Satisfaction Delivered: A Triggerman Inc. Story

by Marie Harte

  Footsteps grew nearer.

  She hurried to lie back on the bed and evened her breathing, feigning sleep.

  The door opened.

  “Now, now, Violet. Can’t have that.” Joe shot her before she could move, and darkness once again descended.

  “B-bastard,” she slurred, feeling a burning pain in the same hip he’d shot earlier.

  He sighed. “At least I’m consistent.”

  HAMMER TOOK another punch to the gut and groaned, letting Jonas Fucking Hood think he had the upper hand. Man, had shit gone from bad to worse in a hurry.

  After waking up a few hours ago in a surprisingly light basement in chains, he’d learned he’d somehow lost a day and a half as well as thousands of miles of coast.

  Hammer had left his uncle’s place with Vi Wednesday morning. From what Luis, his freaked-out cellmate, had shared, it was Friday morning. Luis spoke in rapid Spanish. A resident of Culiacán and a small-time drug pusher, he told Hammer that he’d help Hammer in any way if Hammer would get them the hell out of their cell and away from the maniac running things.

  Apparently, Hammer had been flown to northwestern Mexico and now sat somewhere near the coast, likely Altata Beach, though Luis couldn’t be sure.

  Having been promised he’d go free just as soon as Hammer was able, the smaller man had been a font of information.

  El Diablo Príncipe—the devil prince, also known as that fuckhead Jonas—had taken over the drug trade from the last gang in power a few months ago. He paid his suppliers handsomely and never had a shortage of guns or women. He’d been quietly growing in power for years but then had suddenly appeared after the local gangs vanished. He also had an agreement with the larger cartels around them, and Luis couldn’t figure out how el Diablo had done it without involving bloodshed.

  Still smarting over that hit to his stomach, Hammer stared at the walking dead man, noticing his pricey clothes, jewelry, and sun-kissed face. Jonas’s hair had been styled, and he looked like a model for men’s cologne.

  The bright room in which Hammer had been bound looked like a pricey hotel suite. Everything was of high quality—white leather couches, glass tables, huge floral arrangements and fruit bowls on large tables. Adobe colored walls were bordered by teak moldings, and a vast entryway was lit by a stained glass mural over tall, thick wooden doors. Hammer had seen them before being dragged to the chains suspended in the ceiling by the far wall of this pricey living area.

  “Sun’s starting to make you look old, Jonas,” Hammer said, always one to go for the throat. Jonas was one of the vainest people Hammer knew. He doubted that had changed.

  Jonas scowled. “How is it you’re still alive? I would have thought your big mouth and small brain would have landed you in a morgue by now. Or at least a mass grave.” Jonas grinned and nodded to his man.

  The giant with anvil-sized fists answered in Italian, which Hammer found interesting. The guy appeared average if you took away his sheer size and muscle. He stood toe-to-toe with Hammer, and in any other instance, Hammer wouldn’t mind grappling with the guy, wondering if he could take him down. But not while tied up and needing to get things done. Italian Thug was a hindrance at present.

  “Sure thing, boss. You mind if I keep targeting the ribs? Hurts more than the face, but if you want to see marks, I’m happy to knock his teeth out or blacken his eyes.”

  Jonas seemed to ponder that. “Hmm. No, Gio, work those ribs. You can break his nose in a bit. I do love the sight of blood.”

  Hammer chuckled, enjoying Jonas’s frown. What? Am I supposed to be quaking in my boots? Asshole. Hammer hung from chains suspended in the ceiling, his feet dangling on the ground, unbound. He couldn’t get any purchase from the floor, barely able to reach and only then if he stretched his toes.

  But he could kick. He’d been pretending to be much weaker than he was. His shirt was in tatters over his shoulders, his jeans filthy but in one piece. They’d removed his shoes and stripped him of any and all weapons.

  He waited for the bruiser in front of him to hit and braced for it.

  The blow hurt, but not as much as it would have if he hadn’t been prepared. And was it his imagination, or was Gio pulling his punches?

  “American pussy,” the Italian said as he shook his head. “I barely tapped you. We have a long way to go.”

  Jonas laughed, kicked back on a pristine white couch, and sipped champagne.

  Hammer wheezed. Though he’d been prepared for the hit, it still hurt. “I’m the pussy?” he said in Italian back. “At least I can take a hit. Princess Jonas is afraid to break a nail.” Hammer smiled. “Or maybe he’s afraid of what I’ll do if he gets too close. Memories of that fire still burn, don’t they?” He laughed at the stupid pun, ignoring his injuries. “Say, how’s your girlfriend doing? Oh, that’s right. Angel’s dead.”

  His face leached of pleasure, Jonas placed his champagne on the table in front of him and stood. He slowly removed his gold cuffs and placed them near the glass. Then he rolled up his sleeves, his gaze narrowed on Hammer.

  “Please tell me you’re stopping at rolling up the sleeves,” Hammer continued in Italian to fuck with Jonas in front of his hired help. “I’m dating now and really not into bored blonds with nowhere to go and no one to blow.”

  He caught the grin Gio tried to hide. Then Jonas was there, punching Hammer so hard his head snapped back and his nose cracked.

  “Fuck you,” Jonas seethed.

