Motown Showdown (3 page)

Giggling quietly, I watched my mom lose the last thread of her patience when she couldn’t find me. “Relax,” says my dad patting her butt. “It’s a game to her; it ends quicker when you play along.” Then I watch him look around the room for me, and I held my breath. Passing me right up, I followed him with my eyes until he turns and tickles my tummy yelling, “Gotcha!”

“How did you find me?” I ask laughing.

“You didn’t disguise your toes, Pep. I’d know those toes anywhere.”

I was seven years old.

Part of what makes me stellar at what I do is having the right resources. You don’t stay alive in this business just by being cute (which I am) or firing a round with your eyes closed (which some do). You keep your ear to the streets, you take notes, you listen, you become very good at observing and you
blend
.

I am the master blender.

The talent was always there. When I was a toddler, I am reminded often how I wigged my family out by hiding or changing my appearance. I loved makeup but not for vanity reasons, nope. I liked changing my face and my skin. It’s not like I hate my looks. Truthfully, I don’t give a thought to them one way or the other. What I do like is morphing into backgrounds, objects and different types of faces. My Bobo always encouraged it; he loved that I was creative, but my mom hated it. She didn’t feel it was normal, meh, fuck normal.

My dad though, he said I was brilliant and bought me the high dollar theater makeup urging me to run with it.

I did.

It also saved my life.

The night it all went down I had been with my parents working on a new technique for a theater production at school. This was my first time working production, and I was also in charge of makeup. I was showcasing my ideas when they came to the house.

He told me to hide, and I obeyed. Hiding in plain sight I listened, memorized, regulated my breathing and waited. They weren’t there long, two minutes perhaps, but my dad knew what was coming. He was the best in the business, so, of course, he knew they’d come back. To save my life, he told me to run, climb, and hide.

I did, kinda.

Perched up high, I watched them come back wishing I could save them, knowing I could. The first shot caused me to lose my footing, but I didn’t fall. Sliding down, I ran to the house, crawled in through my window when the second shot went off. Crawling down the hall, I made it to my parents’ room and grabbed his shotgun.

Dad was screaming.

Mom was screaming.

Two more shots and the screaming stopped.

Then there was laughter.

With the shotgun heavy in my hands, I ran into the living room but they were gone.

I didn’t make it in time
.

The proof was dead on the floor.

Running out the back, I scrambled up the tree and watched the men confirm the kills before walking back to their van. When they left for good, I ran back inside to see them again.
I’m sorry
, I whispered.
I’ll do better next time.
Lights in the window jerked me from the living room and like the coward I was, I waited in the tree like my dad told me.

From up high, I watched my grandpa go inside and a few minutes later heard him scream. His scream was different than my parents’. When he came out, he stood by the trunk and called me down. My feet no sooner touched the ground, and I was in his arms. “It’s us now, Camo,” he didn’t have to remind me that they were gone, I already knew, I saw it for myself. I was raised knowing that one day this could happen. That the next words spoken by him would be important. “Do you remember what they looked like?” and I did remember. If I saw a face, I did not forget it, ever. “Are you ready for this?” he asked me holding me by the shoulders.

“I am,” I told him. And I was. Fuck, was I ever. We didn’t do it that night, or the night after. We strategized, we trained, and we waited.

But it did happen, and when it did, I was amazing. I was steady and efficient. I didn’t toy with them or prolong things. Their blood was all I wanted. Each man took a round to the throat, and it was beautiful, poetic, justified. Climbing down from my position in the trees, my Bobo caught me and then when I asked if I could see, he did not say no.

Taking me to them, I studied their faces, the blood collecting underneath them and wondered if they felt anything. Secretly, I hoped it hurt like a bitch but it wasn’t like I could ask. Squatting down and balancing on the balls of my feet I touched the puddle under him and brought my wet fingers closer to my face. Standing up and doing the same for the second man, I looked at my crimson fingers and then up to my Bobo.

“You kill for those you love,” he said quietly. “Vengeance is yours.”

“Vengeance is mine,” I repeated then wiped my fingers down each side of my face. Once I was back at Bobo’s house, now my house too, I washed my hands but not my face. When I woke up, I wanted proof that it wasn’t a dream, that vengeance had been mine.

It was, I was addicted to it, I was thirsty for more.

I was just getting started.

I could feel her, she was nearby, and anyone in their right mind would be hiding if they knew Camo was closing in. But not me, she posed no threat to me. She was curious about me and I about her, though I’d never tell her that. We’ve been at this for months, her following my every move. When she was there, I wanted to show off, let her see my skill.

Get her to want me. But outside of playful flirting she never hinted at wanting me back. Camo disguised her emotions even better than she did her skin.

She was here.

That steady buzz under my skin had me on edge, hungry. For her to be doing this meant there was a threat to me, but she hasn’t given me a heads up, she’s said nothing. I also have a feeling she was unaware of the threat to herself, although if she didn’t know, that would be a first. The woman knew damn near everything. Her handler was fucking sharp, so she knew; she just didn’t care. But I still felt the need to tell her and protect her, if she’d let me.

Tonight was dinner at my dad’s along with Kandace and Rome. Now that my sister was home it was time to celebrate. Not just her safe journey back to the states but, that Rome finally grew the fuck up and did right by her.

