Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (34 page)

As she ended the call and crawled back into bed she set Smith’s phone next to hers, both of them on top of the half-finished crossword he’d left behind. Eventually she’d need to tuck it away in the storage unit so she didn’t spill something on it, but for now it was a piece of him that she could keep while she built up the life he’d made possible. A life where she was strong enough to be free, able to finally be the person he’d always told her she would be – and no matter what, she would honor the legacy he’d left behind by making sure his time spent training her, spent caring for her, wasn’t for nothing.

She had become C. Assassin, killer-for-hire, one time protégé of the one and only Smith.

And maybe someday the raw place he had left behind inside her would heal enough for her to trust someone else.

Until then, there would always be another job. Another bullet. Another life to take.

Epilogue

Six Years Later

“This way.” The man gestured down a hallway, but she was distracted by the gilded accents on the walls and the molding, her eyes drawn to the way over-the-top decorations. Apparently, she wasn’t moving fast enough for the douchebag who had answered the door, because he nudged her shoulder forward.

“What the fuck, dickbag? You really think it’s a good idea to shove me?” Camille turned around fast and then smiled as the asshole took a hearty step back from her. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Will you please just follow me?” he asked, clearly irritated.

“Sure thing, sunshine. Lead on.” She smiled as he muttered curses to himself, because she was already a little irritated at the aggressive invitation she’d been given for this meeting. Not just one call, but four, along with a note sent to her hotel room proving he knew where she was this week.

Too far, Callahan.

The asshole stopped at a turn in the hall, and nodded towards a pair of elegant double doors. As she stepped past him he reached for her and she knocked his arm away on instinct. “Do you
want
me to castrate you, fucker?”

“It’s fine, Nicholas. Mr. Callahan is waiting, and he knows she’s armed.” Another asshole spoke up from behind her as he opened the door to his boss’ office.

“This is such bullshit,” she muttered. With a roll of her eyes she flipped off the lackey apparently playing secretary and walked forward to find the head of the Irish standing behind his desk, a stack of papers in one hand. Stopping just inside the doors she spoke loud enough for the assholes outside to hear her, “Hey, Callahan, why don’t you tell your lackeys what happened to the last guy on your payroll who touched me?”

“You’re late. Take a seat, C.” The man waved at the chairs in front of his elaborate desk, not even raising his eyes to her.

“No, thanks, I’ll stand.”

“Jacob,” Callahan called and an instant later the asshole from the door shoved her towards one of the plush chairs. Just as she reached for the gun in the small of her back to shoot the idiot, she felt cold steel pressed against her temple.
Fuck.
When she stilled he pushed her the rest of the way forward and into the seat. “Take her weapon. You can return it to her after she’s left my home.”

“Like hell you’re taking my -” The gun dug harder into her temple and she growled and lifted her hands slowly.
Jacob
ran his hand down her back, tracing her waist before he took the gun. “I’m going to kill you,” she growled, meeting Jacob’s eyes as he smirked and stepped back from her with
her
gun.

“Leave. Close the doors, I need to speak with her in private.” Callahan spoke with a sigh, resting his hands on the desk. As soon as Jacob obeyed, shutting them tight, she stood up sharply enough to knock the chair over.

“You want to
speak with me
?” She laughed, pointing at him. “Fuck this, and fuck
you
. No, thanks to whatever job you’re offering. After that little show, I think I’ll be leaving. Lose my number, Callahan, don’t ever call me again.” She turned towards the door, trying to decide if she should go ahead and take the knife out, or if she should just get her gun back the old fashioned hand-to-hand way.

“Camille Anne Devereaux…” The sound of her full name coming out of his mouth made her freeze, and then he continued like he was reading something. “Born November 10
th
to Elaine Devereaux. Father listed as Andrew Walker.”

No. Fucking. Way.
She slowly turned around and the bastard had a small smile as he raised up a piece of paper.

