The Complete Contract Series (23 page)

Melanie

I am sitting in a quaint living room as I’m watching the endearing aunt of a mysterious man I have not met as of yet, and I feel unusually comfortable. I don’t have the normal awkward feeling that people have when they meet someone for the first time. Tommy is sitting on her lap cooing as if she is his long lost grandmother.

“Oh my, he certainly is teething. Has he been fussy?”

I chuckle, as I hand her a dribble towel from the new designer bag that the man I only know as Sir, bought.

“He is never fussy and he certainly seems to like you an awful lot.”

“I wasn’t able to have children of my own. That is why my nephew Charles is so dear to me.”

I roll his name over in my mind and find myself wondering why he didn’t tell me his name. He only insisted I call him
Sir.
I resist the temptation to fish for his last name so I can google him.

“I would love to have you and the baby staying here and I really am not much trouble.”

“Well I’ll be honest with you Miss Jones, I live in government housing and I need this job. I don’t feel my son is safe in the neighborhood we are in.” I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at the cliché name but that was her name, Thelma Jones. She had gone through her life unmarried and childless, so it made perfect sense she was so enthralled with her nephew Charles.

“Well, it is settled then. The two of you have a new home and a new family. Charles needs a friend. Why, every time I see that boy in the newspaper, he has a different woman on his arm. I just hate him being subjected to those women who are clearly using him for the social status he is able to afford them.

Now she has my curiosity up. “Do you have an article I can see? I haven’t met him and it would help to know who I’m conversing with on the phone he provided me.”

“Why yes, I keep every article my Charles is in.”

I waited while she went to retrieve it and found myself hoping he wasn’t some middle-aged, paunch gutted guy. Why should I even care? I wasn’t sleeping with him and I had no intentions of doing so.

She hands me the paper and Charles Wentworth the 3
rd
is anything but middle aged with a paunch gut…

He is well over six feet with a thin athletic build and blonde hair. The tuxedo he wears in the picture is tailor made and his stark blue eyes jump off of the paper at me.

The woman who is accompanying him is everything I am not…beautiful. She looks like a model with her perfect brunette hair and her perfect designer gown. I wonder why I find myself hating her. Oh well, I have the information to google the mystery man, and I have every intention of doing just that.

Miller

I am still talking to her and assuring her that she hadn’t left any evidence at the scene of the crime the night before. (Though I would feel much better had I witnessed the kill shot.)

A message I have been waiting for comes in and I turn to her in a serious manner and begin to fill her in on details.

“Well young lady, it appears we have our first official ‘contract to kill’. This isn’t a case of a vigilante kill. The man we are being hired to kill is a very important man. Our boy is quite the ladies’ man. He uses his skills of persuasion to lure women up to his hotel and beat the shit out them, right before he rapes them. It seems the last victim was the daughter of a Russian mobster, unbeknownst to him. You, young lady, are just his type, a blonde haired, blue eyed fox.”

I grab Stormy’s face and turn it in my direction to signify how important this hit is. “This is a favor to Glazov, and we can’t fuck it up. There are very few people I respect or fear, and Glazov falls under both those categories. If at any time you feel you can’t handle this, I need to know. Fucking this hit up will sign our death warrants.”

“I can do it,” she said.

“Alright. Welcome to my world girl, because you are about to embark on your first official contract…”

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue for ‘The Executioner’:

Stormy

I wonder if he would kill me—if he
will
kill me? When you look at him you think that he is the boy next door; I can assure you Miller is anything but. He is a cold blooded killer and banking on him being in love with me may prove to be my downfall. He may not have it in him.

I know the two rules: never fuck a woman more than once and never kill one… He has already broken one of those rules and only time will tell if he will break the other.

I know there is a possibility of him killing me if my training doesn’t measure up. I can only assume that is his reasoning for staying on my ass the way he does. Everything I do is scrutinized and he is always testing me. It makes reading the man, which was already difficult, damn near impossible.

We have a job coming up. I heard him talking to someone about a man holding a woman captive. That alone wouldn’t be very intriguing but, as it turns out, the man responsible, and the one we are being sent to kill, is a psychiatrist. He is holding a woman hostage for research. It sounds like something from a horror movie but it’s real. I’ll never look at therapy the same after this. That is some crazy shit. I feel more like I’m in a TV series about serial killers than living out my own life and destiny. I used to wonder where they got ideas for shows about crazy fucks who do the crazy shit they do; I don’t anymore.

I feel no guilt about what I do for a living. I have an innate trait no amount of training can give a hit man, or hit woman in my case—I truly believe the only way to rid society of the monsters is to kill them. I don’t believe a man who preys on women and children can be rehabilitated. They’re born fucked up and, if left up to Miller and me, they will die fucked up.

I make my way into the front room to view Miller cleaning his gun.

“That gun should be pristine as much as you clean it, Miller.”

“I haven’t cleaned it since I fucked you with it.”

“Yes you have... Miller? Would you kill me?”

“Yeah, I’m going to fuck you to death with my gun.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. Getting a straight answer out of this man is a challenge, to say the least. Suddenly, my attention is diverted by a reporter on TV with breaking news.

A local woman has been missing for two days. Her car was found parked in an alley behind a popular boutique in the Louisville, KY area.

Police state her personal belongings were still located in the front passenger seat of the car. They do not believe robbery was a motive, but rather that this was a kidnapping. Police are unsure at this time whether the perpetrator could possibly be someone who knows the victim, or if this is just a case of her being in the wrong place at the right time.

They are warning women to lock their car doors when out commuting and to be aware of their surroundings.

I’m certain Miller knows something about this missing woman so I begin to fish.

“You mentioned we are going somewhere tonight; where?”

“Diego’s club. Wear something sexy because the mother fucker can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. There isn’t anything I love doing more than making him eat his heart out because he can’t have you.”

“That guy is too much of a player for me. I don’t know how Selena does it—being with a man who fucks somebody different every night.”

“Diego is a pimp, girl. You can’t have a stable if you don’t fuck your women; it’s how he keeps them bonded to him.”

“I’m not cut out for that shit; I’m too jealous.”

“What are you doing even debating it?”

“I’m not debating it—just making an observation.”

“Keep your fucking observations to yourself, Stormy.”

By now, he is glaring at me as if waiting for an answer. I make my way into the shower for self-preservation’s sake.

Nothing I say right now is going to be right. That’s just the nature of the beast when it comes to Miller. Anytime another man is brought up, he gets pissed. Jealous doesn’t even begin to describe this man. He’s crazy and I have no intentions of crossing him. I’m much too busy with making sure I get my training right so he doesn’t kill me. The thought of dying isn’t something I relish even if it is death by pleasure or, as Miller said,
being fucked to death with a Glock.