I hauled the bag out, throwing it half over my shoulder, reaching for my key in a side pocket.
That was when I saw him.
The neighbor guy.
The one who ran-stalked me.
The one with the sexy face and even sexier accent.
Adler.
A Henchmen.
I'd clocked him before he had ever laid an eye on me, pulling into a spot beside the building on that bike of his, his leather jacket bearing the unmistakable Henchmen logo on the back.
I'd noticed him too.
Not as a person curious about their neighbors, but as a woman who hadn't been laid in, ugh, seven months.
He was hot, there was no mistaking that.
In that 'what the fuck are you' kind of way. With those indistinguishable characteristics. Eastern European? South American? Both? Neither? It was impossible to tell. All I did know was he was tall, and a lean type of strong, wide of shoulder, thick of thigh and arm, suggesting that his back and stomach would be equally as graced with the etches of muscles. I'd bet a grand that he had those damn Adonis lines too, that delicious deep V that was like a lighthouse on the coast, guiding you home.
Christ.
I was starting to think of some random dude's cock as home.
I needed to get laid.
After I changed out my clothes, checked on my apartment, took a quick shower, and got back on the road again.
To God-knew-where.
That was the good and bad thing about Geoff. He was just popular enough to get the good files and just shady enough to employ me under the table.
Can't have a loose cannon like you on the books. I'd lose my license.
And that was fair enough.
I didn't exactly play by the rules or laws.
But it also meant he gave me the good ones. The runners who were dangerous, or who had contacts all over the country.
So while it did happen, it was rare a job would just take me a day or two, a few hours drive, and some legwork.
Usually, I was driving out to Bumfuck, Nowhere, spending all my time leaning on people for a week or so before I finally found the mark. Then there was the inevitable tussle leaving me roughed up and sore before I handed him off to Geoff who handed him off to the cops. Then I got paid, and could finally go home to nurse my wounds, take a few days or weeks off, get just enough time to myself to remember why I put up with the few-weeks-on, a few-weeks-off type of schedule.
I threw my phone on the charger on my kitchen counter, not bothering to check the message because as soon as I did, I knew I would be back in work-mode, and I wanted to at least get through my shower without wondering what weapons to bring with me and how to conceal them if I was crossing state lines. I mean, not that they were legal in this state either, but the sentences increased when you broke the law in five states in a row.
And I couldn't go to jail.
At least not until I finished what I had set out to do when I was hardly more than a child.
If I ended up in a cage because of that, well, that was a fate I was willing to face. By the time I showered, ran a brush through my hair, and changed into jeans and a long-sleeved tee, my phone was screaming.
Geoff was getting impatient.
Which could only mean one thing.
Someone skipped town on a big bond.
If he or she wasn't tracked down, Geoff would be on the line to pay it all.
And Geoff, amongst a plethora of other bad qualities, was one of the cheapest men I had ever met. He didn't pay for a two-dollar coffee if he could help it, let alone eat a big bail, and the collateral offered was too hard to liquidate.
"Christ, Geoff, can't a woman get a shower?" I snapped before I even had the phone to my ear, reaching for a coffee pod, sticking it in the machine, taking a deep breath when the liquid life force started filling a cup.
"I'm not paying you to take two-hour showers, Lou."
"You're talking like I'm on salary," I said, reaching for sugar to slip into my cup before taking a sip of the too-hot liquid, knowing I would burn my tongue, but too impatient to care. "My time is my time," I added, knowing Geoff was the kind of person who frequently needed to be reminded of his place. A bully could only be a bully if you didn't stand up and put them in their place. My standing up had once involved slamming his hand down on his desk and placing a knife against his wrist, informing him that if it touched my ass again, I'd cut it the fuck off. And, what's more, I meant it. And he knew I meant it. And never came within a foot of my person again. He had gotten so used to bossing the girls in his office around that he needed to be reminded that I was not his employee. Not in that way anyway. We worked on a contract basis, and only if I felt like it. When I didn't, he was free to get off his lazy ass to do it himself.