Page 36 of Fall onto me
A scoff escapes him, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “The fuck you are.”
I pull off the covers, fully dressed. “Yes, the fuck I am.”
“You’re not putting yourself in danger.”
I feign a yawn. “I’m growing quite bored here, and I’m sick of worrying about whatever it is you’re doing.”
He runs an annoyed hand down his face. “Shadow.”
“Ghost,” I respond. “Seriously, it’s not like I’m some secret. The Keeper knows exactly who I am. He probably knows precisely where we are at all times.”
“He’s only mentioned harming me or …” He looks away, shaking his head. “Soph.”
I place my hand on his shoulder. “If he knows about her heart transplant, I can guarantee you he knows about me.”
“You’re not thinking about the legal consequences.”
“Yes, I am. But it’s not something we have to worry about.” I slip onto my tippy toes to kiss his lips. “As long as we don’t get caught.”
* * *
I nervously tapmy palms on my knees. “So, how does this work?”
Foster’s pissed, driving a little too fast down the dark road. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
“Umm.” I rattle my brain for something, anything. “One time I forgot to scan something in my cart and didn’t go back to turn it in?”
He grins, and it’s crooked and dangerous. “You’re not cut out for this part, babe.”
I shrug. He’s trying to talk me out of it. Just like he tried to carry me back inside after I hopped in the passenger seat and refused to leave. “Doesn’t matter if I’m not cut out for it. I’m going to see what you’ve been doing. If you come up missing, I need to know the places to look.”
“We have to go to the harbor to get the job,” he breathes. “Then we do the job.”
“What kind of jobs are they?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond. “Murder?” I whisper.
“Jesus, Sky, I’m not a fucking hitman.” He laughs, but there’s a crack in his timbre. He’s worried, worried that one day they may ask him to be.
The harbor always has the same stench, thick oil and rotting fish. I don’t know if the cops know of all the crime that happens here, but if they do, they probably don’t want to deal with it.
As we creep through the warehouse, I find myself glued to Foster’s side. He’s right, I’m really not cut out for this, but God help me I can’t help that I love this man and that I’ll do anything to protect him.
He’s my family now.
“Don’t speak a word.” He tells me as we pass a plume of thick smoke that I nearly choke on, until we reach the end of the corridor and descend into the last door on the right.
The room is bare, aside from a man who stands next to a table with a small flat screen positioned facing us. I can tell from the man’s demeanor that this isn’t who we’re coming to meet.
I bump my shoulder into Foster’s side. “What is this?”
“It’s how I get my orders,” he drones lazily. This has become his new normal. I note a red blinking light above the screen; we’re being recorded.
The man presses a button, and the TV clicks on. “Oh, there’s two of you. Perfect.” A distorted voice bleeds through the speakers, and I jump back. I feel like I’m in a horror movie, the girl who thought she could handle it.
I take in the scene playing on the television. A black velvet chair sits alone while a figure in the back corner stands. A dim golden light illuminates the back left corner of the room he’s in, but the dimness casts him in a dark, eerie shadow.
The man comes forward and sits, blanketed by shadows, and the inky sight makes my bones shake. “A little helper.” The distortion in his tone sends a chill up my spine.
I tense. “She’s not doing a job, just riding along,” Foster spits, looking nervous.