It’s something to do with my hands when they can’t be occupied with other things. A knife or gun. The sexy willing curves of a woman I’m about to sink my cock into. Not that I’ve been doing the last one a lot lately. My boss, Arthur, has been keeping me balls deep in work and on the move. It’s not often I get a moment to myself, nowadays. A second to reflect. It won’t last long. My mark will be done fucking soon. Tracking her movements over the last week has been simple enough.
She isn’t the clean-cut business woman she seems. Enmeshed in the sex trafficking trade, her wealth comes from the misery of others. A key cog in the organization running things behind the scenes. Her death is meant to be a message.
Someone wants her dead. A warning to them.
That’s where I come in.
Kay Lockwood.
I’m always discrete.
A hitman of the highest caliber.
A bullet to the head or a new home in a shallow unmarked grave, I never fail when I’m given a task. I’ve lost count of the lives I’ve snuffed out. There are too many to tally.
My name brings only fear and respect.
I’m best of the best. One of an elite cast of killers.
A shadow.
We're the bogymen.
The monsters other criminals whisper about.
They have no fucking idea how accurate they are.
Like the rest of the men of the Cavalieri della morte, I’m hardened by the life we choose to lead.
Assassins. Mercenaries. Hitmen for hire. There’s nothing soft about this band of brothers and at the head of this table of death sits our leader. Arthur.
I have no qualms over what I’ve been tasked to do. No pity or remorse. Never reflect on the lives I take. Business is business. The money is good, and it feeds the dark urges that have always been in my soul.
Taking a drag from my smoke, I let it fill my lungs. Tonight’s assignment should be a breeze. I’m polite enough not to end them in the middle of their fun. One last fuck. I’ll let them have their blissful come down. Pleasure finished a fond farewell they have no idea will be their last.
Shifting, I stretch my legs out on the hard, cold concrete. The sound of the street floats up from below. Rome hasn’t changed much. I haven’t been back in eight years. A long time to be away from the place you grew up. The memories here are bitter sweet. This is where I learned my talent for pain. A place of loss and second chances. I was born into this life as was my father before me. It’s in my blood. My soul. You know you have a calling when you’ve never flinched from inflicting hurt on others.
The soft vibration in my back pocket has me slipping out my cell phone. Pad of my finger swiping across the sleek, smooth screen, the message lights up in a pale glow. A pair of generous bare breasts fills the picture. Dusty nipples taut and straining the heavy, peachy globes are cushioned in the palms of delicate, feminine hands. Whoever the owner is, her face isn’t in the interest of the sender.
I check the sender.
Gawain this time. Earlier it had been Bors.
Other members of the brotherhood of killers.
Where ever Arthur has Gawain doing business, he’s obviously enjoying himself and taking it easy. With a quick click, I send him an image of my middle finger. I’m used to their texts. We’re in an ongoing battle to find the perfect pair of tits. Man whore, womanizer Gawain never finds it difficult to charm the ladies into his bed. Bors is the opposite. Tall and imposing, the quiet bear of a man wears a permanent scowl. That, however, doesn’t stop some women trying to tame him.
Thumb brushing the red metal horn charm hanging from the end of my phone, a churning sense of foreboding coils in my belly. I’ve always been intuitive. Had an instinct for something I’ve never been able to explain. Tonight, it’s gnawing at me. I stroke the cornetto a second time. An Italian talisman to ward off evil and to bring luck, it’s a gift from someone I am never without.
Movement catches my eye below. Six PM. Just like clockwork. Exhaling in one long go, I stub the cigarette out before slipping the butt back into the pocket of my jacket with my phone. A good hitman doesn’t leave evidence. I’m never sloppy when it comes to work. I have a reputation to protect after all. It’s why my price is high. If they want the best, they pay through the nose for it.
Lying prone, I curl my hands around my weapon as I maneuver into position. I watch my mark step from a car through the lens of my sniper rifle, her blonde hair falling in soft layers around her shoulders. Facing away from me, she ducks her head back into the vehicle to talk to the driver.
Her lover.
This bitch won’t be breathing for much longer. Before she even hits the sidewalk, I’ll be up and, on my way. There’s a shower, a bottle of Jack, and a hotel bed calling my name tonight, then tomorrow morning, I’ll be on a plane home to New Orleans. That son of a bitch I call a boss will have more work lined up for me. He knows I get tired of sitting on my arse waiting around. Booze and
whores can only amuse you for so long.