Usually, I knew what I was after. Today, though, I was following an instruction. “So, Peter, I believe you owe some very important people a signed contract and taking an extended holiday did shit for your delay tactics.”
He squirmed against the barbed wire I’d wrapped around him earlier. The more he pushed, the deeper the metal cut into his skin. “You can’t keep me here without someone finding out. I’m the fucking mayor.”
“Well, I give a shit about who you are, all I want is the signed documents. So, you have two choices—”
“I'm not fucking signing anything until you tell me who the hell you are.”
Shaking my head, I took a step forward and withdrew the knife sheathed in my left sock. Holding it, tip down mid-thigh, I met his gaze. “Who I am should be the least of your concern.” Without so much as a flinch, I pressed down hard, sinking the knife through material and skin then dragged upward, stopping an inch from his balls. Screams bounced off the basement walls, his leg shaking with the effort to rid it of the knife. When his cries muted to soft whimpers, I continued, “what you should be worried about is what the fuck I’m going to do to your beautiful wife and that pretty little girl of yours,” I gritted.
At the mention of his family, his head shook vehemently then as if he had a contemplative moment, he whispered, “you’ll have to find them first and trust me you won’t.”
My right hand shot out, connecting with his jaw and snapping his head to one side, spittle flying out of his mouth as blood quickly spilled past his burst lips. I straightened. He blinked rapidly but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks.
When I had his attention once more, I smirked. “I’m feeling a little generous today, Peter, so I’m going to share something with you. I’m what you’d call a killer for hire. I locate, track and eliminate. I don’t care what you hire me for as long as you pay my fees, I’ll get rid of your mess. That said, let’s play a game, shall we. I’ll name a state and you can tell me if I’m getting warm.”
He frowned. “State?”
“Where your wife and daughter are this moment.” When he merely stared, I said, “New York? Shall I give you the address as well?”
His good eye tried to widen in shock that my first guess was right but it failed its attempt to open anything more than a mere squint. My guesses were a hundred percent correct on the first try because I never guessed.
His words were soft, unintelligent before he sagged in the seat. “The documents are in my briefcase. I’ll sign.”
Fetching the papers from his briefcase that stood against a wall, I released his hand from its binds, put a pen in it, and watched his shaky fingers scrawl a signature on the document.
“Well, I’m fucking impressed. Barely an hour and you got the fucker to sign. Although I might’ve spilled a lot more blood.”
With the document in my hand, I turned to find a man probably a year or two older than Declan at the bottom of the stairs. Even in the dimly lit room, piercing blue eyes studied me with avid interest as though sizing me up. I returned the favor with a quick examination of my own. He didn’t seem like a man who made many friends. Something about his stance told me he was an arrogant fucker who killed first and didn’t bother asking questions either.
Declan descended the stairs behind him. “I told you he’s good.” He chuckled.
Remo Rossi stepped forward and held out a hand. “I don’t believe in handshakes, but something tells me that you and I are going to kill more fucknuts together.” A lot could be gleaned from a man’s grip. Remo’s firm latch on my hand told me he was one confident bastard. “And just for fucking delaying my brother’s ownership of the marina we needed, we’ll start with this prick’s family. You know time is money and all that fucking shit.” He grinned, jerking his chin at Peter then as if that wasn’t enough, he released my hand, pulled out a gun and shot the man in the knee.
When Peter’s howls lowered, I cocked a brow at Remo. “Fucknuts? Interesting.” I figured he was a man after my own heart. “Never hurts to have a friend in the Italian mafia?”
“And what better than a fucking sniper assassin to join me on my killing spree when I’m bored.” He winked and I realized that his kind of fucked up was a rarity.
Three hours later, Remo eased off the gas on his Ferrari as we approached Nathaniel Prescott’s Tudor mansion. He was holed up on a large golf estate just outside the city. Sitting in the center of a roundabout driveway, the building rose two stories high and flanked by tall trees that probably provided the privacy he needed. Remo parked along the side near the six-car garage and climbed out. I followed, taking my time to survey the manpower Prescott had out front. Several men, armed with AK rifles, patrolled the property. I put the count at six from what I could see. Buttoning my suit jacket, I adjusted my sidearm holster as Remo led the way.
Two men flanked the dark wood front door and expecting a pat-down, I was surprised when they merely waved us through. Either the man was a cocky bastard or his friendship with Remo was solid as fuck.
Another couple of minutes later, with Remo on my right, I sat across from Nathaniel Prescott. His smile was light but fake as the Armani suit he wore. Someone ripped the fucker off and he probably didn’t even know it. I didn’t return his smile and wary he was analyzing me, I conducted one of my own. For a biochemical engineer, he wasn’t good at hiding his illegal wealth. Judging by that arrogant smirk, the gold draping his neck, wrist and fingers, he probably believed flaunting his money made him less susceptible to the law. Stupid fuck.
“So, Nat, you’ve done your background. You asked for someone capable to run your operations here and Gabe knows his shit. Does he pass your test?” Remo crossed an ankle over the other knee and leaned back in his seat.
His beady eyes on me, Nathaniel puffed on a cigar, the sickly-sweet smell wafting through the air in wisps of smoke made me want to rip that smug grin off his face. In the wrong hands, cigars gave the indication they were trying too hard to be someone they weren’t. I was a good judge of character and Nathaniel Prescott, wasn’t the head honcho he wanted everyone to believe. Someone else was pulling his strings. While his looks might pass for a man in his early twenties, his brain cells were still developing.
“He does,” he answered Remo’s question then switched his gaze to me. “But I’d like to test him out, if you’re up for it, that is.” I cocked a brow saying nothing. “Two nights from tonight, I’m meeting a girl on a blind date.”
“What the fuck?” Remo scoffed before I could.
Nathaniel set his cigar on an ashtray and stood. “She’s not the prize.” At my frown, he added, “she’s a mule.”
“Then I’m not your man.” I stood. “Drug mules, not my thing.”
Hands on his hips, Nathaniel grinned. “Not drugs. Something far deadlier.” He moved to the window to stare out. Remo and I exchanged glances before Nathaniel turned. “She will be carrying a memory card on her. Bring it to me and we will continue our relationship. Fail and I’ll have to kill you, obviously.”
“Obviously.” This time, I smiled. Having heard that threat so often in my career, it amused me when fuckers like Nathaniel deemed it so easy to take me out. Remo must’ve thought the same because his smirk said a lot. “Who will she be looking for?” I asked.
