*Trigger warning for implied self harm*

Immediately, I go to her room and knock on the door. "You decent?" She opens the door in response.

"What's up, short stack?"

"I just figured it out. Did he-"

"He tried, and got damn close."

"Tell me something retarded so I don't march out and find someone to murder."

"Mmm, okay. Number one, his was really tiny, and two, don't kill anyone. You can't wash that off as easily as blood." With that, she closed the door, and for a moment I was a little taken aback by the profoundness of her statement, and then I remembered.

She knew what she was talking about.

***

The next morning, I was having coffee in the kitchen with Oliver, just scrolling through my phone, when I felt his eyes on me.

"What?"

"You got attached." He was frowning.

I glanced up the stairs.

"She's a great kid."

"She's a murderer."

"Don't call her that."

"It's true, and you kow what's at the end of this road."

"Do I? We never signed it, technically."

"But it will shake out that way."

"Not if we can get her to-"

"She won't." Oliver shook his head, dismissing my statement completely.

"Oh yeah? And please, how do you know that, good sir?"

"Because she flinches every time she doesn't see the entirety of someone's movement. Because she comes home covered in blood, completely unfazed. Because she's too goddamned broken to ever trust like that."

"Yeah, Oliver, great idea. Let's put labels on the kid, just completely-"

"It's not a label, I'm just-"

"Gid, shut up, will you? It's way too early for this." Jamie was standing in the doorwaym giving us both a filthy look. The bruise on her throat had turned dark over night, and Oliver was staring not only at it, but at the kid as a whole. His brow furrowed as she adjusted the sleeve of her sweater.

"Sorry. Hey, Jamie?" Oliver said as she poured some coffee.

"Mmm," she said into the cup, looking at him warily.

"Weird thing: My window was open yesterday."

She wrinkled her nose. "Um, good for you?"

"Yeah, okay smartass, why were in my apartment?"

She put a hand to her chest, and her offended performance deserved some sort of award. "Are you accusing me of breaking into your building? I didn't do it! Why do you think I did it?"

"If I may," I interjected. "It may be because you're the only one who has a reason to conduct surveillance on anyone here. We've all known each other way too long to care anymore."

She shrugged. "It was probably just some teenager on a dare or something."

"Jamie."

She smiled. "I will deny it to my dying breath, sweetheart."

"Wait, why were you there? What did you take?"

"On my word, I didn't take anything."

Oliver snorted. "Yeah, okay, that's worth something."

She shook her head, entirely serious, evidently. "No, everything else I say might be complete crap, but my word means something, honestly. I take that seriously." She stuck out a hand. "I didn't take anything, I swear to God. Just surveillance."

Oliver shook it. "Okay. Just, like, don't do it again."

She nodded offhandedly. "No, you guys are way too boring for that."

"Hey," she said, turning to me. "I have something to do today."

"Last time you said that, you came home half dead."

"Well, that may be the most over exaggerated thing I've ever heard, but it can't be avoided."

"Fine. Can I come?"

She laughed. "Absolutely not." She paused, obviously contemplating. "On second thought, yes. You'll be an asset."

"Can I come?" Oliver asked.

"No," she said as she headed for the stairs. "Your smart ass will get us shot and killed."

As she retreated back to the room, Oliver met my eyes.

"You're going to get killed."

***

Jamie

The way Oliver's eyes had flicked to my sleeves this morning stressed me out. No one noticed, ever.

Because no one ever bothered to look, moron.

The nightmares were worse than usual last morning. Mom, Dad, Fiona, Frankie, but then Fred showed up, and I couldn't shove him off this time, and he wouldn't stop.

I woke up with my pocketknife in my hand already, and.

No, not today, memory, you punk ads bitch.

I push the thoughts aside as I get dressed and grab the product and some cash, just in case things get tense, and my Glock and an old .45, just in case things get homicidal.

When I trot back downstairs, Pete already seems ready, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket that no doubt conceals weapons. No glasses, though. "Can you put your glasses on?"

"Why?"

"Because everyone there will be in a black leather jacket, and it would kind of suck if I shot my own ally on accident. Speaking of which, you got something to protect yourself?" He nodded, fingering the lining of his jacket.

"Let's go, then."

We've only gone like a few blocks when he says, "Shouldn't we hail a cab or something?"

I roll my eyes. "If you want to live through today, you need to learn to be more paranoid. You have to assume that the cabbie is going to hold us hostage and take the goods. Or that the guy you just gave directions is following us."

He glances sidelong at me. "Are you telling me that you think the best way to survive is by assuming the worst of people all the time?"

I hear the judgement in his voice and shrug. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Well yeah, but what if you missed some great people along the way?"
"Oh, I have no doubt I did, but good people can be corrupted, or paid off, or threatened."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that good people don't really exist. It's a fairytale for children, like angels or heaven."

"Or Santa Claus?"

"What the hell, don't bash Santa. That's below the belt."

"Fine. Where are we going exactly?"

"I have some stuff to deliver to some people."

"Yeah, well, that could mean you're bringing a borrowed dish back to a neighbor, but you're carrying two guns and went out of your way to make sure that I had at least one. "

"Okay, so, before I left Johnny's circle, I had the goods for a deal I was mediating, and I was supposed to do it on the day after you kidnapped me."

