Hitman's Desire: A Bad Boy Romance (9 page)

“
W
hat are you doing
?” Doc asks.

I grimace as I sit up on the gurney. “Do you have a shirt I could borrow?”

“Nothing that will fit you. Besides, you need to get some rest. Give that time to heal.”

“I heal fast, Doc. You know that.”

Doc gives me a look and shakes his head in frustration. “When that local anesthetic wears off, you are really going to learn the meaning of pain.”

“Then shoot me up with some more of that local around the area.”

“You know it’s frustrating when you people do your best to undo my hard work.”

“You’d be out of a job if we didn’t.”

“Cheers to that,” Doc says, then takes another swig from the bottle of scotch.

I slide off the gurney and step to my feet. With every jolt, I feel a stabbing pain in my chest. I slip on my suit jacket. My shirt is worthless. Its a bloody rag, and I throw it in the trash.

Doc gives me a handful of pills. “For pain. Use them sparingly. They could cloud your judgment… But then again your judgment is already clouded. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you not to operate heavy machinery.”

“I
am
heavy machinery, Doc.”

Doc chuckles.

I pick up the 9mm that I took from the Serpent Syndicate assassin. I press the mag release button and check the magazine. There are three rounds left. I swap it out for the extra magazine and chamber a round. The slide clacks forward with authority. I flick the safety, then I tuck the pistol into my waistband in the small of my back. I put the almost empty magazine in my back pocket. You never know when those three bullets are going to come in handy. Then I pick up the Uzi and go through the same process.

“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this?” Doc says.

“Has anyone ever been able to talk me out of anything?”

Doc shakes his head.

I get an Uber and head over to Red State. It’s getting billed to the concierge at the Lexington. After all, it is his phone I’m using.

Every pothole and bump in the road sends a jolt of electricity through my chest. I grimace and groan.

“You okay, buddy?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Mind your own business.”

I catch a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror. I’m far from fine. I’m pale and sweating. But I guess I’m not doing too bad, considering I’ve been shot. Maybe I did get lucky, as Doc suggests. Alive is better than dead.

I have the driver drop me off in the parking lot across the street from red state. Then I dip into a dark alley and observe the club. I watch all types of gangsters come and go. Exotic cars and limousines pull up to the front. Ugly guys with stunning women. Long legs and short skirts. Toned bodies and stiletto heels. Dresses painted on. If these guys didn’t have mob money, they’d never get women like this.

I recognize a few of the Iron Fist members. Made guys. If I set foot in that club, I’m a dead man. I keep watching the door. The valets are parking cars in a lot down the block. There’s a constant stream of men, in white jackets, running sprints between the entrance and the lot. Picking up and dropping off cars.

I could snatch one of these Iron Fist clowns as they’re leaving the club. Beat some information out of them. But odds are they don’t know where Dominic Finn is at. Or where he’s holding Scarlett. It seems like a risky waste of energy.

I stare at the phone for a moment, dreading the call that I have to make. I dial the number. After a few rings, an automated voice answers—a soft, soothing female voice.

“Identify and authenticate,” the voice says.

“Project Valkyrie,” I say. “Echo, Bravo, Tango, Charlie, Lima, Kilo, Yankee, Foxtrot, Alpha.”

“Authentication complete,” the voice says.

The line rolls over to a new connection and rings a few more times. Then a familiar voice answers. “MacArthur…”

“We need to meet.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Yes it is.”

“You don’t dictate orders to me.”

“You don’t want to get on my bad side, Agent MacArthur. You know what happens to people who get on my bad side.”

The line is silent for a moment.

“Where?” MacArthur says.

“I’m in an alley across from Red State. You know the place?”

“I know the place. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

“Make it 15.”

MacArthur hangs up. And sure enough, in 15 minutes he stepping into the shadows of the alleyway. I emerge from behind a dumpster with my weapon drawn on him.

“You come alone?”

“What’s the matter? You don’t trust me?” MacArthur says.

“I’ve learned not to trust anybody.”

“What’s so urgent that you need to see me?”

“Where can I find Dominic Finn?”

“That’s not part of your mission objective,” MacArthur says.

“It is now.”

“You were supposed to get me intel and identify the moles within the FBI. Do you have anything for me?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t have that information.”

“Then I don’t have anything for you.” MacArthur starts to leave.

“Look, I’ve done everything you people have asked. And I’m tired of it. You owe me this.”

“Why do you care about Dominic Finn?”

“He’s got something of mine, and I want it back.”

