Killer Crush - Ella Goode Page 0,3

lunch the next time I see him.” She smirks. I finish chewing the rest of my burger. “I think he’s playing hard to get or something. He’ll be blowing up my phone next week.” She rolls her eyes.

She isn’t wrong. Men are always blowing up her phone. Yet I never notice her going out with any of them. She flirts and moves on to the next. I think she likes the chase or something. She gets as bored with them as she does with everything else. Still, the idea of him blowing up her phone has me abandoning the rest of my cheeseburger.

“I gotta get to class.”

“I’ll finish this.” She pushes the sandwich tray out of her way, pulling mine over to her. “Don’t forget you promised me you’d go to the Delta Kai party with me tonight.”

“I have no idea what a Delta Kai is and I speak three languages.”

Trin bursts into laughter. “Frat party.”

I groan, grabbing my bag.

“Lots of cute boys.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

Good. Maybe she’ll find a new target and give up on Clark Kent. Damn it. I think I’m the one who needs to stop thinking about him. He is a jerk. I don’t date or like jerks I remind myself. I don’t date anyone.

“You promised.”

“I’ll go.” I give her a wave goodbye as I dart out of the building through all the people, heading for my next class. I should go to that party. It’ll be a chance for me to get out there. To do new things and have some fun for once. It isn’t going to kill me.

Chapter Three

Daman

“When are you going to be done playing around at that college thing and get your ass back to work for me?” barks Mr. Van. It’s not his real name. I label all my hires alphabetically. He wasn’t my first, but I’ve done repeat business with him. He pays well and most of the hits are ones that I would’ve done for free—gun runners and mercenaries with the occasional accountant who tried to run off with his money.

I bite off a piece of electrical tape and wrap the strip around the bare wire. The mic and camera need a source of power so I almost always place my listening devices inside the lamp fixture.

“The course catalog says it’s going to take at least three years.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” my old client screeches into my earpiece.

I wince but I can’t take the headpiece off because I’ve got my perimeter warning alert hooked to it. If someone should walk down the hall toward this apartment, I’ll get notified in time to get out of here.

“No. I’m not.” I climb down off the chair and dust my footprints off. “I told you I’m done with that kind of work.”

“Ha ha. Right. Sell me another bridge in Brooklyn. I’ve got seven cool ones ready to drop into your account. All you need to do is take care of one pesky little problem.”

“Hit up the want ads. I’ve retired.”

“You’re fucking twenty-five. You couldn’t have retired. If you were fifty-five, you couldn’t retire. It’s part of your makeup. When you walk down the street, you probably calculate how many of them you can pop off before someone even realizes a shot’s been fired.”

I open my mouth to deny it but the toolbag at my feet stares at me in silent accusation. I kick the dumb thing shut. “Gotta go. My professor is calling on me.”

“Are you in motherfucking class—”

He might have said more but I hang up on him so I don’t have to hear it.

“I’m not killing anyone,” I say to my bag. “I’m just doing...some background work.”

The thing you need the most as an assassin isn’t good aim or an encyclopedic knowledge of poisons. No. It’s the ability to research. You have to get your mark in the right spot and then anyone with a scope and a long gun can take him out. In order to do that, you have to know your target like you know a lover.

Before I kill anyone, I’ve stalked them for days. I know when they get up, who they’re sleeping with, where they drop off their dry cleaning. And most make it easy for me because people are creatures of habit. They go to work at the same time, eat at the same places, and then return home. Some go running before they work. Some walk their dog after dinner. But, generally, they all do it at the same time.