The Hit Man Read online

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  ©The Hit Man

  Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele

  The Contract Series © 2013 Suzanne Steele

  Published by Suzanne Steele

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced. It may not be used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author.

  Edited by Gypsy Heart Editing

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Formatting by Suzanne Steele

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  All content herein is protected under copyright law.

  This e-book is Rated 17+

  Stalk Me…

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prologue: Don’t Judge a Book

  To the Reader

  The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word.

  They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men that you know you should stay away from but yet you are drawn like a moth to a flame. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won’t find that here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the woman they love.

  Welcome to my world. Each and every character that I write about has demanded that their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional, but nonetheless it is real.

  Prologue

  Laura

  I sat at my computer doing what I do best—tapping away at the keys to not only pay the bills—but to fill the void in my life that nothing but words can satisfy.

  I am what the professionals term as agoraphobic. Really, to be honest with you it seems to bother everyone else much more than it does me. I have found that living online is not that big of a deal. I am able to do everything from behind my computer screen in complete anonymity and I love it.

  Although I’m able to do anything that needs to be done from the keyboard of a computer, I never anticipated meeting a man from here. I’m not quite sure how it happened—he just kind of appeared one day. I write a blog on my condition as a way to support others and I can only assume he ran across it and was intrigued.

  I have never seen him and I only know him as Miller.

  Miller

  I sat in my car eyeing the woman who had a hold on me, and she wasn’t even aware of it—or maybe she was.

  She flowed through the apartment in a sheer long sleeve white shirt with dainty pink panties beneath it.

  She crossed her legs and seated herself in the chair that gave her an ample view of the high-rise apartments across the way. Binoculars were in her hand as she began to scout out the unaware residents.

  I grabbed my laptop that was seated in the passenger seat already booted up.

  “You’re such a little voyeur.”

  I waited a moment watching as she grabbed her phone.

  “Me? I would say that is a little like the pot calling the kettle black. I would have thought you’d be busy with one of your many women.”

  “I would have thought that you’d be ready to get busy with me. Touch yourself for me baby girl, I don’t want another woman—I want you. Now be a good girl and tell me when are you going to let me come up there and see you?”

  “You first.”

  I pulled my cock from my jeans and began to stroke it as I listened to her voice.

  “Are you stroking your cock while you daydream about fucking me, Miller?”

  “Oh girl, you know that I am.”

  Laura’s fingers made their way between her legs and moved her panties over.

  “Don’t make me come up there, that’s no fair, let me see.”

  She slid her panties off and spread her legs in front of the window as she eyed the black SUV with tinted windows parked on the street below. I knew she could hear my breathing when she spoke again.

  “Oh, you are a dirty boy,” she taunted me, pushing her finger into her soaked opening.

  “And you are a voyeur, but you can’t see me because I’m a ghost. Now put your finger in your mouth and tell me what you taste like, you little tease.”

  “I taste like your big thick cock doused in honey. Now stroke it or I’m stopping, and roll down your tinted window.”

  “No, can do. The day that you agree to me coming up there is the day that you get to see this handsome mug. Oh, girl you’d feel good. Knowing you’re up there touching yourself while I watch, is much better than any other woman could ever be. You’re going to make me come baby girl.”

  Laura’s moans were music to my ears as she came while I watched her on camera. She had no idea I was a hit man and that I had bugged her apartment months ago…

  Chapter One

  Miller

  Screams reverberated off of the warehouse walls. I’m not talking about the kind of screams that are produced when a victim is attempting to yell for assistance in fear. I’m talking about the blood curdling and terror filled kind—the kind that I enjoy most.

  Most people can’t stomach my line of work. Even the most seasoned of soldiers in Iraq had to leave the room when I was extracting information out of a captured enemy. I’m a cold-blooded, sadistic motherfucker, with a compassionate heart—go figure. The only problem is that I’m impenetrable—until now… But back to the matter at hand.

  I eyed the scumbag I had tied to the chair. I liked the terror I was seeing in his eyes, but I couldn’t stand the begging—I save that for the women that I fuck.

  His weak ass whimpering and sniveling was getting on my nerves and I like to think of myself as a man in control, a man who can control his state of irritability.

  “I swear man, I’ll stay away from the parks, the schools, the kids. I’ll never touch another kid again.”