“I see that I have your attention.” He pointed at the chair. “Pick it up, and take a seat.”

Swallowing hard she turned and lifted the plush chair and sat down in front of his massive desk, which sat in his ridiculously opulent office, inside his even more ridiculous house. “What the fuck do you want, Callahan?”

“The same thing I’ve been asking you for.” Settling into his chair his eyes roamed her and then returned to the paper in his hand. “I want you to work for me.”

“I don’t pick sides, I’m freelance. You know that. You want me to do a job for you? Fine. You want me to do five jobs? Deal. But -”

“You misunderstand,
Camille
. There are no deals today, there is only you agreeing to work for me and only me.”

“No.” She clenched her jaw as his light eyes returned to hers.

“I’m a businessman, you know this. Do you really think I’d just bring you back here to offer you the same deal I offered six months ago?” He chuckled, his lilting voice taunting her, but she did her best to ignore the slow twisting of her stomach.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“So, what? You’re planning on outing my identity if I don’t work for you? Exactly what will that do other than let fucks like you use my full name just before they die screaming?”

“I’m going to pretend that was
not
a threat, Camille.” He flipped open a folder and smiled as he turned it around and shoved it to her side of the desk. “Like I said before, if I didn’t have anything new, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

There were photos in the folder and she tugged it off the desk to see it better. A young boy, early teens it seemed, but she didn’t recognize him at all. “You want me to kill this kid?”

Callahan laughed, actually laughed in a loud, lyrical voice before he reached for a mug of tea on his desk. “Keep reading, you’ll figure it out.”

For a few minutes Camille only felt frustration as she skimmed the documents. Information about the kid’s school, a few weeks of his work schedule, and then she saw it – a birth certificate. Father? Andrew fucking Walker.

Son of a bitch.

“So, you see the problem.”

“I don’t see a problem,” Camille said with a low laugh, dropping the folder of photos and papers back onto his desk. “If that kid does share some random strands of DNA with my low-life of a sperm donor, I don’t give a shit.”

“Then it won’t bother you if I send one of my boys to take him out?” The chilling tone in Callahan’s voice shouldn’t have meant anything, she
shouldn’t
have cared, but the image of him sitting in front of his school, surrounded by friends, white blonde hair like hers – that was something she couldn’t erase.

Shit
.

Forcing a casual grin, she met the Irish bastard’s eyes. “This was your plan, Callahan?
This
was why you harassed me for three days insisting on a meeting?” She laughed, leaning back and pushing a hand through her hair. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

“I just want to be clear with you. If you refuse to work for me, and only me, then I will kill Luke.”

“Why?” she asked, sincerely confused for a moment at this line of reasoning.

“Because you have no one else. Your addict whore of a mother is dead, your gambler father is too. The man who trained you died – Smith was his name, right?”

“You’re not helping your case much.” Camille leaned back in the chair, adopting the effortless
I-give-no-fucks
attitude that she was known for.

“So, you’re fine if we kill this boy? He’s thirteen, apparently quite happy if we are to believe the pictures of him and his beautiful mother.” Callahan turned the folder around and tugged out one of the surveillance photos. “Your father
did
have a thing for blondes, didn’t he?”

“Apparently he did. I didn’t really know him.”

“Last chance, Camille. I do not have all afternoon to waste with you. Either you agree to work for me, or I send someone to put a bullet in your last living, breathing relative.”

“You’d kill a kid just because he shares half a strand of DNA with me?”

“That is the point I’m making.” Callahan shrugged and dropped the photo back onto the folder. “Decision time.”

“Why do you want me to work for you solo? I’ll do whatever fucking job you -”

“There are things that are… sensitive in nature. Things that I need someone inside my control to handle.”

“You want to control me?” Her skin itched at the idea.

“This is all your choice. Either you agree to work for me, and only me, doing whatever I ask of you… or Luke dies.” There was another layer of threat in Callahan’s demand, one made more clear by the way his eyes dropped towards her chest for just a moment.

