Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) (2 page)

S
ITTING ON THE
small side patio of her rented cottage, Michelle tossed the remaining pieces of her burger into the trash bag lying on the glass-top table. “That was good,” she said. “Some people say Fat Burger is the best, but I like In-N-Out better.”

“Yeah, they’re good enough,” Deja said, “but let me tell you who has some jammin’ burgers that’ll surprise you.”

“Who?” Nikky and Michelle asked in unison, then they looked at each other and laughed. Three years apart and it seemed like both forever and no time at all had passed.

“Now don’t laugh,” Deja said. “T-Bone’s Ribs is where.”

“They’re a rib joint. What do they know about burgers?” Nikky asked.

“Remember when we were little kids, and that Fat Burger on Western was a small wooden shack?” Deja asked. “The whole front opened up and made a counter, and you could see the guys standing across the back where they were fixing the burgers. With no place to sit, people stood around on the sidewalk, eating. Remember that place?”

“Sure, we went there when I was a little girl,” Michelle said.

“Well, the guy who ran it, he’s the one who opened T-Bone’s, because he wanted to do ribs,” Deja said. “He’s as old as the hills now and doesn’t cook anymore, but his guys still make the best damned burger in the whole city.”

“I need to try that for myself,” Nikky said. “I like burgers almost as good as ribs. Let’s make it a date for the three of us.”

Michelle regarded her friends. She deeply enjoyed being with them, having listened to small talk about current life in the hood while soaking up Deja’s ever-present, cheesy smile and Nikky’s inquisitive gaze, things that had once just been a part of the landscape. Now, she cherished them . . . and dreaded the coming conversation. The next few minutes of intense discussion might make her lose her friends, a price she didn’t want to pay, but would, if necessary.

“Okay,” she said, “we have ourselves a burger date. Now it’s time for some serious talk. There’s a lot you need to hear about. I bought a fresh bottle of Courvoisier to help us get through it. Let’s go inside and get comfortable.”

They walked into the modest living room.

“Hey, I like your place,” Deja said. “Is all this stuff yours?”

Michelle smiled. It’d been fun buying her own furniture, and it was the first time she’d owned more than what could fit in a suitcase. The white Southwestern-style coffee table, end table, and comfortable recliner, along with the couch’s pastel floral print on a beige background all made the small living room bright, even happy.

Her bedroom had the same light, airy style, but the second bedroom was strictly utility—desk, computer, shelves full of electronic parts, and guns and ammo. Her exercise equipment sat where a bed would be.

“Yes,” she replied. “The cottage was unfurnished when I rented it.”

Nikky stood next to the large, wall-mounted flat-screen TV. “All of this, and that jamming Crossfire? . . . Looks like you’re doing all right. I think you have a lot to tell.”

“Yeah, and why here?” Deja said. “I mean, it’s super-nice down here by the beach, but . . . why here?”

“I like it here,” Michelle said, “but I didn’t pick it because I liked it. I moved here so I could get to the hood fast and still be completely outta the mix. Nobody from the hood ever comes this way. If they come to the beach at all, they head over to Venice.”

“How long have you been here?” Deja asked.

“I’ll tell you everything, but let’s get those drinks first.”

After everyone had settled in with drinks and ice, Michelle started.

“You guys know I love you more than anyone else in the world, right?”

“Bet your ass we know it,” Deja said. “We’re glad you’re back, too. We were real pissed you’d been gone for so long.”

“Again, I’m real sorry I couldn’t be more upfront. But now, grab your butts, because I’m gonna tell you some wild-ass shit. Before I start you need to know this is seriously important.”

Nikky scooched around in her seat and chuckled a little. “Damn, Michelle, what did you do, go join the CIA or undercover police somewhere?”

“Not hardly. For real, though, this stuff is so important, I’m risking my life by telling you. That’s no bullshit. You need to understand this: if you know this stuff, you could go to jail for not talking to the police.”

“Yeah, right,” Deja said. “How about the CIA? Them, too?”

Michelle nodded. “Them, too.”

Nikky cocked her head, frown lines forming between her eyebrows. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. A lot of people would like to know what I’m about to tell you.”

“Shit, girl, you know we’re down,” Deja said.

Michelle sipped her drink, then set the glass back on the coffee table. “I know, but this is different. This isn’t just busting a cap in somebody’s ass. It’s not even like killing some banger in the hood who doesn’t count for shit. Other than their momma—and sometimes not even her—no one cares if they get killed.”

Nikky and Deja caught eyes, then nodded to each other.

“We’re in,” Nikky said.

“Yeah, we’re in,” Deja said, and then she grinned. “Y’all know I’ve never been good with guns, so I won’t be any good for killing. Not with a gun, anyway. I don’t care if somebody needs to be ‘removed’”—she made finger quotes—“I’ll still shoot them if I have to, but you shouldn’t count on me for that. I might screw things up, and we’ll all get jacked.”

“You think you’re joking, but you’re closer to the truth than you know.” Michelle laid her hands flat on the coffee table and stared at her two friends on the couch. The room grew silent.

Without breaking eye contact, Nikky clutched Deja’s arm. “Okay, you have our attention.”

“We grew up with a code about not talking to the police or any government people,” Michelle said. “The three of us also swore to be friends for life, no matter what.”

“And we still mean it,” Deja said.

“We were kids. This is grown-up serious. It’s different.”

“You already said that, and we said we’re in.”

