The room was dark, the lamp on the nightstand the only source of light which suited Raymond's preference.
He was working on his disassembled guns spread across the surface of the bed, clever hands cleaning it with the casualness of one who had done it a million, while his mind wandered.
Never in his fifteen years of being a mercenary had he ever been in a situation where he was tied down to one job, yet here he was, working as a glorified babysitter for a young woman who was a magnet for trouble.
Smart, a word that anyone who had encountered Raymond used to describe the man. He knew the unspoken rules of the game and had played by it like a pro since day one which was one of the many things that left him dumbfounded about the situation he found himself in.
Here he was, after so long of