She opened her mouth to tell Callahan to go fuck himself, to kill the kid, just so she could walk out of his fucking house and remain a free agent – just like Smith had always been. But the kid looked too much like her, and while the documents could have been faked, she could always verify them and then decide later to back out of the deal.

If Callahan had anyone in his stable of lackeys capable of doing what she could do, he wouldn’t need to resort to pathetic, low-blow tactics like this.

“You’re a bastard, Callahan.”

“Is that a yes, Camille? Are you agreeing to work for me?”

The words were physically painful to say, but she knew one thing for sure – if she said no, that kid wouldn’t live to see tomorrow night, and she’d probably get photographic evidence slipped under her hotel door. If this kid really was her half-brother, that would hurt. A lot. She could sacrifice a little of her freedom, for a short time, to keep him safe. Even if agreeing to work for Callahan felt like swallowing glass.
Just say it.
“Yes, I will work for you, you son of a bitch.”

“Wonderful.” Callahan snapped the folder shut, covering Luke’s face and information, but she’d already memorized everything she needed to verify it. “Then let’s talk about transitioning you into the organization, and discuss our rules.”

What’s next for Camille?

Keep reading for an exciting sneak peek of ‘Lethal Sin’!

One year after the deal

Click, click, thump.

Click. Thump.

The sound of someone racking the slide of a gun filled the space as they finished reassembling the weapon, and then there was only silence.

Camille shifted against the zip-ties holding her to the chair, and it was awkward because her back was bowed so painfully that she couldn’t even relax. They had also tethered her ankles to the outsides of the chair in an attempt to scare her, but, honestly, none of that bothered her. What was frustrating was that they had kept the damn cloth over her head, and it was hot, and stifling, and she just wanted some fresh air on her face – or as fresh as she was going to get in this warehouse near the dirty waterfront. Even through the fabric the stench of dead fish and filthy water was apparent.

“Alright, last chance. Tell us where he is.”

Right.
Him
.

Camille laughed softly under the cloth, but it was cut short when the asshole that had been playing with his gun landed a punch to her ribs. The pain stole the air from her on a curse, and she brought it back in through clenched teeth, tightening her hands into fists.

That had hurt.

“I told you that was your last chance.” The hard press of the gun shoved her head to the left as he dug the muzzle into the side of her scalp. He was probably trying to set it against her temple like in the movies, but he was off by about three inches.

“Then shoot me,” she muttered. His hand shook, she could feel the pressure of the metal against her skull wavering, and then he groaned and pulled the weapon away. As cool as she was trying to play it, her heart rate had tripled in the silence, and now it was practically tripping over itself as she heard him pace away from her across the concrete.

Okay, Camille, maybe it wasn’t necessary to call his bluff that harshly. Rein in the bitch a bit.

“Hey, boss. Yeah.” The man was speaking into his phone, and although his voice was faint she could still make out his words in the dead silence of the huge warehouse. “No, she hasn’t.”

Camille smiled under the hood, taking advantage of his absence to stretch as much as she could, rolling her shoulders while she listened to the idiot try and explain to his boss how she hadn’t told him a thing. She should have known he was too low on the totem pole to actually do more than rough her up a bit.

He had still got the drop on her though.
Fucker
.

If she hadn’t been so stupid she wouldn’t be in this mess anyway. She’d let her guard down, tipsy from a few too many martinis at dinner, so she’d been looking for the business card she’d snagged with the hotel’s address instead of keeping her hand on the gun in her purse. The first electric snap of the stun gun against her side had brought her to her knees, the second had sent her flat, and she’d been barely conscious when he’d hit her a third time. Now she was tied to a chair listening to Mr. Lucky Shot get yelled at. At least
that
was entertaining.

