Death of an Assassin (Saint Roch City Book 1) (30 page)

Jerking the leash of starving dogs.

The blue curtains of the VIP rooms are just before me, and the statuesque guards standing before it glare forward. No signs needed. This is a no entry. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. But I strut forward. I know it’s not a lack of fear. I can feel my knees quivering just beneath the realm of visibility. My heart rattles around my rib cage like an epileptic canary.

It’s not out of courage, either. I’ve spent most of my life surviving by lurking just beneath the surface. On the fringes of the city. Picking only enough flesh from the rotting corpse to survive. I’d be much more comfortable fleeing to somewhere new.

But fear and courage have a fairly close relative. And it’s coursing through me, buzzing like a thousand pissed-off bees.

Robert Nox. He’s done it. I’m Very. Fucking. Angry.

The brute to the left of the door steps forward, gravelly voice so low it vibrates the floor around us, but somehow being heard clear over the cries of the club. His skin looks about the color of pale stone. Not human.

“Best turn around, missy. Nothing for little girls back here.”

I smile and step forward. “I just need to see the big guy.” I let my eyelashes flutter. He balks, but only barely.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Nox isn’t expecting any entertainment tonight. Move along.”

The other guard watches, silent. The music in the casino seems to double in volume as we three stand, frozen. Waiting for one side or the other to make a move.

I sigh. Hand to the granite cheek of my enemy, I nod. “Mr. Nox really should want to see me.”

His hand drops down and snatches my wrist.

“You better leave. Witch.” He practically spits the accusation at me.

I snicker. “Bad guess.”

I look to his partner, pink in the face as any average human would be. Or close enough to human, anyway. His self-control is admirable. I smile at him and gasp at being grabbed. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Pink-In-The-Face puts a hand on Stone-Skin. “Earl. Just show her out.”

Earl glares at his weaker partner. This is getting me nowhere.

“Shoot him,” I say to the only human out of the three of us.

He pulls his gun and fires a round into Earl’s side. The shot is loud, almost deafening, but over the music pounding out above us, not a single soul on the casino floor even looks up.

“Damnit!” Earl says, doubling over. To a mortal man, it’d be a lethal shot. Earl will walk it off. I step over his prone body and put a palm to the human’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

He smirks for a moment before my boot knife slips between his ribs and he collapses.

I part the blue curtains.

The table is adorned with food and drink. Rare steaks, bright red wine. Or at least it’s meant to look like wine. The room is filled with people. Or rather, beings. I have very little doubt that no human has ever entered this room and lived to describe it. And there’s not a single one of them in there tonight.

And at the head of the table, he’s sitting. Atop his throne. One arm around a young girl who bears his eyes and sardonic grin. Robert Nox.

With both in the same room, I see the resemblance as the young girl beside Nox stands and points at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Wearing a grin of pure joy, I stroll forward to her side of the table. “I see you’ve healed up nicely. Thomas and I were worried when your body disappeared from his living room.”

The failed assassin gives me a look that should burn, but doesn’t. The laws of what works from Inhuman to Inhuman are shaky at best.

“Julia, be nice to our guest,” Robert says in such a charming tone that I have to admit my knees quiver and not out of fear. “Please. Sit.” He gestures to a chair beside his daughter.

I stay standing. “I’m here with an offer.”

His daughter still broils, fists clenching. It’s been a week since I put two rounds in her gut and one in her knee, but she looks just fine with her skimpy dress and bright features.

Nox folds his hands. “And what might that be?”

“Something I’m sure you’re not used to. A truce.”

He laughs. Not forced, not even as evil as the man behind it. My body count is what Robert Nox racks up in a month. He―quite literally―finds me funny. “Why on earth would I need to have a truce with you?”

“You know who I am.” I nod to his daughter. “You know what I’m capable of. And thanks to a friend of mine, I’ve got a very captive audience.” I hold up my purse to reveal a small blinking light, and then my watch. “Enough plastic explosive to make this room look like a meteor crater, triggered if my heart stops for even a second.”

Nox’s smile turns into a clenched snarl. He doesn’t speak.

“I know what you want,” I continue with my prey, exhilarated to be the predator again. “And I’m here with some bad news: you’re not going to get it.”

Julia finally sits down, and her father puts his arm around her again.

“And why is that? What makes you think I haven’t already put my plans into motion to get it?”

Now it’s my turn to smile. “Because we’ve moved it. Only Thomas and I know where it is. And I would
love
to see you try to get it where it is. You should send her.” I motion to Julia. “She’s got the finesse to steal
your deed
, I’m sure.”

