“You mean practical.” Tom stood up, ready for an argument.
I sniffed the air. “Smell that?”
“Smell what?”
“That fart scent all your gaslighting is causing.”
He chuckled. “Look, I know it’s not what we discussed—”
“What about the cybersecurity unit?” I darted up to my feet, ready to wring his neck. “Who’s going to open it? We made verbal commitments to clients. You can’t even make a PowerPoint presentation.”
I’d seen this guy wrestling with his phone to find the poop emoji.
“It can wait until we’re done with this job. We need clients on the Hill when we launch,” Tom argued.
“Putting the cart before the horse, are we?” I unbuttoned my cufflinks, rolling my sleeves up my elbows. “We didn’t get the job yet, not to mention the connections.”
“Thorne wants us. You, specifically. Ransom Lockwood. The Robot. No heart, no sentiments, no strings. He knows you’ve dealt with some top secret shit. Knows you saved Prince Pierre several times from life-or-death situations. You have a flawless track record, and you won’t be tempted to screw his daughter’s brains out.”
“You can say that again.”
Ordinary sex bored and frustrated me, and most women were…well, ordinary. I liked it rough, unconventional, and with people who were willing to sign a long dos and don’ts contract. My taste ran on the dark side of the spectrum. Specifically, CNC. Consensual Non-Consent. Rape fantasies, if you would.
My sexual partners liked to be taken by force—and I enjoyed forcing. This type of kind—primal play—was about strength. To be clear, I did not want to rape anybody. I liked the thrill of the chase, the anticipation that came with the danger of pushing our limits and boundaries. All of my partners were consenting, intelligent, and powerful women who shared the same kink.
I enjoyed the sophisticated. The sharp-edged women who, like me, enjoyed playing with their demons.
No part of me craved putting my dick into a vanilla, attention-seeking teenager.
“Thorne will open doors for us.” Tom pressed his lips into a thin line.
“No,” I said flatly.
“You have no choice!” Tom banged his open palm over the table.
“News to me.” I arched an eyebrow. “Watch me leave this conversation, right now.”
I grabbed my phone from my desk and sauntered to the door. Tom snatched my sleeve. “Ran, please.”
Turning around to face him, I drawled, “I said no more teenyboppers. The last one tried to tie me to the bed in the middle of the night and rape me.”
I’d had to break the headboard to loosen the leather belts she’d used. The only reason I hadn’t pressed charges was because her father was the third richest man on planet Earth and I was paid handsomely for my silence.
Tom laughed nervously. “Being handsome is one occupational hazard I wouldn’t mind dealing with.”
“Have you forgotten what happened last time I was in L.A.?” I ground my molars to a point of dust. He didn’t know the entire story, but he knew enough to guess the place wasn’t on my to-visit list.
“A lot of shit went down.” Tom cleared his throat. “But it’s been years. You cannot avoid the city forever.”
Of course I could. Los Angeles had nothing to offer me but pollution, bad Hollywood movies, and overpriced gourmet food.
“You do it.” I stabbed a finger in Tom’s chest.
“I would. In a heartbeat. But I’m starting an assignment with Mayor Ferns next week.”
He got a local post with the mayor of Chicago.
“Unless you want to play a game of switcheroo? I’ll go to L.A. Pack Lisa and the kids and go live in a McMansion.”
I gave it a brief thought. Mayor Ferns had enough enemies to sell out Wrigley Field, but that wasn’t what concerned me.
The fact that I’d screwed both of her daughters—simultaneously—not even two months ago did. In my defense—not that I needed one—I’d had no knowledge of their pedigree when one was sucking my balls while the other bent over a bar for me, letting me shove my fingers inside her.
We parted ways amicably, but I knew better than to play with Lady Luck. Putting myself in a situation with both of them again wasn’t asking for trouble—it was begging for it.
At least there was no danger of my getting frisky with the Thorne girl.
I did not fuck the ward. That was the rule.
Besides, she was not my type.
Besides, she was…what? Seventeen?
Besides, Tom was right. I was giving Los Angeles power over me that it didn’t deserve. It was just a city. An ugly, filthy, expensive one, but a city, nonetheless.
I didn’t want to work for an airheaded bimbo, didn’t want to move to Los Angeles, and didn’t want to talk to people unless I absolutely had to.
But I’d never met a challenge I didn’t annihilate, and this kid wasn’t about to set a precedent.
Tom blinked at me expectedly, waiting for an answer.
“What are we dealing with here?” I leaned a shoulder against the wall.
He sagged in relief, letting go of my sleeve.
“It’s a low-risk job. She’s very active on social media. Informs people of her whereabouts often. But at the end of the day, she’s just somebody’s daughter, you know. Not that high profile, separate from her father. The main concerns Thorne has for her in terms of safety are assault and robbery. She seems like an especially easy target after looking so drunk and out of it, getting groped by the meathead from that reality show.”
I drew a breath, digging my fingers into my eye sockets. This kid better not tie me to a bed with leather belts.
“I want a direct line to Thorne if I do this.”
“He’s already agreed to that,” Tom surprised me by saying.
Well, shit.
Anthony Thorne really wasn’t pleased with his airheaded teenybopper.
“And a meeting about launching our cyber unit, with this McAfee guy after the post is over. He’ll have to make some commitments.”
“Way ahead of you, Ran. I already told him.” Tom nodded enthusiastically.
“This is my last field assignment,” I hissed.
“Pinky promise.” Tom offered me his pinky. I snatched and bent it, to the point of almost breaking it as I pulled him close to me. His chest bumped mine.
“Last. Fucking. Time.” I watched him squirm in pain.
“Aw.”
I let go of his finger. Brushing my shoulder against his, I stalked out of my office.
“Where are you going?” he yelled after me.
“To stab myself in the neck.”
I did not stab myself in the neck.
A travesty, I realized twenty-four hours after my conversation with Tom, as I made my way through an overcrowded, filthy LAX.
The last time I’d been here, some years ago as a counterintelligence agent, a lot of blood had been shed. I’m talking Squid Game level shit. It was one of the reasons I left. It became clear to me I was at risk of losing the very little humanity I had left in me if I didn’t quit.
I didn’t give much of a damn about being humane. The main incentive was not to snap into a machete-yielding killer who’d end up going on a rampage.