The Complete Contract Series (14 page)

Your days of having your whores pick up men to lure them to hotel rooms so you can rob them for drug money are over. I bet you didn’t know the last victim who fell prey to the two of you was in the hospital for close to six weeks. He lost his job, his wife, his children, and ultimately, his life after he took it by jumping from the roof of a down town building—all so you could get your next fix.”

I am truly enjoying his terrified screams. Even from behind the ball gag I can hear him begging for mercy. I pick up the razor sharp knife and begin toying with it…just to prolong his anguish… I look into his eyes and smirk.

“I’m going to slit your lying, thieving throat—are you ready?”

I’m being facetious—but what the fuck?

“There is no redemption…only justice…”

Miller

“Put your seatbelt on
Stormy Dawn Weathers
.” I accent her name just to sink it deeper into her pretty little psyche that she is no longer the innocent wall flower I first encountered. I clutch her chin turning her face in my direction and forcing her to look me in the eye. “Do you know that I killed your husband?”

“He isn’t…wasn’t…my husband, and yes, I suspected it.”

“I bet you didn’t suspect I was hired to kill you though, did you?” That got her attention and being that I am going for shock value, it works for me.

“He said you were a baby killer.” I watch as a tear streams down one of her cheeks. It is the one trigger, the one weakness she is going to have to get past—the death of her daughter. She can’t afford to be plagued with guilt, because I can’t afford to lose her. Enemies like mine are trained to find weakness and use it against you. Weakness means people die—distraction due to guilt can get her killed and she isn’t dying on my watch. Guilt isn’t a luxury that she will be allowed to have anymore. I could kill that bastard again when I think about what he did to her concerning the death of their child.

“Baby girl, you have to get past that. I know you’ll never get over the loss of your child—and I
get
that—you have to get past the guilt though. Kids die of S.I.D.S. every day and every parent goes through the same guilt you’re experiencing. She fell asleep and didn’t wake up. It isn’t your fault.”

I watch as she bites her lower lip, shaking her head yes. Then I take her in my arms and hold her. If I could take the pain on myself I would, just to see her free of it. I stroke her hair as I speak more to myself than her, “I’d like to have a son with you some day.”

I raise her head up and place my hands on her shoulders. “Get it together girl, because I’m getting ready to take you to the gym and kick your ass.”

“Like hell you are.” Her beautiful jaw locks in determination as she speaks.

“There’s my girl.” I watch her through my peripheral vision as she lowers the mirror, looking into it and wiping the tears away. She has sense enough to wear water-proof make-up I notice. She is going to get through this. We are going to get through this; I will see to it that we do. In a sense she needs a hero and I am just the man for the job.

I have been saving her from the day her worthless ex-husband tried to hire me to kill her. I will be saving her until the day that I die—and I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.

I watch her as she exits the dressing room wearing the workout gear she brought with her in a duffel bag. I am not the only one who is watching her. Every head in the place turns and she is clueless to it as she wraps her hands for the fight that is getting ready to ensue.

She is beautiful—and she is mine. She still wears the bandages from her trip to the tattoo parlor. They will be necessary for the next week but if she thinks that I am going to show her any mercy she’s wrong. I am going to train her ass to be on top of her game—mercy and coddling her won’t accomplish that

We both stand at opposite ends of the ring barefoot and dressed for MMA fighting. We eye each other intently, sizing up our opponent.

“You come out touching fists with me and then make it back to your side of the ring. Then… its game on girl… Don’t dare mistake me for being kind in this ring. When it comes to fighting, kindness is a form of weakness—you’d better watch your ass, because I’m getting ready to kick it.”

I almost have to laugh when her face takes on a snarl and she growls: “Game-on.”

She meets me in the middle of the ring, touches my fists, then quickly backs away. I note that she never turned her back toward me. She should be glad that she didn’t because I had planned on slamming her ass into the cage if and when she did. I have to say I am impressed with her foresight. We circle looking for an opening and I see it and come at her with a round-house kick and she ducks avoiding it.

“Impressive.”

“Shut-up and fight, Miller!”

“Well if talking distracts you then all the more reason that I should be running my mouth.”

I swing at her and she barely misses getting coldcocked. Her ducking the kick saves her from hitting the mat face first but it still connects with her jaw enough for her to have to shake it off. “Tell me when you’re ready to cry
Uncle
—or in your case,
Master
.”

“Only in the bedroom baby, never in the ring.”

“Touche, little lady.”

“Well you can forget about me being a lady in the ring,” she taunts, as she solidifies it with a roundhouse kick that connects with my thigh, sending me back and causing me to have to regain my balance. I have underestimated her fighting abilities. It is evident she has taken her childhood training seriously. A big part of me is relieved. At this rate, she can kick an average man’s ass—but I’m not an average man. It gives me not only a sense of pride and confidence in her, but also in her abilities.

The only reason her husband had gotten away with kidnapping her when he did was due to the fact he had drugged her. He caught her off guard. She never would have expected that from him. Even if she can fight due to training, she still needs to be trained not to ever be caught off guard.

She isn’t street smart and that poses a big fucking problem in my world. The men and women I deal with are sharp business people, with street smarts, money, and connections. They chew people up and spit them out for sport. They enjoy the game and they have the resources to play—ruthlessly taking down opponents for the fun of it—and the money of course. It’s a sport to them. There are three things that motivate the people in my world: the things they covet with their eyes, the things they crave in their flesh, and pride.

Her fist whizzes past my head, lightly connecting with my chin and then it is over. I bum-rush her and send her to the mat, wrapping my legs around her squirming body and holding her in a full blown head lock with my arm.

“Say it,” I demand, squeezing the air right out of her with the pressure I’m applying with my legs around her midsection. A crowd has gathered now and the thought that they might think that I am being too rough on a woman crosses my mind. Fuck that, she is going to say it, or I am going to force it from her.

I bend down growling in her ear where no one can hear what I am saying. “Say it— Say Master.”

“Fuck you!”

I squeeze my scissored legs tighter around her mid-section and I guess that my hard headed little vixen realizes that there is no escaping it and she wheezes “Master.”

“Good girl,” I croon as I pet her hair, consoling her. “That was a damn good fight and I’m impressed.”

She topples me hugging me and her smile is a ray of sunshine. She looks like she is so pleased I am impressed with her fighting abilities. It is the truth—the girl can fight. Her training is coming along much quicker than I ever anticipated. I am relieved she can defend herself. I actually feel sorry for anyone who would dare to cross her—she is turning out to be a force to be reckoned with.

The crowd cheering pulls us both from our hug and our thoughts. She has done enough training for the day—out of the bedroom that is. It is time to go home.

Training isn’t just about fighting and learning about how to physically defend herself, it isn’t even about sex. She needs to be trained psychologically. She has to learn her opponents and that means that she will have to pay close attention to detail.

There are so many things that go along with being a hit man. Much to my dismay, some of those things can only be learned in the field—hands on. The first jobs are some of the most dangerous time periods for trainees; it’s a time many of them are killed. Those first few marks are the most revealing. They separate the men from the boys, or in this case, the women from the girls. They are the moments of truth that let a trainee know if they are cut out for this line of work. I find myself hoping she is—she’ll be the hottest partner I have ever worked with, that is for damn sure…