Anarchy Found (SuperAlpha, #1)(57)

“No,” I say, kissing her mouth. “You said you liked to feel my touch and I want to give you everything you want.”

She smiles, her eyes still closed. “Hmmm. I love you,” she says in a sleepy murmur.

Hold that thought, I think to myself. Hold that thought, gun girl. Because I’m guaranteed to be one long string of disappointments. And even though I love her more than I love myself, I still have a job to do.

She slips back into her dream world where everything is perfect.

I want her there. That’s where she belongs.

But I have work to do. So little by little I inch away and let her go. And an hour later, when she finally rolls over onto her stomach and we break the last of our skin-on-skin contact, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get dressed.

When I’m done I walk down the stairs and find my gloves on the kitchen table where I left them. I pull them on, dimming the light and feeling relief. I didn’t want to show Molly my hands, but it was an act of trust. It helped her believe in me.

I needed that. Tonight of all nights, I needed her to believe in me.

I grab the gun I stuffed under the sofa cushion in Molly’s living room and it connects with the magnetic plates in my hands and gives off a single chirp telling me that Sheila is engaged. I slide it into the waistband of my jeans, slightly relieved that she showed up. I don’t use it much. I don’t have to. I have my own way of killing people. But I like to have it and I like Sheila to be with me.

Sheila wants me to end this madness. She thinks Molly can save me. But she’s got it all wrong. Now is the time to step it up and the person being saved will never be me.

I walk out the front door and click the alarm on my car as I cross the street. When I slip inside, the computer comes to life and Sheila says, “Assignment commencing,” in what might be a weary voice.

Is that considered a human emotion? Weariness? They left a lot off that list if you ask me.

The car starts up and she pulls out, taking control of the vehicle as we head over to the other side of town where a man is about to get a phone call on his cell. We only have a few more on the list, so it’s just about over.

Sheila doesn’t want to help me anymore, but I don’t care. She can stop if she wants, but that won’t stop me. “Better to go down together,” she says through the car’s sound system.

“You got that right,” I say back. And then I take control of the wheel and head over to Atticus Montgomery’s house to watch the final act commence from a front-row seat.





Chapter Thirty-Four - Molly




“Oh, God,” I mumble, my eyes refusing to open.

“Don’t answer it,” Lincoln growls into my neck. “It’s bad news.”

But I have to answer it. I know from the ringtone it’s the station. So I reach over the bed, find my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, and tab the answer button, saying, “Yeah,” with my sleepy voice.

“Jesus f*ck, Masters!” Chief yells. I have to hold the phone away from my ear, that’s how loud he is. “Get your ass into the station. We have crime coming out our ears!”

Beep, beep, beep.

I throw the phone down on the floor and it bounces off my pink chenille rug.

“Who was it?” Lincoln asks.

“As if you didn’t hear.” I chuckle. “But at least it’s not a body, so that’s good. I gotta go to work.”

“Not yet,” he says, squeezing my breasts with both hands.

“When did you put your gloves back on?”

“What?” he asks, biting my neck.

“You didn’t go to sleep with them on.”

“The light distracts me, Molly. I only took them off for you.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling his hard cock pressing against my back. “You’re so sweet.”

“So they say,” he says, sliding his fingers between my legs.

But I wriggle away from him and swing my feet over the side of the bed. “You can stay here for a while if you want. I’ll be gone all day, but if you want to keep sleeping—”

“Sleeping,” he says with a laugh. “I’m f*cking you in the shower right now. Two birds, Molly. I like to kill two birds with each stone.”

“That’s morbid.”

“They say that too. Sweet and morbid go together like Alpha and Omega.”

I let out a soft, “Hmmph,” and get up to go start the shower.

Lincoln follows me, groaning about the time. “It’s four-f*cking-thirty in the morning.”

“Criminals don’t have bank hours, Lincoln. So neither do cops.”

“Fuck them, then.” He grabs my shoulders and squeezes past me in the bathroom, then turns the shower on. “They can all wait until we’re good and goddamned ready to start this day. Dead people don’t care.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You like me that way,” he says with a wink. My eyes drift down to his cock as he fists it in his palm, stroking himself to let me know I’m not getting out of this house without a f*ck. “Now stop talking and get your naked ass in the shower so I can wash your hair.”

Wash my hair. He makes me tingle in the most unexpected ways.

I test the water with my fingertips, but it’s already hot, so I step into the shower and he follows, his fist pumping heartily now. I want to suck him off so bad. I want to make him come down my throat.