Julia reaches forward and grips a steak knife, her hand cocking back. Her father reaches out and easily snatches it from her, being the only one in the room who knows how delicate a situation he’s in.

“But if you do decide to go for it, remember this, Mr. Nox. You still pay the Donahue family for the pleasure of running this little establishment.” I wave my hands around. “It’s a lovely place that sits on Donahue-owned land. And if you hurt Thomas, I’ll make sure this building is leveled within a week. You try to pull your little soul-sucking parlor trick on him, or you have the fruit of your loins―” I nod toward his daughter, her face burning red in the dim room. “Try her kissing act, and I will personally take everything from you. See, anything happens to him, and everything goes to me now. You can get someone to break into his attorney’s office to see the will.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Nox says with a forced grin.

“Oh!” I say, as if the idea just occurred to me. I open my purse, and tucked beside the brick of explosive is a small, plastic vial. “I wanted to return this to you.” I stroll over and set the vial down in front of Julia, the thick red blood within well on its way to being a congealed mess of gore. “You left quite a bit of this at Thomas’s house when you were over playing last week. The police have no idea who it belonged to, and since he was locked up in the basement, he couldn’t say either. But I knew it was yours so I thought I’d return some of it to you.”

Now it’s Daddy Dearest’s turn to grip the steak knife.

“The rest is in a safety deposit box under an alias. And I have a good friend who has instructions to mail that package to the District Attorney with your name if something happens to me. So even if you really like this building and don’t feel like paying for it, I’m willing to bet you like your daughter not being executed for multiple murders, kidnapping, conspiracy, and―well, the list goes on.” I smile, playful. It’s not an assassination, but it’s much more fun to see the reactions here.

Now Julia looks a mite more afraid than angry. Luckily her father has enough anger for the both of them.

“Well,” I say. “It’s getting late. I should get going. But you have a great night!” I stroll out, every eye in the room on me, especially those from one of the most dangerous men in Saint Roch.

I may have just poked the bear, but he screwed with a siren. The bear has no tact, no skill, just brute force.

The siren strikes when you feel safest. When you feel your most free. And―if she wants―she can make sure you feel it. Until the only release from the agony is the cold, welcoming hands of death.

If you are looking for witty comments and warm, fuzzy moments in these pages, you will be sorely disappointed. Make no mistake, I’ll try for them, but I’ll likely miss. I have shit for aim.

This book would not exist if not for a few intrepid writer buddies who stuck with me for the last few years, reading everything from the atrocious writing to the semi-okay, including the collection of characters and profanities you’ve just read (or the one you’re skimming at the bookstore to decide if it’s worth your time). If I were to list them all, this book’s binding strain to hold together, so for the sake of the structural integrity I’ll list the ones who wouldn’t cough up enough bribery funds to keep their names out. Kat Ellis who spent more time than she should talking over books and publishing and writing and pets and dragons with me. Jani Grey who was the first person to read this story and tell me how to make it less bad. George Kulz who shared my day job of code monkey while entertaining the night job of delusional psychopath (which has a side-effect of written books). And the rest of your remain safely unassociated with me. For now.

To all the writers and authors who were penning their books when I was a kid. They made me fall in love with reading and gave me the ambition of creating such magic myself. Chiefly among them, Katherine Applegate and Michael Grant for penning stories of kids, animals, and aliens. Without them, I’d probably just be wistfully thinking about creating fictional worlds instead of doing it.

Alison Heller, who picked my 140 character book pitch out of a sea of other hopefuls and decided my book might be worth a read. So much so that she went to others to wave it at them. I still consider this the equivalent of a sane, rational person vouching for the naked guy wearing a sandwich board on the side of the road ranting about conspiracies.

All the staff of Curiosity Quills who put their blood and sweat into this book (do wear gloves while reading, please) betting their chips on a newbie writer.

I’ll thank the people who’ve stuck by me for the longest. This is the attendance award portion (meaning we’re almost to the end). My parents for funding my book addiction since I was able to hold a paperback and never laughing when I said I wanted to make my own. I’ll thank the people who had the choice to bail on the crazy and are frequent targets of beta reading: Rachel, Steve, Jess, Jen, and Aimee. You guys had the chance to stop me and didn’t, so this is really on you.

I, of course, have to thank my wife, Melissa, who decided to give a guy who was a professed writer a chance. She knew coming into this mess what I was and still stuck around. She’s my first sounding board, my first reader, my first fan, and as such bears as much responsibility for this book existing as I do. Thank you, Melissa for making this possible. I love you, and I hope you understand that this ride is only just starting.