Chapter 7

 

 

“Fuuuuck,” I swore as Dean’s grey Ford Fiesta swerved so fast my head spun, and not in a fun way this time. This was no exhilarating rollercoaster ride, but a dangerous accident that could kill me. Or him.

My growl increased in volume, rage making me tremble at the threat to his life, and I only stopped growling when a louder, fiercer snarl cut me off, pressing me into silence and submission. It made the car eerily still as the bumper crumpled into the solid stone wall of a barn beside the road, the sound of it horrid. I was thrown forward so hard my head whipped on my neck and the seatbelt bruised a cruel line on my chest. [32]

“Baby?” Dean asked when the car stopped crumpling, a big hand landing on my arm as my brain rattled inside my skull.

“Mnh,” I replied. Which was a word. I’d just invented it. “B…”

“Rebel?” Dean demanded, punching the air bag out of his face as he twisted towards me, catching my face in both his hands. “What are you trying to say, baby?”

“Buh…”

He brushed messy pink hair from my face, his whiskey eyes frantic and murderous. “Take your time, it’s alright. I’ll go out there and kill that bastard later.”

My heart skipped a beat at his protectiveness and care. I’d known he had feelings for me, but I heard love in his gentle words, felt it in his adoring caresses. “Butter…”

“That fucking dog,” he huffed, but I didn’t miss the relief that softened his features. “She’s fine. Hasn’t moved a damn inch, but she looks slightly more awake now.”

I sagged in relief that my new pooch was safe. But someone had tried to kill us. Again. I was getting sick of this happening to me, but at least the anger helped me haul myself out of the shock.

I caught Dean’s arm, squeezing tight. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, babygirl,” he replied. “It wasn’t my side they hit,” he added, his voice dropping a few octaves.

“Oh good,” I breathed, scrubbing my other hand down my face to scrape off my shakiness. “It’s just me they’re trying to kill.”

Yipee for fucking me. Wasn’t I just the luckiest hitlady ever?

“Stay here,” Dean commanded, and dipped close for a quick kiss that made my soul ache. “I’ll take care of them.”

“Like hell you will,” I fired back, ignoring the way my head still spun. “Butterscotch can stay here. I’m coming with you.”

“You think I care about the damn—” He raked a hand through his silver hair, dragging it out of the ponytail it had been in for hours. “Fine, but you stay behind me,” he bit out.

I made a show of looking around myself, searching the back seat and the wrecked, crumpled bonnet.

“What?” he snapped.

“Just seeing if I can find the shrinking wallflower violet you’re mated to, because it definitely can’t be me you’re telling to stay behind you.”

“Now you’re just mixing your phrases,” he muttered, clearly at his wits end.

I blew out a breath, trying to be the calm, rational one for once. “I’ll stay at your side, and not run off and do something reckless without you. Final offer.”

He must have appreciated my attempt at compromise because affection swirled among the panic and rage in his eyes. “Deal. But you climb out my side; yours is a fucking mess.”

I carefully extracted my legs from the dented mess of the footwell, wondering how lucky I was to be in one piece.

“What the hell is that?” Dean growled, so sudden and loud, my wolf whimpered. He took a knife from his pocket and slashed both airbags with an angry arc, and I peered through the spiderweb of cracks at the dark country lane ahead of us.

And the black-clad, compact figure stalking toward us with a bazooka propped on their shoulder.

“Oh, holy kittens,” I breathed, staring as they marched closer, every movement like a deadly lightning strike. “Wait a damn minute… I know that bazooka!”

“Rebel!” Dean roared as I scrambled out of the front seat and into the back, fumbling the roof window open and throwing my torso through it.

The fresh air helped clear my dizziness, so the world didn’t spin when I waved my arms to get the attention of the bazooka-wielding maniac. Sharp wind dragged at my pink hair and made a dozen tiny cuts I hadn’t noticed sting all of a sudden. Ugh, I hated being injured.