  That pissed me off—by saying he’d stay away from places kids were, he was admitting he knew he was wrong and he was still watching kids—purposely breaking his probation agreement. I slammed the butt of the gun into his face and watched as his skin split down to the bone and another blood curdling scream pierced through the air. Yes, that’s much better.

  “The problem with scumbags like you is that you’re born fucked up and the only way to purge society of you is to kill you. Castration doesn�
��t even work on men who abuse women and children.”

  A shot rang through the air, well actually a muffled pew-pew thanks to the silencer on my gun, as I pointed the gun between his legs and fired. I watched as his groin splattered open, sending pieces of flesh flying in my direction. I quickly moved out of the way. I still had to drive home and the last thing that I needed was some cop stopping me with blood and flesh matter covering me.

  Damn, I hit his femoral artery. Looks like the fun is over. Just another child molester some mother won’t have to worry about. Hell, I would have killed the son of a bitch for free, but the guy who hired me has a hundred grand to spare and right now, I’m saving my money to buy an island. Fuck going on vacation. When I’m not working, I want to disappear and reappear when I see fit. In my line of work, I have to be a ghost. And buying my own island will allow me to completely disappear when I need to.

  I made my way out of the shower and threw on a pair of sweats while my computer booted up. I needed coffee, so I meandered my way into my industrial kitchen and began spooning coffee into the stove top espresso maker I use. I set my phone in the charger at my desk and began going through emails as I waited for it to brew.

  I clicked on a message that had been sent from an unfamiliar address and studied it. I immediately knew in my gut that something wasn’t right. I quickly made my way back into the kitchen and poured my coffee. I wanted to give this email my undivided attention and coffee in my system was going to be needed for that.

  I sat back down and read it.

  Miller,

  I received your name and email address through a mutual friend we both did tours in Iraq with. I’m fully aware you don’t normally deal with clients who have requests that involve women. However I think you may be inclined to find this case interesting since the death of a child was involved. I am enclosing all of the party’s personal information. I trust that you will come to the same conclusion I have concerning the individual involved.

  Anticipating your reply.

  Sincerely,

  Mark Bradley

  Though I am a man who believes and relies on statistics that are factual in nature, I also go with my gut, and my gut was telling me something about this request for my services was drastically off in nature. Whether it was a case of someone trying to infiltrate my operation, or a case of a woman being wrongfully accused, I had every intention of getting to the bottom of things and finding the truth.

  The first thing I did was open up the attachment that had been sent with the email. I felt my breath hitch in my chest when I viewed her. The woman in the picture was the epitome of innocence.

  The visage looking back at me socked me in the gut and held me hostage from the moment I laid eyes on it. This woman was the kind of beautiful that is completely opposite of magazine cover beautiful. Her hair hung down to her ass like corn silk—blonde, perfectly straight, virgin hair. Her eyes were so light blue they appeared to be translucent in nature. Her face didn’t have a trace of make-up on her peaches and cream complexion. No lipstick was on the plump, full, naturally bright pink lips that I could envision wrapped around my cock. This woman was by far the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. She didn’t know it yet—but she was mine…

  Chapter Two

  Laura

  I squirmed in my seat as I got organized with everything I would need for my voyeuristic meanderings. I had a comfortable leather recliner, which was positioned where I could get the best view. When I had purchased it online and had it delivered, I purposely had it placed in this very spot for just that reason. I chuckled as I thought of what the burly man with the plumbers crack would have thought if he knew the plans I had for this chair.

  Hundreds of condominiums in the high-rise building situated directly opposite of mine were far enough away for me not to be discovered, yet close enough to give me an intimate view of my neighbors’ lives. I knew detailed secrets about these strangers. Hidden nuggets of knowledge that their own families didn’t know—intimate, embarrassing, shameful details of their lives that they would be horrified and mortified to think were public knowledge. I reveled in the power and control that it gave me.

  I scanned the residences with my high powered binoculars, catching glimpses of familiar faces, bodies, decor and living spaces that each person possessed and inhabited. I stopped when I viewed the habitation of one of my favorites that housed a type of dungeon of sorts within its walls. It appeared that the couple was heavy at play tonight and I felt my lower abdomen clench in anticipation.