“I did – Boss, I did! No, she –” He let out a shout of frustration. “I’ll get her to tell me. No, I can do it. I don’t need -”

The sudden silence and a low growl told her the call had ended. He stomped around for a few minutes, cursing and mumbling as he threw a henchman temper tantrum. Camille straightened up in the chair again as she heard him stomping towards her. The heavy sound of the hammer being cocked on the gun made her brain stand to attention.

“Tell me where he is, bitch! TELL ME!” He roared at her, and she tensed because if he was shaking as badly as he sounded like he was, he might pull the trigger by accident – and she definitely did
not
want to get shot. Again. Once was enough in her lifetime.

But it’s not like telling him would save her life, he’d probably still shoot her, and if he didn’t? The man they were looking for definitely would.

Only
he
would make her beg for death first.

Camille kept her jaw shut tight, digging her nails into her palms as the man’s harsh breaths filled the space around her. He could at least take the fucking hood off. All his loud breathing was just reminding her of how little air she had under the dark cloth.

“You don’t have a lot more time. You can either tell us where he is now, or you’ll tell us later, but I promise – you’ll tell us one way or another.” The guy switched tactics, leaning in close until she felt the weight of his gun hand pressing on her thigh, the outline of the weapon digging into her skin through her tights. His other hand trailed up the form-fitting top she wore until he cupped her breast and squeezed.

She’d been waiting for this tactic. If hitting her and threatening her life didn’t work, threatening her sexually was always next. This definitely wasn’t new in the circles she ran in. They just always made the same mistake – they assumed she was weak.

His voice was a notch lower as he leaned close to her face, “Sure you don’t want to tell me?”

Camille grinned and spoke softly, “No.” Then she brought her head forward hard and based on the crunch and the sudden scream, she was pretty sure she’d just broken his nose.

“FUCK!” He roared, and she braced herself just before he backhanded her hard. The pain was a sudden burst in her cheek and her ears rang with the force of it, but she made herself sit back up.

If only she could see the shocked expression on his face, the bloody nose. That would be a nice interlude to their interrogation. He’d had her in the chair for over an hour conscious, probably much longer than that before she woke up, and no matter how many threats, promises, or hits – she still hadn’t answered him.

She was a professional, after all. No matter who she worked for.

The gun was suddenly under her chin, forcing her head back as he dug the metal into the soft tissue. It would have been a lot scarier if she weren’t completely sure that he wasn’t allowed to shoot her. Under the current circumstances, she just laughed. “What’s wrong? Does your nose hurt?”

“Fuck you!” He pressed the gun a little harder into her skin until she had to swallow. “Why are you even protecting him? My boss will pay you ten times whatever he’s offering you, just tell us where the fuck he is! He’s not worth your fucking life!”

True.

He
wasn’t worth protecting, but despite all her rules… some people
were
worth protecting, and there wasn’t a day that had come and gone in the last year that she didn’t wish she could be as completely heartless as she pretended to be.

Soft underbellies only got you gutted. It was better to have no weaknesses at all.

“Dammit!” Mr. Not-So-Lucky tore the gun away from her and she dropped her head forward, rolling her neck to ease the strain he’d caused. He was cursing for a minute, mumbling to himself, and she sighed.

“Listen, while you’re freaking out, could you just take this hood off? It’s fucking hot under here, and you can just as easily threaten me without it.”

“Go to hell. You’re going to regret this shit. Boss called in one of his main guys to come get you and he doesn’t fuck around.”

“So you’ve just been playing with me? Here I thought you were doing your best to be scary.”

“SHUT UP!” He shouted at her, and then she heard him yank a metal chair over the concrete, the screech making her ears ache.

“I thought you wanted me to talk?” Camille taunted him, no longer even remotely afraid of this lackey henchman who had just had the good fortune to catch her on an off night. Normally he would have ended up on the ground with a bullet in his head, and she’d be luxuriating in some suite downtown while the NYPD pretended to look for clues as to why another lowlife was dead in a gutter.