The bazooka-wielding maniac paused, his steps stuttering, and the huge projectile wavered on his shoulder.

“It’s me!” I shouted, pointing dramatically at myself like my arm was a neon pink arrow. “Remember me?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I heard him mutter, which proved he did in fact remember me. And then he groaned louder, “ You’re Rebel Falcon?”

“The one and only!” I shouted back, cheerful at this turn of events. Shame he was a rival and we’d never liked each other. But I was sure we could come to some understanding. Hitmen just didn’t kill their fellow hitfolks—it wasn’t done. Unless you hated them, envied them, or they were in your way…

Ah, this might not end so well, after all.

I jumped as the car door slammed open below me. Nope. Dean kicked it entirely off its hinges in a show of power and violence, and the thing went skittering across the road, sparks flying off the grey metal.

“Ooooooh,” I cried. “Pretty!”

“That’s definitely Graves,” I heard the bazooka-wielding maniac sigh to himself, and he finally lowered the crazy weapon.

“Farrell!” I called cheerfully, hauling myself the rest of the way onto the wrecked car roof and swinging my legs over the side like I sat at the side of a pool, having a nice, carefree day. Instead my night was full of attempted murder—and not the fun kind. The attempted on me kind. Which was just rude, honestly.

It was only fun when I did it.

“How’s the boyfriend?”

“He still hates you,” Farrell replied, stalking closer—and pausing as Dean placed himself on the road beneath me with a fearsome growl that made me equal parts scared and turned on.

“What the fuck is happening?” Dean demanded, his growl pitched low and just for me.

“He’s part of the butchery brigade. The slaughter squad. The killer clique. The murder club.”

“The last two don’t even alliterate,” Dean remarked, his body puffed up and bristling as Farrell walked closer, eyeing me warily as I swung my legs and waved at him. That was rude; I was only being social and friendly. [33] “So he’s a killer.”

“Pot, kettle, my dear Straw Man,” I said quietly, making sure Farrell didn’t hear us. I didn’t know Farrell’s real name, but I knew for a fact he’d named himself after Colin, the world’s hottest Farrell.

“Will he attack us now he knows it’s you?” Dean went on, ignoring me.

“Hard to say,” I replied, still waving and giving Farrell a big smile. If he tried to hurt my Dean, I’d throw myself onto his back and strangle him. Or maybe I’d jump and stab at the same time. I was keeping my options open. “Stay alert, just in case.”

Dean nodded subtly, keeping his knife in hand as Farrell halted a few steps away. Also not letting go of his bazooka, I noticed. Oh please don’t let him fire that thing. It would hurt like a bitch. And probably kill me. I was very against dying—it was starting to annoy me how determined people were to murder me.

“He definitely does not hate me,” I replied to Farrell as if Dean and I hadn’t just had a secret conflab. “He loves me, he’s just scared to show it.”

Farrell rolled his eyes, his face coming into focus now he was closer. He was absolutely devastating, like a faerie come to life, all sharp angles and feminine beauty, his hair long and blonde but tied back under his dark hood. [34]

I watched Dean blink, Farrell clearly not what he was expecting of a hitman. Moron. Everyone knew the deadliest ones were the ones you didn’t expect.

“No, Julius definitely hates you,” Farrell argued, watching every minute movement I made. “And apparently it’s mutual since you haven’t hired him on any jobs in weeks.”

I threw my hands up, making him tense, and shot a dark look at Dean. “I haven’t had time for fun murdery jobs,” I sighed, pouting. “This grump made me go to a bad girls' school  because I’m ‘a danger to society.’Apparently.”

“Society thanks you,” Farrell said dryly to Dean, a smirk on his beautiful face.

“Sooo…” I said, twirling one of my braids around my finger. “Since we’re both in the same awesome line of work and all, I was hoping you could walk away without killing me.”

Farrell paused to contemplate it, tilting his head to one side.

