shook his head slowly. “That’s not why you’re here, you missed me didn’t you?” He took a step forward and then stopped short when Camille adjusted her aim, bracing her stance so she could steady her shaking hands.

  Aim for the lung. Watch him choke on his words as he chokes on his own blood.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

 
“Like you did Steve?” He shrugged, laughter in his voice, his hands dropping onto his hips. “Steve was a drug addict. A total idiot, so I’m not surprised you got the drop on him. But as much as I disliked him, he knew where to find young, tight pussy didn’t he?”

  “SHUT UP!” Camille screamed, wiping her eyes on her hoodie. Was she crying? Fuck. Joe was a blurry mess in front of her, and when she blinked hard she felt the hot streaks sliding over wind-chilled cheeks.

  “You know, I thought I saw you yesterday. That hair.” He groaned, reaching down to grope the bulge at the front of his coveralls. “I always loved having a fistful of that hair when you were on your knees.”

  “Go ahead and think about it, asshole, because it’s going to be the last thought you have.”

  “You’re not going to kill me. You’re going to be a good girl, and get on your knees for me so I can remind you where you belong.”

  “FUCK Y-” The scream was cut short suddenly, a blinding, hot pain lighting up her thigh. Her body collapsed under her, and that was when she saw the pistol in Joe’s hand. Scrambling, Camille reached for the gun a few feet from her. It had dropped from her hand as the bullet had ripped through her leg.

  Shit, there was blood. A lot of blood.

  It was smearing onto the concrete under her as she dragged herself towards the weapon, but Joe rushed forward and kicked it out of reach.

  “Did you really think you could just get a gun and come after me?” He dropped to a knee next to her, grabbing onto her thigh and squeezing hard. Pure agony exploded inside her, arching her off the ground as a scream tore at her throat. Black spots danced in her vision, and then he let go, leaving the throbbing ache behind. She was crying, hard, her breath hiccupping as he ran his hand up her waist. “Fuck, I’ve missed your screams. Listen, you stupid little bitch, I was a fucking cop before that slut and her complaints got me kicked out. I could have shot you dead just now, but I didn’t. I have better plans, and you should be very grateful.”

  “Don’t touch me,” Camille hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Little girls shouldn’t play with guns.” Joe ignored her, grabbing her breast through the hoodie, twisting hard until she arched and cried out in pain again. “Because you know what happens? Bad shit. Bad shit happens to little girls who play with guns, and you’re about to find that out first hand. I’ve got a couple of friends who would love to help me teach you that lesson.”

  There was a buzzing in her ears, and she recognized it from the times Smith had practiced knockout holds on her. Except this time there was no arm across her throat, and Joe was not going to let her tap out. If she didn’t do something she was going to black out, and then Joe Wilson would have her. Rolling her head to the side she could see her gun just behind him, completely out of reach, and the sight of it made a cry break through her lips.

  “Shh, shh. Admit it, you just came back because you wanted me to fuck you again. Wanted my big cock right here…” His hand slid south, under the edge of her yoga pants and the brush of his fingers across her underwear jolted her into action. Fuck no. Never again. She drove the heel of her hand into his nose, snapping his head back, and then twisted her hips to kick him back with her good leg, the excruciating pain as her weight settled over the wound in her thigh made her vision go dark for a moment, but she gasped and lifted herself onto her elbow, dragging herself towards her gun. “The fuck? You fucking cunt! I’m going to -”

  Just as her hand brushed the metal, she heard a shot, and she braced for another impossible pain that would mean she was dead. That her life was over at the hands of one of the men who had ruined it in the first place. Her body instantly ran a check to see where else she’d been hit, but all that came in response was the horrible throbbing in her thigh. Tightening her grip on the gun she rolled to her back again, and raised it to where Joe had been a moment before, but he wasn’t there.

  Propping herself up, she couldn’t process what she saw. Joe, on his back, leg bent at a strange angle half underneath him, with a bullet hole through the center of his forehead. Blood was already pooling underneath him, and her vision shuddered, the edges flickering like a cheap movie reel. “What the fuck -”

  “Jesus Christ, C…” the low voice from behind her made her twist at the waist, aiming her gun behind her, and Smith froze in place, his own gun angled down at his side.

  “Smith?” Her voice cracked as she said it, and he nodded slowly.

  “Yes, it’s me. I need you to lower that gun so I can check on you.” He glanced at the weapon in her hand, the one that was shaking, her knuckles white from how hard she gripped it.

