Page 10 of Dirty Hit
His mouth curves faintly, not a smile exactly, more an acknowledgment. “And now?”
“Now he’s a problem you’re going to help me erase,” I say calmly. “How’s Savannah?”
“Unmedicated and making my life difficult, as a little sister should,” he says, pretending to look annoyed, but I can see the fondness there. It makes me think about my own sister. “Chop chop, show me your mess.”
“Fuck off,” I say as he walks past me toward the cottage without hesitation, and I open the door and let him in. The metallic smell is still faint in the air, though I’ve done what I can. He walks over to the body and crouches beside it, checking the seal, the edges, and the floor around the plastic covering.
“Efficient as always,” he murmurs.
“Don’t flatter me,” I say. “Just get it done.”
Seth stands and looks toward the dining room where Brendon is sitting, and his gaze lingers for half a second longer than necessary.
“Visitor?” he asks lightly.
“He’s a tutor,” I say, and I don’t bother lowering my voice because Brendon can hear whatever he wants. It won’t change a damn thing.
Seth’s brow lifts again. “You schedule your extracurriculars around academic appointments now?”
“I forgot he was coming,” I say, irritation threading through my voice.
Seth studies me with a raised eyebrow. I step closer to him and angle my body, blocking his line of sight to Brendon out of instinct. What’s mine stays mine, even if I haven’t claimed it out loud yet.
He hums as he slips his gloves on, and I give him a look that would make most people back off, but Seth just smiles.
“He’s not going to be a problem,” I say, even though he absolutely could be a problem if he stops being obedient and starts being smart.
“You sure? He looks the type to pray the police into existence.”
“He’s the type who can’t say no,” I say, and that feels true the moment it leaves my mouth. It feels like a fact. Brendon Lane is a good boy because he’s trained himself into one, and training runs deep. “He’s staying quiet.”
Seth’s eyes glint. “And if he doesn’t?”
My smile is thin. “Then he’ll be next.”
“Right then,” he nods. “Let’s get this finished.”
Within minutes, the living room looks like a living room again—minus the one stubborn stain near the baseboard that I’ll deal with later. Seth takes what he came for, moving like a shadow, and when we’re at the back door, he pauses long enough to glance toward the dining room one more time.
“He’s pretty,” he says, like he’s commenting on the weather. “You collecting strays now, mate?”
I step closer until my shoulder brushes his, a subtle warning. “He’s mine,” I say, and the words are quiet but absolute.
Seth lets out a low laugh. “You Americans get territorial so fast.”
“Fuck off,” I reply, and it almost sounds like a joke, except it isn’t.
“Careful. Curiosity makes people sloppy,” he warns.
“I’m not sloppy.”
“No,” he agrees. “You’re not. That’s why I’m still answering your calls.”
“Get the fuck off my property, Seth,” I retort.
He lifts two fingers in a lazy salute, gone as quickly as he arrived, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of cigarette smoke and that unsettling sense of competence he carries around.
When the door clicks shut, I go to the kitchen to wash my hands again, scrubbing until my skin feels tight. Then, I grab a clean shirt from the hallway closet, because I’m not sitting across from Brendon Lane in blood-streaked sleeves. I’m notgiving him that image to hold onto. I want him to be confused and doubting himself. I want him to question whether what he saw was real, even when he knows it was.