“I’ll pay whatever your client paid you. Honestly, it’ll be such an effort if we have to fight to the death. You’ll probably pull my hair, and I’ll have to knock your teeth out.” Dean stiffened, shooting me a quelling look, but I wasn’t done. “And then , you’ll try to bazooka me, and I’ll end up stabbing you somewhere Julius definitely won’t thank me for.”

“That does sound like a lot of faff,” Farrell agreed, proving there was a hitfolk code.

I braced myself for heartbreak and deep, soul-crushing offense. “Go on, then,” I sighed. “How much am I worth?”

“Seven grand.”

“Seven—that bitch or bastard!” I jumped off the car, landing nimbly on my feet now my dizziness had receded, violence in every line of my body as I curled my hands into fists. “Seven thousand pounds? I’m worth triple that! Do you know how many kills I’ve had in the last five years?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Farrell muttered, “A lot.”

“Forty-seven,” Dean corrected.

I turned to give my Straw Man heart-eyes, my bottom lip wobbling. Trusting him to handle Farrell if he even thought about attacking while my back was turned.

“You counted them?” I breathed, close to tears at how sweet he was. This was the killer equivalent of a boyfriend remembering how you like your coffee, your eggs, and your favourite boyband all at once. Naturally, I’d memorised all the details of his kills, but knowing it was mutual…

My heart turned to gooey mush.

“Disgusting,” Farrell muttered, his lip curled up as if he and Julius didn’t get syrupy sweet when they teamed up for a murder-clean. I knew they did. I’d seen it. It was all longing gazes and lingering touches and loving whispers in each other’s ears.

I stuck my tongue out at him, cuddling my Dean because I loved him and the danger had mostly passed. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to get home and cuddle up to my other mates, too. I missed my Slasher and Hugh. And … ugh, that other one.

I’d have to talk to him. Eventually.

At least the idea didn’t send me completely off the deep end anymore. The kill worked wonders for restoring some of my mental stability. [35]

I fished my phone out of my back pocket and turned it on, honestly relieved it had made it out of the crash unscathed. Thank kittens for my booty protecting it. “Transfering money into Julius’s account now. You can get it from him.”

“What … is that? ” Farrell asked suddenly, a breathy note in his voice. “Is that a German Spitz?”

“No,” I growled at the same time Dean said, “Take him, we don’t want him.”

“Butterscotch, no! ” I cried, shoving away from my Sexy Sir in a tantrum. And she was a she!

“Cute name,” Farrell remarked, a smile on his elfin face as he came closer, giving us a wide berth as he peered into the back seat. “Hello, sweet boy.”

“Girl,” I corrected in a hiss.

“Hello, sweet girl,” Farrell said without missing a beat. And damn her, Butterscotch lifted her head off her paws and gazed lovingly at him through the car window. My scowl grew into a pout, a pang in my heart as I realised I just lost my dog.

“I won’t kill you if I can keep Butterscotch,” Farrell predictably said.

“This is your fault,” I fired at Dean, and then, “Fine, she’s yours. But we get to take your car.”

Farrell shrugged, not giving a shit.

“We’ll have to tow the Fiesta,” Dean said quietly to me. “We can’t report a crash this close to the farm, we could get linked to the crime.”

At his anxiety, I swallowed my hurt and wrapped my hand around his arm, snuggling close. “Then we’ll tow it. Nice seeing you, Farrell,” I added as the hitman shouldered his bazooka and opened the backseat of Dean’s wrecked car, scooping up the fluffy beige dog.

Not. Fucking. Fair. I wanted a cute, squishy pet.

I pouted as he held Butterscotch close and took off up the road. He paused a few steps away and said, “Oh, and Rebel? Watch your back—it was an open hit.”

I hissed five curses rolled into one as Farrell kept walking, my shoulders shooting up by my ears.

“What, exactly, does that mean?” Dean asked in a scary voice, his hand settling on my waist as he sensed my anxiety.

“It means he wasn’t hired—the job’s been posted for anyone to take. There’s a bounty on my head, and every hitperson in the country is going to try to kill me.”