“The girl?” MacArthur looks incredulous. “You can’t tell me you have feelings for her? That would be impossible.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. But I’ve been having a lot of feelings lately. And quite frankly, it’s pissing me off.”

“Interesting. You were engineered not to have feelings. Not to show emotion. No guilt. No remorse. No empathy. A stone cold killer.”

“Looks like your genetic engineering didn’t really work. It seems Project Valkyrie is a bust.”

“The deal was you give me the intel I need, and I let you walk away from project Valkyrie.”

“I’ll get you your intel. But you give me mine,” I say. “Then we’re done. No more jobs. No more projects. No more missions. I’ve killed enough for you.”

MacArthur sighs. “Dominic has taken over the American Terrace building. Do you know where it’s at?”

I nod.

“It’s a 57 story fortress. Ballistic glass on all the windows. Secure entrances. It houses the elite members of his organization. Those that are loyal to him. It’s a completely self-contained facility. He has a medical trauma facility. An athletic center. And even a social club. We haven’t been able to get anyone inside of it. There’s no way you can get in, much less get out.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I hate to lose a good asset.”

“You’ve already lost me as an asset,” I grumble.

“Even if you can get into the American Terrace building, I guarantee you’re not getting out.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

McArthur smiles. “Good luck, Ryker. I mean that.” He turns around and slips out of the alley, into the parking lot. A car picks him up and he vanishes into the night. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll never see MacArthur again. And that’s just the way I like it.

D
ominic Finn’s
social club
is a paradise for mafia guys. It’s safe, secure, and decadent. It’s a strip club full of beautiful women. The stages have glossy black floors, rimmed with lights. Pink and blue neon trim rims the ceiling.

The club has three stages, each lit with a colorful array of spotlights worthy of a rock concert. As you would expect, there’s fog, music, and beautiful girls dancing around poles. Long legs and stiletto heels. Flawless bodies. Perfect breasts. Undulating and writhing in the most provocative of ways.

Men drool and stuff dollar bills into G-strings. Cigar smoke hangs thick in the air. Out on the floor, girls give private dances. Perfect asses wiggle in grotesque men’s faces. Naughty bits slide and grind on eager crotches. And if the price is right, some are granted an all access pass.

The girls here can make 2 to 3 times what they would make it a normal strip club. If they’re lucky, they might even find a rich mafia husband. If they are unlucky, they’ll end up in a dumpster. Or a meat grinder. Or the bottom of the river.

Mob guys have short fuses. It doesn’t take much to get on someone’s bad side. Say the wrong thing, or give a less than stellar performance, and your number may be up. I worked a case once were a mob hooker was killed because her mafia client was too drunk to get it up. I guess the guy felt embarrassed and beat her savagely.

But despite the dangers, girls still flock to work here. And now, I’m going to be forced to work here.

I stand backstage with Dominic Finn. I’m wearing nothing but a string bikini and six inch heels. Dominic grips my arm, and his fingers dig into my bicep. The barrel of his 9 mm points straight at me. Two more towering thugs stand behind me. Big thick hunks of meat. Both of them wearing sunglasses, despite it being dark inside the club. I call them
Thing One
and
Thing Two
.

“You do as your told, and you might just live,” Dominic says.

Music pumps out over the loudspeakers. The DJ leans into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the main stage, the new boss of the family, Dominic Finn!”

The DJ drops the music, and the crowd goes wild. Hooting and hollering. Dominic steps out on stage, into the limelight. He beams a brilliant smile and holds a wireless microphone. He waves to the crowd, like a politician.

Somebody yells, “Take it off!”

The club erupts with laughter.

“Whack that guy,” Dominic jokes into the microphone.

The crowd keeps clapping and cheering.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Dominic says. After another moment, he motions to the crowd to settle down. These people either really like Finn, or they’re scared to death of him.

“Despite the tragic events of yesterday, I believe this organization has a great future ahead. And I intend to lead us into greatness and beyond.”

The crowd cheers again.

“And I promise to you, I will do everything in my power to bring Vic’s killer to justice. And by justice, I mean tortured and carved into little tiny pieces. Then fed to the alligators at the city zoo.”

The audience goes wild again.

“Vic was a great man. We all loved him. Vic brought me into this business. Taught me everything I know. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude.” Dominic looks to the sky. “Vic, wherever you are, you’re still the king.”

I sneer at Dominic in disgust. I’m certain he had Vic killed to assume control of the Falco family.

