CHAPTER 1
Specter
“It’sgonna feel like a goddam orgasm putting a bullet in your head.”
I pull my gun from the holster strapped to my chest while tonight’s target attempts to scale a brick wall. Even with the extra adrenaline there’s no way his fat ass is getting over it. He knows this too, but he’s got survival instincts. Can’t blame him for that.
“I didn’t do nothing to you.”
“You cut me off in traffic, and I’m in a shit mood.”
“No way, man,” he says, cowering against the wall. What I know about him is limited, that’s how I like it, but I was expecting someone a little tougher from the information pack I got about him.
Instead, I’m facing a winded, overweight, balding middle-aged man who’s shredding his fingers on the craggy brick in a vain attempt to get away from me. Too bad he ran down this alley. It’s dark, tucked in between empty buildings, and other than a crackhead or a wayward hooker, no one ever comes down here. Definitely not anyone who would try to help. Nope. He’s signed his own death warrant.
Of course, that decision was made long before I made contactwith him. He just sped up the process. Normally I like to fuck with my targets for a while before I finally step in and get it done, but my patience is thin tonight. I’m fucking horny, I need a drink, and then this asshole had to piss me off.
I followed him around town tonight, looking for an opportunity to get under his skin, but getting more and more irritated as I watched him strut around like a proud cock, intimidating young street kids, talking with known dealers, and finally, making the decision to cut me off, then having the fucking nerve to honk at me. Right now, he’s regretting that decision, even though he was a dead man long before that happened.
“You kill people for cutting you off?” He’s still doing his best to press his large body through the brick wall. “What kind of psychopath does that?”
“This kind,” I answer coldly. When I cock my gun, Stefano Baio’s pants darken with piss.
“You want money? I got money, man. Name your price. Drugs? I-I got that too. Girls? Hell, boys? I got connections. I can get you anything you want.”
I shake my head as I finally turn my gaze to him. Men like him used to disgust me, but I’ve met so many of them now that I have to wonder if there are any decent ones. Is anyone actuallygoodor is that just a myth, a control mechanism to keep the sheep in line? I’d like to meet at least one person whose soul isn’t as dark as the filthy, stained asphalt I’m standing on.
“You know this isn’t about traffic bullshit. You know what you did. You knew it would bite you in the ass one day.”
His brow creases as his eyes dart back and forth, searching his mind for a connection to my words. “Are you with Big D?”
“No.”
I step closer, his sour urine scent prickling my nose. Kneeling, I look him dead in the eyes. “Come on, Stefano. You know what your sins are. I don’t need to spell them out for you.”
His breath is foul, smelling of stale liquor and cigarettes as he breathes heavily, his panic taking over. “P-please. I’ll doanything.” With trembling fingers he reaches into his back pocket and produces a wallet. After opening it, he pulls out a wad of cash and holds it up to my face. “Take it.”
“Okay.” I take the cash and shove it into the pocket of my trench. Standing up again, I take a few steps back, giving him a false sense of hope that I might let him leave. No can do.
“Thank you,” Stefano whispers.
I cock my head. “It’s nothing personal, man. I’m just doing my job.” I raise my gun and pull the trigger, grinning as his brains splatter the wall behind him.
He slumps forward, and I put several more rounds into his body to make sure before walking over to check his pulse. Dead. Very dead.
I tuck my gun away and remove my gloves, shoving them into my pocket. He’ll be found eventually, and no one will care except the client who paid for the job to be done. I take several pics with my phone, then turn to walk back to my car.
This street is quiet, desolate, but in just two blocks, I’m back in the thick of nightlife. This city is full of crime, organized and otherwise, and one dead body in an alley won’t raise anyone’s hackles. It’s likely not the only one they’ll find.
Back at my car, I slide into the driver’s seat and tear off, heading for my favorite place after a kill.
Segreto.
My routine is simple—a couple of drinks, maybe a cigar, and throwing down bills for the sexiest man in the city. I’ve never been a stripper kind of guy, but when I wandered into the club one night and laid eyes on that gorgeous dancer, I learned something new about myself. Guess I’m into burlesque and speakeasies, as long as he’s there. I don’t know his real name, only the name he performs under. Cashmere. But his name doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing I want to call him is mine.
I’m six miles from the place, and the trip takes longer than it should with the insane traffic, even this late at night. By the timeI get there, I’m agitated again. My mood can only improve from here.
I find parking and shut off the engine, flipping my visor down to make sure I don’t have blood or brain matter on my face. Satisfied, I exit the car, walking with purpose towards the entrance. It’s Thursday night and Cashmere will be there. I’ve learned his schedule, and it rarely changes. The club is closed on Sundays, and he’s usually not there on Mondays either, but every other night, he’s gracing this crummy city with his beauty.
