Ineed to kill something.
It doesn’t even matter what it is or what job I have to take; I just need to get out of this apartment and work. Just the knowledge that Raiden Kane thinks, for even a second, that he’s better than me, despite his lack of cold, hard evidence, is just insane.
What the fuck is wrong with that man? I swear, if he didn’t have that dick attached to him, I’d probably have taken him out by now. I have been in a perpetual state of annoyance since the moment he kicked down my door, and not to mention, breaking right through my industrial-sized deadbolt.
Asshole.
Actually, that’s not right. I haven’t been annoyed since then. I’ve been annoyed since the moment I saw his stupid face. God, why doesthat face have to be so damn attractive with that sharp jaw and stubble? I’m such a sucker. Every time he’s near me, I can’t work out if my heart is racing because I’m holding back the need to kill him or jump him. It’s a real mystery, but after he took me on the counter yesterday, I’m starting to think it’s the latter.
I think I’m falling for Raiden Kane.
Fuck.
I pace through my living room, my phone directly in the center of the coffee table, sitting with Spikezilla and her four new pots, as I wait for any kind of contract to come through. I don’t even care what it is. The biggest contract I’ve ever seen in some remote location that’ll take me away for months, or Bobby down the street who I’ll have dealt with before lunch. I just need something.
I’m a mess in a stupid shirt—Raiden’s shirt, to be exact. Since the moment he slipped it over my head, I haven’t been able to take it off. Not even when he came to fix my door. I just hid out in my bedroom, because it’d be a cold day in hell before I show him how hung up I’ve become. Besides, it smells fucking delicious. I could drown in the scent.
What is it about this man? He’s an egotistical, loud-mouthed moron. I should be thoroughly repulsed, yet here I am, pacing my living room like an idiot, just waiting and hoping I might hear just a hint of him through the wall.
I really am in trouble. I’ve got it bad.
Ding!
I pounce on that motherfucker like a cat in heat, scrambling forthe phone before another agent has the chance to accept the job, and before I’ve even scanned over the particulars, I hit accept, and promptly crash down on my couch, my heart pounding with adrenaline.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, needing a second to recover from the overflow of wild emotions rushing through my body. I’m working up a sweat. Not once on a job have I ever felt that level of sheer desperation. Jesus Christ!
Blowing out a heavy breath, I pull up my phone and start looking over the job I just accepted, and as I take it in, I sigh.
Okay, not exactly what I was hoping for. Looks like a quick, local job that’ll be over in all of two seconds, with an abysmal payout of only a hundred grand, but hell, this job is about my sanity and giving myself something other than Raiden Kane to occupy my brain. It’s not about the money.
Pulling out my laptop, I start searching.
Preston Vaughn, fifty-two years old. Recently divorced after a very public cheating scandal. His ex-wife is Rachel Vaughn, a famous actress.
She was humiliated during their divorce proceedings, and if I had to take a guess, after taking him to the cleaners for everything he was worth, she’s now responsible for taking his life.
Apart from being a piece-of-shit husband to one of America’s sweethearts, there’s nothing here to suggest this hit has come from anywhere else.
It takes a little time to look into his background and properties, tryingto pinpoint exactly where he might be, when medical documentation is flagged, and I almost laugh. Preston Vaughn is currently in the hospital after suffering a heart attack in his office last night. In other words, his secretary put on too much of a show while sucking his dick, and the old ticker couldn’t handle the excitement.
This is going to be too easy.
After searching the hospital details, I grab my keys and get going.
I stop by my warehouse and grab everything I need for an easy hit, and before I know it, I’m pulling up in the hospital parking lot.
Keeping my head down to avoid any of the security cameras, I stop by the hospital gift shop and pick up a bunch of flowers before making my way to the nurses’ station. “Hi,” I say with a bubbly smile. “I’m here to visit my uncle, Preston Vaughn. He came in last night.”
“Of course, dear,” the older woman minding the desk says before pressing a few buttons on her computer. “Ahh, yes. Here he is. Room 610. Down the hall and to the left, and then just keep going. Almost all the way to the end.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
She gives me a sweet smile before getting straight back to work, and I get on my way, traipsing down the hallway, knowing this is about to be the easiest hundred grand I’ve ever made. Though ego aside, most of my money is easily made. Locating the target is the hardest part. The rest is as easy as letting a blade fly from my fingers.
Finding room 610, I slip in through the door before silently closing it behind me and pulling the syringe from my pocket. I step deeperinto the dark room, finding Preston lying in the hospital bed, attached to all kinds of machines, unmoving.
Well, shit. He’s on life support. That’s a nice little surprise. I won’t even have to get my hands dirty. It’s almost comical that I’d only just accused Raiden of taking the easy way out, and here I am about to make the simplest kill of my career.