“Say something else and I’ll shove something in your mouth to keep you quiet.”

“Whatever.” Camille rolled her eyes behind the hood, tilting her head down to try and let a little fresh air in under the fabric, and then she heard him shuffling cards. The quick sound of them slapping against each other came again and again, and then she listened as he began laying them out on the table in quick succession.

The fucker was going to play solitaire?

Asshole
.

She forced a deep breath and tried to adjust in the chair to ease the growing ache in her wrists and shoulders. For a moment she wished she’d worn something other than the heavy boots that came up to her knees, because they were making her too warm. They had worked for the outfit in the early Fall weather in New York, and she liked the flat bottoms because it meant if she needed to run she still could. Idiots that showed up to a fight in heels usually broke an ankle, or got shot.

Normally, Camille would say she was
not
an idiot, but her current situation argued it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been tied up and threatened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. She just had to wait until they made a mistake, let her up for some reason, and then she could go for Mr. Not-So-Lucky’s gun, or her own. The little Sig Sauer P238 in her purse didn’t look like much, but it would still put a bullet, or four, through the person she aimed it at. Time passed slowly as she listened to the snap of the cards as henchman guy laid them out while she fantasized about all the ways she could kill him. It had become background noise when the loud banging of a fist against a metal door broke her out of her thoughts.

Henchman’s chair screeched against the floor as he pushed it back, and then his heavy footsteps marched across the concrete. When the door opened she could hear hushed male voices and so she straightened her back again. No benefit to looking weak in front of henchman number two.

Their feet stopped just in front of her, and the hood was suddenly ripped over her head. Her vision blurred in the industrial lighting, but Camille took the opportunity to steal a few deep breaths as the cooler air rushed over her damp, hot skin.

“
This
is the one giving you all the trouble?” A deep voice rumbled in front of her and she shook out her white blonde hair as she raised her eyes to them. Mr. Not-So-Lucky had a crimson swipe under his nose to clearly mark him. He was a big guy, broad chested with arms that screamed steroid use, and a close-cropped haircut that made his ugly mug stand out. Unfortunately, the guy to the left was taller, bigger, and his hard body under that designer suit looked like one earned from a lifetime of brutal work. Even worse, he had a playboy face. Handsome, Latin, with dark hair cut into that messy but put-together look she saw on rich boys all the time. That meant Mr. Not-So-Lucky hadn’t lied to her, this guy was high up on the food chain for their boss. Well compensated for the work he did, just like she was, and that meant he probably played on her level.
Fuck
.

Her evaluation had taken no more than a few seconds, but she knew one thing for sure – she couldn’t show fear to either of them. With a grin she leaned back as best she could with her arms still bound to the chair. “Have I really been that much trouble? I thought I’d been a stellar guest.”

“Shut up, bitch.” Mr. Not-So-Lucky glared at her, but the other man just chuckled. “Someone needs to teach you a fucking lesson.”

Mr. Not-So-Lucky reared his hand back to slap her, but henchman number two caught his arm in the air, never pulling his dark eyes from her. “Your assistance is no longer needed. Leave.”

The lackey’s shoulders slumped. “But I can help you out. Work her over with you, so -”

“No. Leave.” Tall, dark, and handsome turned his eyes to Mr. Not-So-Lucky and the man raised his hands up, moving towards the table.

“Fine, but tell the boss I was willing to help. He only called you in because -”

“I’m sure you’ll get an A for effort, dickbag.” Camille smiled as Mr. Not-So-Lucky flipped her off before he bent to gather his playing cards and shove his gun in the back of his pants.

He stood up to leave and pointed at her as he walked backwards towards the door. “Your smart mouth won’t last long with Mateo. Trust
that
.”

The idiot left, slamming the metal door behind him and she turned her eyes up to the very tall man standing in front of her. She tilted her head, and let her lips curve up in a slow smile. “Mateo, huh?”