"Might I remind you that was Oliver?"

"Collective you, Peter, collective you. Anyway, I never got around to it, so I'm finishing it today to avoid murder by Johnny and friends. I could've slept on it before, but now that I've broken up with him, it'll probably be a different story. So, we're going to sell the thing in my backpack, an then we're taking the money to Johnny, most likely getting shot at there, and then never making contact with them again."

"They're going to shoot at you for breaking up with him?"

"They're very protective over there. That was the only nice thing about working there. I could rely on the fact that the only perverts who bothered me would be the ones from work. And they were scared of me, for the most part, so that was relatively manageable."

"That sounds like it sucked ass."

"It did, but it was better than the alternative, which was unsuccessful prostitution." I said that mostly to shut him up, which worked.

We walked the remaining few blocks to the swanky hotel where I was meeting the clients. "Jamie," Pete hissed in my ear as he noticed the metal detector and bag check. "What the hell is in that bag?"

"Shut up, let me do the talking."

"Really? Because I'm the adult here."

"And I'm the drug and arms dealer here."

"Drugs?"

"Shut up, it's our turn."

The guard looked miserable as he extended a hand. "Metal in the container, bag in my hand."

I smiled. "Look, I'll make you a deal, sweetheart." The guard was young. They were the easiest to manipulate. "Pete, go through, okay? It's okay." Pete looked at me warily before going through, around the detector, and the guard said, "Wait!" But I layed a hand on his arm.

"I'll give you this to let me go around the metal detector and not look through that bag." I slipped him a hundred.

"Are you a terrorist?"

"No."

"I don't know, it's my first day." I sighed and slipped two hundred more to soothe his conscience. Johnny always gave us spare money for bribes.

"Meet me in the broom closet on the forty-third floor in two hours, okay?" I breathed in his ear, and I watched him go red.

He handed me my bag and gestured for me to go behind the machine, where I met Pete. "What did you give him?"

"Money and the promise of sex he's not getting."

Pete snorted. "Sorry, it's just, you remind me so much of Minnie. That's how we used to get everywhere, and she never once had to follow through. She always got us out before her lover could come find us."

"They're usually very stupid, so it's not hard," I said, stepping into the elevator, unabashedly closing it on a very harried business man screaming for me to wait. "Okay, look. Don't talk unless they talk to you. Do your best to look threatening, okay? Stand behind me to my right."

"Why?"

"That's where they train my usual tagalongs to stand, and I'm not supposed to bring anyone outside the market. And I have a tendency to leave my right side unguarded, while you do the same with your left."

He nodded as the elevator opened directly into the penthouse apartment, where Luke was sitting on the couch, flanked by a few goons.

"Jamie," Luke said, crossing the room to me, arms spread wide.

"Luke!" I give him a hug, which I'm not a fan of, but don't particularly mind. Luke has always been one of my favorite clients. He's a good guy, other than the part where he leads one of the biggest crime families in Manhattan, but who am I to question other people's choices in employment, really? He's loyal, and he's never quick to cross someone off.

"Nice hair," he teases, flipping the end over my face.

"Same to you," I laugh. He's shaved it, which looks absolutely terrible, but I take it that these are the sort of things you're supposed to say anyway.

"Who's this?" He asks, gesturing to Pete.

I consider lying, but change my mind. I might want to keep Luke as an ally, and that will be easier if he trusts me even after I've left Johnny. "He's just a friend. Don't worry, his morals are as loose as ours, he won't say a word."

Lies.

"Alright. Sit down, sit down. And your friend too, no need for him to pretend to be a tag."

Pete and I sit on the leather couch across from Luke, who passes me a glass. "Wine?"

Pete shoots me a dirty look. "No thanks, Luke. I'm underage."

He shrugs and drains it. "Never stopped you before," he mutters, seeming irritated. I sigh. I was right. Pete's going to make this way harder.

Maybe I should've let Oliver come. I get the feeling he would understand that you don't turn down a crime boss' offer of alcohol.

"So," Luke says, sitting forward, eyes alight with gossip. "I hear you broke up with Johnny." He glances at Pete. "Is this the guy you left him for?"

Pete interrupts. "No. No. I'm twenty-five."

I swear internally. Now Luke will ask-

"I thought you were at least twenty. How much am I off by?"

I pinch Pete's leg, hard, as I give Luke a slow smile. "Oh, come on, Luke, a gentleman never asks a lady's age. Now, do you want the goods or not?"

Luke smiles back. "That was a terrible diversion. I'm glad you finally got away from Johnny He's a skeez."

"Agreed. To business, please? I have to get out of here by eleven. I promised a zit-faced guard that I'd meet him in the closet just to get your stuff up here, and if I have to take my top off, you're replacing it."

"Fine. Show me."

I take the bomb from the backpack and lay it on the table.

I feel Pete tense beside me, and I hiss, "It's fine, it's fine."

Luke is observing the weapon intently, and Pete hisses back, "It's really not."

"Can you handle this or not?"

"Fine."

"Good."

And then Pete does the stupidest thing he's done in the time I've known him.