“Not yet. I’ve done stuff that, if you know too much or are even too close to me, you could get hurt, possibly even killed.” Already Michelle had examined the issues from every angle. No way could she do this without putting her friends at serious risk, or herself at greater risk. She wasn’t even sure it would work; far from it. But it was the best option, and she was so bone-weary of being alone against the world.

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “There’s something I have to do. Your help will make it easier, though honestly, I could do it on my own—you don’t need to be involved at all—but I can’t do it without coming back to the hood where I’ll see people who’ll know me.”

“You mean us?” Nikky asked.

“Yes. And many others.”

“So . . . ?”

“Like I said, if certain people find me, anyone I’m around is in danger. Other than Uncle G, you guys are the only people I really care about. I can’t put you in danger and have you not know about it.”

“Where does all of this leave us?”

“You have a few choices. The safe moves are: stop being friends and don’t hang out, or go to the police, who’ll take me out of the hood for good. We can just be friends like before, which will put you at risk. Or, you can learn more and help me with this thing I have to do. Of course, that means things might get pretty dangerous.”

“Christ, Michelle, are you in trouble now?”

“No, not that I know about. Trouble will happen, though, and you do have to make a choice. Not today, but certainly before we go any further.”

Deja gave a mock shiver. “You guys are so serious. Okay, I heard how important all of this is, and I know you think I’m not serious enough. Fine. In all seriousness, then, here it is: I’m in. You left in a flash, Michelle. One day, everything was normal; the next day, you disappeared. We didn’t know if we’d ever see you alive again. And I, for one, felt like shit, because there was nothing I could do to help. Now you’re back, and if I can help, you bet your ass I’m in.” She leaned back into the corner of the couch and sipped her drink.

“Me, too,” Nikky said. “We couldn’t help back then, so we’re helping now. No matter what it is, we’re both in.”

“I’m still no good with guns,” Deja added, firing an imaginary shot across the room with her finger.

“Don’t worry,” Michelle said, “I know you’re no good with guns. Some things never change. Ain’t no thang. I have some stuff cooking that I’ll need you for, but nothing like that. You don’t need to get a gun, except maybe for protection. I’ll try to stop problems, but you know how some fools get when they’ve been dissed.”

“Stupid, is all,” Deja said. “They go killing each other because of something that’s been said. Better if they go home and get close to some vajayjay.”

“We all know how stupid men can be. But that’s not what I want to tell you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just get so pissed at men. We hook up with some dude, and everything looks like it’ll be okay, until they get stupid, and the shit goes crazy.”

“I know.” Michelle shook her head. “It makes you want to just shoot a fool for being so stupid. Now, back to what I asked you to meet me here for.” She took another sip, set down her glass, drew in a big breath, and let it go. She met Deja’s eyes, and then Nikky’s. “I’m a freelance assassin working for international groups. Mostly, I target political people, but also some high-end business types. And I’ve been back in L.A. for over two months.” She sat back, waiting for her friends’ reactions.

Nikky and Deja stared at Michelle for three seconds—then all hell broke loose.

“What the fuck!” they both yelled, and Deja jumped straight up, while Nikky jerked forward to the edge of her seat, eyes bugged out.

“What the fuck do you mean, you’ve been here for a couple months already?”

“I don’t believe you.” Deja glanced around the room. “Okay, buying all of this stuff took some time. But you couldn’t have been here more than a couple days, a week or two at most, and not tell us. You’re full of shit, that’s what.”

But Nikky, always the more careful thinker, scrutinized Michelle. “No, Deja . . . she’s telling it true, saying it like it is. I can see it on her face. Homegirl’s been gone all this time, not telling us she came back months ago. And I know my girl; she’s gotta have a serious reason for something that big. Whatever it is, it’s real. She loves both of us better than if we were sisters.” Turning to Michelle, she said, “Okay, girl, I know this is some severe shit, and I’m in. What’s up? Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Michelle fought off her tears as her heart almost burst with love for her two friends, and she couldn’t help smiling at their loyalty and bad judgment. She could almost hear her mom saying, “Swallow a camel and strain on a gnat.”

“Hey,” Deja said. “Get to talking.”

“Being here these last two months and not calling you guys is the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Michelle said. “Now, are you two ready for me to explain everything?”

“Yeah, we’re okay. We’re listening.” Nikky gave Deja a strong look that said:
Be quiet and let Michelle talk.

Michelle knew Deja couldn’t keep from interrupting to save her life, and even though her wild emotions sometimes drove everybody crazy, her spontaneity was part of what they loved.

“All right,” she began. “You guys probably don’t remember that Michael and Gabe Jr. were killed only a couple days after my last finals at Southwest. I was graduating with my Associates degree and had been accepted over at Northridge. We were thrilled because I was the first one in our family to go to college.”

“I remember,” Deja said. “We were all excited and planned on throwing you a graduation party. It was supposed to happen that weekend. Then the police came to your house, Michael was dead, and you up and disappeared. We were afraid you’d been shot, maybe dying in a hospital somewhere. Goddammit, Michelle, I can’t believe you’ve been gone three whole years and didn’t tell us the day you got back!”

“Deja, please. Let her talk.”

“Sorry.”

Michelle touched Deja’s arm. “That’s all right. I’d be pissed, too, if you told me some crazy shit like this.” Michelle tucked her feet under herself in the chair and gazed off into her memories. “It all happened three years ago,” she said softly, “but feels like only three days. I’d stayed home that day; I was there, in the house, when they were killed . . .”