Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

The voice on the other end of the line is male, raspy, and
heavily accented. Max has been a two-pack-a-day smoker for
as long as I’ve known him, and it shows in both his voice and
his face. His teeth aren’t so pretty, either.
“Yes.”
With that one word, I’ve told the most dangerous lie of my
life. Max has had men killed for far less.
I should know. I’ve been the one who pulled the trigger.
He grunts. “Good. I don’t like loose ends. She know
anything?”
“No. She knew nothing. She would’ve told me if she did.”
His chuckle is low and mirthless. “That’s why I sent you
for the job. Everybody talks when you’re the one asking
questions.”
It’s true. I’m the best in the business.
Usually, that kind of compliment would give me a certain
sense of satisfaction, if not outright pride. Today, however, it
makes me depressed.
I don’t have to wonder why. I know the reason.
That reason has raven-black hair and full red lips and eyes
the color of a stormy sea, blue-gray and moody. That reason is
sweet and funny and sharp and sexy. And honest. And brave.
And a hell of a lot tougher than she thinks.
From the first time I saw her, that reason kicked me right
in the guts. Or made me feel like it, anyway.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel something. It’s been a long time since
someone did. I wasn’t sure I could anymore.”
Those ten seconds of conversation have affected me more
than anything else in years. Decades. It’s burned into my brain.
My ears. My heart.