Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

I place the plastic box next to her, then walk around the island to get the damn phone from my suit jacket. The blasted thing is still ringing, and the screen shows Kruger’s name.

“What?” I ask and lodge the phone between my shoulder and my ear to keep my hands free.

“I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes.”

“I’ve noticed. What’s the urgency?”

“There’s been a change of plan. Where are you?”

“Not your fucking problem. I’ll call you in half an hour.”

I throw the phone onto the counter and inspect my work. “Is that too tight?”

“It’s fine. You seem to have more skill than I do.” She drags the tips of her fingers down my bare chest. “I must insist you treat me wearing this exact outfit next time, as well.”

“There better not be a next time.” I trail my hands along her thighs and up her delicate ribcage, still finding it hard to believe that I finally have her.

“You have to leave?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath. It goes against every instinct I have, but this time, I’ll tell her everything. “It’s work. I have to head to Mexico.”

“You’re wounded.”

“That doesn’t change anything. I still need to go.”

“When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. It shouldn’t take longer than a week.”

“Please take care.” She cups my cheek with her palm. “And, come back to me.”

I don’t remember if anyone has ever asked me to take care, even when I was a kid. I don’t recall much of my early childhood, but I doubt I would have forgotten that. The worry and concern clearly visible in Nera’s eyes gut me. Is this how it feels to have someone to call my own? Someone who actually cares if I live or die, beyond the fact that my death would mean the loss of an asset? For the first time in my life, I feel like an actual person and not just a scrap shaped to resemble one.

“Nothing on this earth would stop me from coming back to you, my tiger cub.” I slam my mouth to hers. “I promise.”

* * *

I press the phone to my ear and exit Nera’s building. “I’m listening.”

“You said you’ll call back in half an hour!” Kruger barks. “It’s been almost two.”

I smirk. “I had more important things to do. What do you want?”

“We’re moving the Mexican job to a later date. Another contract just came up, and it must be executed tonight.”

“Specifics?”

“Long-range weapon is required. I’m sending you the details. No deviations on this one, Kai.”

“Noted. Oh, and one more thing. You need to assign the Mexican job to someone else.”

“Why?”

“Because tonight’s hit will be my last. I quit.”

I cut the line and slide behind the wheel, then open the email from Kruger with the job specifics. Usually, the files include both the headshots from the target’s ID documents and the photos Kruger’s surveillance team have gathered. Considering this job came up on short notice, there are no surveillance images or the target’s daily routines noted within the email. The only information provided is the time window of two hours when the hit is to be made and a short bio with the identification photos.

I skip the target’s particulars like name and occupation, which do not interest me whatsoever, and pause on the included headshots. A man in his midfifties—swiped back, light-brown hair, peppered with gray at the temples. He’s wearing a suit and tie in each picture and has a serious air about him. Probably a business mogul who managed to step on the wrong toes. Seems more than likely considering the contract amount of three million, with a bonus of half a million if the execution is done with one bullet to the forehead.