Page 10 of Contempt

Renzo blinked.

Bids, he realized.

It had begun.

His life was now up for sale.

• • •

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Renzo didn’t move his gaze away from the ceiling of his room. His one space in The League’s compound that was just his. So much so, as were the rules set out for the trained assassins who lived within these walls, that Cree didn’t inch past the threshold of the doorway. That’s why Renzo liked it in here—outside of his room, anybody above him could make sure he knew he was the lowest fucker on the totem pole. Inside here, nobody could say a damn thing.

“What do you want?” Renzo asked.

His trainer—for all purposes—let out a grunt. He eyed the Native from the corner of his eye, and watched the man shift from foot to foot. His slick, black hair had been braided over his shoulder today, and his dark russet eyes narrowed. A good sign of his impatience.

Mostly, Renzo liked Cree. He kept Renzo in line, and gave him a wide berth of space when he needed it. Cree was also the only one who thought to give Renzo a heads up about what The League was going to be like. No need to fill his head full of bullshit, after all. He respected that. It didn’t mean he always liked Cree, though.

Cree was usually the one meting out the punishment when Renzo deserved it. He was the one pushing and pushing when Renzo just wanted someone to back off. Cree was the one beating the hell out of him in hand-to-hand combat and bringing in others when the training became more intensive.

This man woke him up and allowed him to sleep.

This man told him when to eat and shit.

This man drove him fucking crazy.

Renzo figured Cree was a higher up in The League because of his closeness to the man running the place. Except he also worked alongside the assassins. He was one in a team of ten. Although, according to Cree, his team varied. They could do a rescue, a retrieval, or even take something or someone out. They weren’t picky as long as they were paid, and on time.

And whether Cree was higher on the totem pole at The League, it didn’t matter. Most were treated the same. The League gave new recruits—as few and far in between as those were—to assassins who had already earned their stripes, so to speak. It reminded those who were already well-established in The League that they still had a responsibility, and if they failed … if they failed for any reason, well it wouldn’t end well for them.

That was the thing about Cree.

If Renzo failed, then so did Cree.

“I know you were supposed to be in basics an hour ago,” Cree said, “so you wanna explain to me why you’re sitting in here playing with your fucking cock?”

Renzo glanced over at the man. “Do you see my dick, or …?”

“Don’t be a smartass, New York.”

“Could you use my name?”

“No, it helps me to disassociate.”

Renzo blinked.

Huh.

That was the first time Cree ever admitted that.

It made sense.

“I’m not going anywhere today. I’m not doing anything.”

Cree grunted under his breath again—a sign he was quickly losing his patience. “Why?”

“Because for the six months I have been here, I haven’t had one single day to—”