“One thing is for certain. Vic would want us to continue on. He would want us to not only survive, but to thrive. We will make Vic proud and continue our reign as the most powerful crime family in this city.”

More ovations from the crowd.

“Enough about business. I’ve got a special treat for you tonight. Some of you may know my next guest. Some of you may even have been arrested by her. And some of you are even currently under investigation.”

The crowd boos.

“But all of that is a thing of the past. She has seen the light and has come over to the dark side.”

Laughter fills the air.

“I’ve talked to the Commission and taken the contract on her life out of circulation. So please don’t shoot.”

More laughter.

“As long as she behaves, I can see a long future for her here within the family. Tonight she makes her debut. And a private evening alone will go to the highest bidder. Without further ado, please welcome to the stage… Special Agent, Scarlett Fox.”

Thing One
pushes me out onto the glossy black stage. I almost take a tumble in these heels. The beam from the spotlight is blinding. I squint and try to adjust my eyes.

The crowd goes wild. Cheers, catcalls, boos. It’s chaos.

I stagger toward the center of the stage. I feel the hungry, ravenous eyes of the crowd devour my body.

“Come closer, sugar,” Dominic says. “I won’t bite. Yet.”

I stand next to him. He looks me up and down. “Mmm, mmm. She looks good enough to eat, doesn’t she?”

The crowd responds enthusiastically.

“Fresh meat,” someone yells.

“It’s okay. Don’t be nervous.” Dominic puts a hand on my neck, as if he’s trying to comfort me. But it only takes a moment for him to slide his hand down my back and pull the string of my bikini top. In an instant, my breasts spring free. He tosses my top aside.

The audience roars.

I cup my breast with my hands, modestly.

“Now is not the time to be shy. People need to get a look at what they are bidding on.”

I keep my breasts covered. I refuse to demean myself for these pigs.

But Dominic doesn’t like being defied. “Let these good people see the merchandise,” he says, firmly.

If I’m going to be naked in front of a bunch of thugs, I might as well own it. I drop my hands to my side.

More whistles and catcalls fly at the stage from the audience.

Then Dominic pulls the string on my bikini bottoms, untying them. The fabric flops down, exposing all of me. Dominic rips the skimpy thing away. I’m left standing completely naked on stage.

This audience is like a pack of rabid dogs, barking and howling. I am utterly humiliated.

“Walk the runway, my dear,” Dominic says. His hand smacks my ass to get moving. I eek out onto the runway. I’m shivering. Partly from fear, partly because it’s freezing in here. My nipples are rock hard. My skin is tall with goosebumps.

I strut to the end of the walkway. Lecherous eyes, wide like saucers, consume me. Despicable men adjust there burgeoning boners.

“Spin around my dear,” Dominic says. “Let them see everything.”

I have never been so embarrassed in all my life. I hate to even think about him, but I wish Ryker was here. He is the only one who can save me.

“She is something special, isn’t she?” Dominic says. “And you can be the first one to bust her cherry. That’s right, gentlemen. This specimen is a virgin.”

Even further proof that Dominic is full of shit. I’ve been with two guys in my entire life. And after what happened last night, calling me a virgin is definitely a stretch.

“What do you say… shall we start the bidding at $100,000?”

I gulp. Is someone really going to pay 100K for me?

I get my answer quickly. A man up front nods.

“I’ve got $100K, do I hear $200K?” Dominic says.

Another man nods.

“I’ve got $200K, give me $300K?”

A nod from the back of the room.

“$300K, give me $400K?”

“$500K,” another man yells.

“$500,000, give me $600K? $500K give me $600K?”

“$700K,” another man yells.

My jaw drops. I can’t believe someone is willing to pay $700,000 for one night with me. I hate to do admit it, but that’s kind of an ego boost.

Dominic rattles off numbers, and takes bids, at a frenzied pace. The room is alive with excitement. Drunk mob guys with huge egos and deep pockets. It makes for aggressive competition.

The bid works its way higher and higher. It hits one million, then two. Then three. Then five. Then someone gets bold. A shadowy figure in the back of the room shouts $10 million.

A hush falls over the room.

“$10 million, do I hear $15M? $10 million, do I hear $15M?”

It seems we’ve reached the upper limit of my value.

“$10 million going once… $10 million going twice… Sold to the gentleman in the black hat at the back of the room. Congratulations, sir.”

My heart pounds in my throat. I’m about to become the plaything of a desperate savage. Still, $10 million… that’s impressive. It’s too bad I don’t get a cut of that.

Dominic winks at me. “I knew you’d bring good business.”