Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,26
he’d put on that pretentious-ass suit. And hell, with all the booby traps in his overpriced lair, it was like he’d been waiting for something like this to happen. He’d probably been gleefully looking forward to it.
Fuck. I should’ve just ditched his ass and gotten the hell out of here.
He’d be well out of town by now if he’d done that, minus the wet shirt and ringing ears. But no, his goddamned conscience hadn’t been able to leave this insufferable James Bond wannabe in the rearview where he belonged.
Tapping his thumbs irritably on the wheel, he glanced at August, who had produced a pair of undoubtedly expensive name-brand sunglasses from somewhere and added them to his ensemble. “All right, I have to know. Is installing booby traps a hobby or some shit?”
August laughed. “You really want to look that gift horse in the mouth? My security systems are the reason—”
“That is not a security system.” Ricardo thumped the wheel emphatically. “That’s the kind of shit someone dreams up after dropping acid and watching The Maze Runner. I mean, everyone has to have a hobby, but I think you’re putting the doomsday preppers to shame with your—”
“Hey.” August’s tone was sharp and absolutely devoid of humor. “Make all the jokes you want. We’d still be trying to shoot our way out if—”
“We wouldn’t have had to shoot anyone if you’d gotten your ass in gear so we could go instead of preening in front of a mirror, for fuck’s sake.” Ricardo rolled his eyes. “You’re just lucky all that extra bullshit you installed actually worked. Tell me, what the fuck would you have done if one of those trap doors had stuck? Or if—”
“I triple-checked everything so it wouldn’t fail.”
“Anything can happen. Your damn gun could’ve jammed. We could have—”
“You could have shut your fucking mouth and not argued with me at every turn,” August growled, and the fury in his tone snapped Ricardo’s teeth shut. He wasn’t done yet, either, and it wasn’t just the anger that kept Ricardo quiet—it was the hint of an unsteady edge to August’s voice: “Listen, asshole, it seemed over the top and crazy to you, but all that shit is the reason I’ve been able to sleep in that house. Unless you know what it’s like to be trapped somewhere with no idea how to get out and a healthy regard for just how willing the person keeping you is to kill you, how about you keep your opinions to your goddamned self?”
Ricardo swallowed. He’d been annoyed, and it hadn’t occurred to him that he might not be the only one who’d snagged on some psychological trip wires today. And now that he thought about it, it made sense—he knew nothing about August’s past aside from his privileged upbringing, but well-adjusted people with uneventful histories didn’t become guns for hire or turn their homes into something out of a funhouse horror movie.
Tense silence hung between them for several miles. August stared out the window. Ricardo kept his attention fixed on the road, stealing the odd glance at his fuming passenger.
He’d fucked up, and he knew it. Problem was, he’d never been good at smoothing over shit like this. Relationships of any kind had always been a struggle for him—the few people he was close to in the world were infinitely patient types who understood that he was a lot better at being a soldier than he was at… well, at anything, but especially communicating. There was a reason he generally preferred acquaintances and one night stands over friends and partners.
A lifetime ago, he’d been married, but that hadn’t lasted. They’d both sucked at being married, especially Ricardo, but then she’d accused him of cheating. In divorce court, she offered up no concrete evidence except that he was gone all the time, had two cell phones, and frequently acted evasive. The private investigator she’d hired saw him engaged in shady shit, but couldn’t confirm adultery was happening. The judge told her that wasn’t enough to qualify as proof of cheating, but that it did raise questions about what he was doing in his spare time. Ricardo had shrugged and casually lied, admitting that she was right, he was cheating, and he was just really good at covering his tracks. He was still paying her alimony to this day, and she still thought he was a cheating son of a bitch, but at least the judge and the PI weren’t sniffing around anymore.
That was a somewhat