Chapter 1
Liam
“This is the worst fucking idea,” Hollis grumbles as he leans down and sweeps sand off his cast for the hundredth time since we met up today.
“This was your idea,” Nash reminds him.
“Still a bad fucking idea,” Hollis says. “I’m never going to get this shit out of my cast.”
I keep my eyes on the ocean. South Padre is where I called home. Well, at least that's what the guys sitting beside me think. No one knows where I really live, and I’d never give that information up.
I would consider these guys friends, but only on the surface. They’re fake friends, if you will. Social interaction is a requirement in order to look normal.
I’m anything but normal. The guys sitting beside me are anything but normal.
We're all just keeping up appearances, being who those around us expect us to be. I’m sure my blond hair and tanned skin give off a surfer vibe because that’s the goal. The truth is, I can look like anyone I want, anyone I need to be, for whatever occasion I may encounter.
“Why won't you tell us about him?” Nash asks.
I don't even have to speculate on who he's referring to.
Angel Guerra.
The man is our boss. Not that Hollis and Nash have met him.
They haven’t, and I think that pisses them off a little.
I don’t know how I got an actual meeting with the man, but it was brief, lasting only a few minutes. The only reason I think he ever gave me the time of day after that meeting is because of what we have in common.
We don't work a regular nine-to-five job. What we do is dangerous.
Many would look at our profession and think that we're saviors, heroes.
But we're not.
I can't count how many times someone has looked up at me from a dirty floor after months of abuse, like I was Jesus walking the earth.
Taking time out of my life to make sure that others are safe isn’t why I do what I do, but I don't correct them.
That's not what they need at the time.
They don't need to be told that I'm there for a paycheck.
That I wouldn't bat an eye if I showed up in front of them, and they were dead.
I don't tell them that I would just walk away a little disappointed that I wasn't getting paid, but not heartbroken.
I don't internalize the bad jobs. We all have shitty days at work. It just so happens that my shitty days usually end up with someone dead.
Hell, I don't even celebrate the good jobs.
Work is just work.
“We all work for him,” Hollis says. “There's no reason you can't tell us what you know.”
Nash grunts his agreement.
“He's dangerous,” I tell them not for the first time. “Just do your damn jobs and leave the rest alone.”