  With more effort than she thought it would take she slowly eased her grip and set it on the floor beside her, before promptly collapsing to the cement.

  “What did you do, C, what on earth did you do…” He slid to the floor beside her, running his hands over her fast until he ran his palm over the bullet hole in her thigh. There was so much concern in his face, something that almost looked like fear, and he looked beautiful. Deadly and beautiful.

  “You killed him.” Why did her voice sound so fucking strange?

  “Of course I killed him! He was - why were you even here, C? What were you doing? This? This was why you couldn’t stay and have lunch? Your plan that you couldn’t cancel was getting shot in a warehouse?” He shook his head and tore his belt free from his jeans. “This is going to hurt, try not to scream.”

  “It already hurts.” Which was true, and she thought it hurt as much as it could, until she felt the belt tighten suddenly and white-hot lightning shot a jagged route through her leg. Smith’s hand clamped down over her mouth, and then his perfect eyes filled her vision, his silent reprimand unnecessary.

  She had screamed. So fucking weak.

  “It’s almost over.” With another sharp jerk, another strike of vicious pain that almost sent her into a blackout, she felt him securing the belt in place – painfully tight. Her teeth were clenched tight against the urge to scream again, a guttural groan escaping instead, and tears were pooling in her eyes as his face appeared above hers. Smith cupped her chin as he captured her gaze. “C, I’m only going to ask you this once. Is this who you wanted the gun for when you came to me? When you wanted to buy the gun at Bill’s?”

  She nodded, and felt the swell of a sob working its way up through her chest, but she bit down on it. Smith had already seen her fail, he’d probably already written her off, but there was no way she was going to break down in front of him. “Yes.”

  “Damn it all,” he growled, and a quiet laugh escaped her, jerking his eyes back to her face.

  “Language, Smith.”

  “Now is not the time, C.” He shook his head and reached into a pocket, pulling out the little cell phone he had, but almost never used. Tapping on the buttons he raised it to his ear and waited, his gaze scanning the room, and her, and Joe, and then the room again. “It’s Smith. I need a pick-up and clean up at…”

  His voice faded as the buzzing in her ears picked up, and she felt a horrible sense of sinking. Black creeping in to overtake her vision, and even with Joe Wilson dead on the floor she felt like he was waiting just on the other side of consciousness to take her into hell with him.

  “C!” Smith’s voice yanked her from the black, his cool palms holding her face in his hands. “Stay with me. I’m going to get you help, I have someone coming, but I need you to stay awake.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words left her lips and a sob escaped with them. “I was so weak, so fucking weak.”

  “This was stupid, not weak. And as soon as you’re patched up we’re talking about this, and reviewing every tiny mistake you made. You think I’ve been training you hard? You have no idea what I’m about to put you through, clearly nothing I’ve taught you has sunk past your irresponsible, ridiculous -”

  “You’re not kicking me out?”

  “Why would I kick you out?” Smith’s face was a mix of anger and concern and raw determination, but she could se
e the flicker of surprise that crossed his uncontrolled expression as he asked the question.

  “Because I failed you.”

  “Failed me? I didn’t send you on this job. No one sent you on this job.” He shook his head and sat down next to her, moving one hand to the belt to add more pressure, which had her hissing air through her teeth. “Either way, this vendetta of yours is over -”

  “Not over,” Camille’s voice slurred as she spoke, and this time the wave of black was going to crush her. She knew it. It was cold, and dark, and it was about to swallow her whole.

  “What do you mean not over? He’s dead! Look!”

  “Others. The others aren’t.” Her head lolled back, and she felt him grab at her, the scent of his aftershave overwhelming the coppery tang of blood in the air, and she knew some of it was hers.

  “Others? C! Tell me what you mean, open your eyes and tell me. Talk to me. They’ll be here in just a few more minutes. C, tell me what you mean by others.” His voice was insistent, demanding, but she was fading.

  “Camille,” she whispered, and then everything went dark.

  Chapter Six

  Consciousness came on slowly, like floating up from the bottom of a deep pool. Cold, then warmer and warmer towards the surface, and then with a gasp of breath she was awake. “Shit…” she groaned as the thump of pain in her thigh reminded her of everything that had happened.

  Joe. The argument. The shot. His threats. Then Smith.

  He’d come for her.

  Her eyes creaked open onto a room that didn’t look like a hotel room. It looked like someone’s home. Pictures of people she didn’t know stacked on top of a dresser, an alarm clock to her left on a table, and on her right an IV stand. Following the winding, clear tube she found the end exactly where she expected it – in her arm.