  I watched, in a trance, as her husband grabbed a fistful of hair and growled words that I could only imagine in her ear. She was held captive on a wooden device that looked like a large x. Her wrists were bound above her head and her ankles were strapped to the lower half of the x leaving her legs spread open and her at the mercy of her husband. The look on her face stated so much more than the words that I was unable to hear could. I felt myself flinch with her when he jerked at the fistful of hair he held tightly within his grasp. Her mouth opened as if she was agonized and her eyes begged him for release. This was not a woman who was being subjected to any form of abuse. No, this was a woman who was enjoying the dark side of her innate sexual desires.

  I could feel the moisture pooling between my legs as I viewed him talking in her ear. Oh what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall right now. My hand slid down between my legs and into the dainty cotton underwear I wore. I continued to watch—holding the binoculars with one hand as my other hand swirled over my now engorged wet nub.

  I watched him release her legs as his cock jutted out demanding attention. Her arms remained subdued above her head. He wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust up into her. His hands fisted in her hair on both sides of her head—as he mercilessly pumped away at her insides. I noted how his ass tightened and indented at his hips with each thrust and it made me crave being fucked roughly, violently—not made love to, but fucked in a primal fashion. I wanted what she had—I wanted to experience being taken by a man I could trust. It was a fantasy though, nothing more than a fantasy. It was something I had never experienced, and probably never would, so I lived vicariously through a couple that had no idea I even existed. My finger moved faster as my legs tightened and I knew my release was close—so very close. As if on cue, my body convulsed at the same time that the couple fell into each other sated.

  Though I was physically satisfied, I missed the connection that came from being with a partner. I just wasn’t in the right mental state for a relationship though. This would have to do for now. Yes, for now, I had been reduced to a voyeuristic kink. I got up, shut things down, and made my way to bed.

  Chapter Three

  Laura

  I’m not quite sure when it started—the fear. I just know that it has crippled me—or so the professionals tell me. It seems to bother others much more than it does me. I find it very soothing that I can live in the penthouse of my high-rise condominium in downtown Louisville as a recluse. They have a name for what I suffer with, though I in no way believe that I am suffering, agoraphobic. It means that I don’t go outside—ever.

  I probably should reword my first statement about not knowing when the fear started—I don’t know how it all started—because I have always been afraid. I have shown signs that I suffer from ‘anxiety’ since childhood, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when I lost the person I treasured most—my baby girl. Life ended for me that day, but my nightmare had only just begun.

  It really isn’t so hard to live the way that I do, not with the technology we have available to us nowadays. I do everything online. When I say everything, I mean everything. I buy my groceries online. I order take out online. My job is online—writing scripts for a very popular weekly TV show. It’s been lucrative enough for me to live quite well. Even my social life is online. I’m happy with the way things are because I don’t like change, but change is inevitable, it always is.

  I got up and took a shower and
fixed my coffee, the same way that I do every other morning. I am a creature of habit. I pretty much do the same thing every day and it gives me a sense of well being. Control, gives me a sense of well being.

  I sat down at my computer and went to my blog. I had decided a couple of years ago that writing a blog on my condition would not only be therapeutic, it might even help other people going through anxiety issues. Evidently it was doing what I intended, because I had people following my blog from all over the world. It was common for people to email me because I made myself available to them. I couldn’t stand the thought of my life being spent selfishly behind closed doors just because of the fact that I was tormented by fear.

  I began opening emails and was intrigued with one from a man whose friend was showing signs of the early stages of agoraphobia. I guess the fact that I normally receive emails from women was what caught me off guard, that and the fact that this man had cared enough to reach out on behalf of someone else.

  I found myself wishing that my ex-husband would have done that for me, but there was no sense thinking about what could have been. Ironically enough it feels like that stage of my life is some faraway place—a lifetime ago. How can it seem like a lifetime ago, and still be so painful? They say that you never get over the death of a child and I am living proof of it. I pushed through my thoughts and began reading the email.

  Grasping at straws

  Laura, it seems that you are quite famous in cyberspace. Upon googling agoraphobia, your name and blog immediately came up.

  Though many would choose to get feedback from a professional, I can’t help but believe that it would be in my best interest to talk to someone who suffers from this debilitating disease.

  It isn’t I who suffers, but my friend. His family is becoming concerned because he refuses to leave his home. We have approached him about seeing someone for help, but he insists that he doesn’t have a problem. I will steer him in the direction of your blog, but I would appreciate it if you would be willing to talk—online of course, when I have questions.