Man, I used to hate that fucker. The way he’d build my sister up only to knock her back down again. But Kandace always loved him no matter what shit he pulled. She loved him in college, while he was in prison and even after he blamed her for his grandmother’s death. Kandace loved him unconditionally.

I envied her while I pitied her.

What the fuck was that kind of love like? I had no idea. But, it put my sister through the ringer and yet I’ve never seen her happier. I was agitated that she was out there watching me with my family. Bottom line, I wanted her inside the house, next to me participating. Made no fucking sense but it didn’t make it less true.

Heading out back to watch my dads play football with Rome, I felt my phone buzz and wasted no time answering it. “Flag on the play,” she says before I can say shit.

“Got a good seat?” I ask knowing full well she did.

“We need to talk, Gadget.” She may be able to alter her looks but, not her voice and for that I was glad. I loved her voice; it was small and sexy.

“So talk,” I prompt her.

“Kinda hard to do that in my current position,” she points out, and she was so good, I couldn’t locate said position. She could be yards away or blocks. Hell, she could be standing right next to me, and I wouldn’t know it. “Although all the cool kids use the Bluetooth these days, I’m old school. Actually that’s not true it just wigs me out to stick things in my ears.”

“Is there a point here?”

“Of course,” she says happily. And that was the other thing, the female was always fucking chipper. “You look great in that crew, by the way Is it Ralph Lauren? No matter, but I must say it really brings out your narrowed eyes.”

Fuck yeah, she was close, real close and knowing that had my dick getting hard. Camo was a flirt; she excelled at it, but I never knew if she was serious or not. God, I hoped she was because I was tired of the game. But she’s here, and she’s clearly not leaving so, I played along. “What are you wearing, Camo?”

“Not much,” she says lowering her voice and getting sexier. “Less is more and underwear, as you know, are restricting. Boxers or briefs Gadget?”
Commando you little minx
…

“Done playing games yet?” She always does this, gets my attention and then shuts me down.

“Like I said, we need to talk, Gadget,” she says losing her humor. “We’re running out of time.”

“The only thing I’m running out of is patience,” And I was running out of patience, the woman took
all
of them. Hanging up on me, I grind my jaw searching for her but still not finding her. Then my phone buzzes and I look down and see a message from her.

You’re fun, I’m funner.

Name the place, quit fucking around.

Keeping it simple, I text her the location. Then because I couldn’t help it, I adjusted my dick in my pants at the thought of meeting her.
Finally
. With another buzz, she texts me again, and my dick went from semi-hard to steel pipe.

I saw that.

I like.

When I finally got my hands on her…

“How tall are you?” he asks me.

“Nearly six foot,” I lie.

“So why did you go with snapping his neck instead of a clean shot?” I was genuinely curious because I prefer a bullet to manual labor. Snapping a human neck takes more muscle than I possess. Alas, if a job is hands on I can get creative but snapping a neck is my hard limit.

“He was a child molester,” he says with disgust. “He didn’t deserve a bullet.” So yeah, how hot is that? Gadget snapped necks like I snapped a glow stick.

Finally, he was giving me an opening I could work with. Following him to Old St. Mary’s church, I watch him take a seat on the steps. His casual demeanor didn’t fool me, nope. Gadget didn’t let his guard down, ever. He was hyper aware, seeing more than most ever did and that was a lifesaving skill.

Checking my own surroundings first, I stow my rifle and assassin-like accessories in the corner of this beautiful abandoned building and make my way over. Hoping I didn’t trip or do something to ruin my much-anticipated arrival, I counted my steps out one at a time. One of my biggest issues is when I’m not looking behind the scope of my rifle; I tend to do things in a hurry. Walking turns to skipping, snacking turns to chowing, and talking turns to babbling.

When I get within ten yards, he stands up to meet me and
oh momma
he’s a big boy up close.

As for me, if it wasn’t for my c cups I’d
look
like a boy, a little one. He assesses me thoroughly, and I didn’t mind. Honestly, I’d be offended if he didn’t. This was a sign of respect. Respect I deserved because next to Gadget, I was the best. According to most, even better than Gadget, but I didn’t want to brag. Okay fine, I was the shit but it’s not bragging if it’s true!

“Camo,” he says simply in his ultra-deep get on your knees and service me voice.
One knee or two?

“Gadget,” I respond hiding my happy face. He was just so fucking hot; all my lady parts were rejoicing and I wanted to break out into song.
Face down ass up comes to mind
…

He was so fucking tall, like six four tall. Not just built but honed. His eyes were black, and maybe that was because it matched his soul, but I didn’t care, I just wanted him to keep looking. For six years, that’s all I wanted, for him to look and like what he saw. Us meeting would change things so I had to be sure. And yes, I am the asshole who was testing him right now. And yes, he’s the asshole who was failing that test. His face could not hide his disappointment in me.
He knows me better than anyone, my looks shouldn’t matter…
But they did.

“Out in the open isn’t the safest place for you to be right now,” he says looking beyond me and dashing a bucket of ice water on me at the same time. “Broad daylight is a mistake.”

“Are you saying I’d look better in the dark?”

“I’m saying that someone smart shouldn’t be doing stupid shit.”