  Hammer spat a mouthful of blood at him, looking beyond his watering eyes. “No, fuck you.”

  While Jonas wiped Hammer’s blood from his face, Hammer struck. He pulled up fast. Wrapped his legs around Jonas’s neck. Squeezed. The bastard was smashed against Hammer’s crotch, no other way to choke him out but to do it.

  Jonas shrieked and flailed, and Hammer crushed, wanting nothing more than to break the fucker’s neck.

  Then Gio and some other men yanked him away, leaving Jonas gasping as he stumbled to the floor.

  “Lightweight.” Hammer grinned past the blood, his nose throbbing, but not so much he couldn’t appreciate what he’d almost done.

  “What the hell, Jonas?” a dark-haired man said in English, his accent Russian. “You done playing around or what? We have work to do.”

  Shit. Hammer recognized Michael Scoria, who should have been imprisoned in Russia. What the hell?

  “Killing you quick is too easy,” Jonas said to Hammer, ignoring Scoria. “But have no doubt we’ll get back to Angel.”

  “Whatever. One dead bitch is as good as another.” Sorry, Angel. You know I don’t mean it.

  Jonas withdrew a gun and shot Hammer in the thigh. “What’s that? I can’t hear you past all that groaning. Now who’s the lightweight?”

  Hammer’s leg hurt. A lot. The bullet felt as if it had gone clean through, at least. Might be best to stop antagonizing Jonas now. “Oh please. The only way you can deal with me is to have me tied up while your lackey hits me. Or you stand far away with a range weapon.” Hammer sneered. “God forbid you get your hands dirty.” He chuckled. “Almost had you even while I’m tied up. So, who’s the fucking pussy, little prince?”

  Jonas took a step closer, raising his gun to Hammer’s face.

  The other man with Scoria frowned. “Look, are we going to get this done or should I leave? I want those chemicals, but I have another source I can use if I need to.”

  Hammer’s head swam, but that voice. He sounded like Joe. Except the man’s features were all wrong. The nose looked wider, his eyes larger and green, not brown. And his skin tone seemed darker as well. The hair had the same color but had been cropped short, close to his head in an almost military cut.

  He wore a gray suit with pricey loafers. A mobster, maybe? Because he murmured something in Italian to Gio, who shook his head and nodded deferentially to Jonas.

  “We’ll do this when I say we will.” Jonas glanced from the man to Hammer and smiled. “Look who’s here, Hammer. Big Joe. I’m so happy
I can introduce you two, finally.”

  Hammer stared in shock, seeing his uncle beyond what had to be prosthetics. “What?”

  His shock made Jonas laugh. “Sold out by one of your own. That hurts, doesn’t it?” He sounded both bitter and amused. “Even better, I have someone to entertain all of us.”

  Joe sighed. “We’re doing this now?”

  “Shut up, Joe.” Scoria frowned, looked Hammer over and snorted. “Destroyer? Who the hell gave you that name?”

  “I know.” Jonas laughed.

  “More like Destroyed.” Scoria grinned, and his scar pulled. The guy had menacing down to a science.

  “How’d they treat you in Petak, Scoria? Make any new shower buddies?” Hammer laughed and wished he wouldn’t have, suddenly feeling every ache. His ribs burned. Blood had saturated his jeans and trickled down his left leg, over his bare toes. The weight of his body dragged on his arms and shoulders, and he did his best to even his breathing.

  Scoria’s grin faded, and he stared at Hammer with cold, dead eyes. “Hey, Jonas. I’ll pay extra if you let me watch while you kill him. Slowly.”

  “Oh, I’ll let you watch for free.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Joe looked at Hammer and shook his head in disappointment.

  The confusion was enough to make Hammer’s head explode. Joe had known about Jonas all along. But he’d said nothing. He seemed to be in collusion with Michael Scoria, a known rogue who should have been wasting the rest of his life away in one of the worst prisons in the world, one impossible to escape from, yet Scoria stood here, obviously happy, healthy, and free.

  And Joe’s disguise. To protect his identity or to protect Hammer from an associated fallout?

  Then Jonas dropped another bomb. “Bring her in.”

  Joe whipped up a cell phone and gave the order. A man who could be Gio’s twin walked into the room with a woman draped over his shoulder. At Jonas’s nod, he placed her, wrists and ankles both bound in front of her, on the couch.

  Violet lay unconscious, a bruise on her cheek, but otherwise seemingly unharmed.

  “What do you think, Destroyer? Would she like an orgy better conscious or unconscious? How was she when you fucked her?”

  Hammer kept his expression dismissive. “She is a great lay. Ask her what she likes when she wakes up. We never got to the orgy part.”

  Jonas kept watching him, waiting for a sign he’d break. The bastard cupped her breast and squeezed, and Vi’s face contorted slowly as she started to wake. “I’ll make you watch.”

  “Excellent.” Hammer forced himself to grin. “If you invite a few chicks to the party, I’m more than happy to watch. Though I’m okay if you want me to see dudes banging her, live porn would be better with more women.”

  Gio’s twin nodded. “I agree.”

  Gio frowned. “I don’t like rape. Maybe we could ask to fuck her.”

  “She’s a serious banger,” Hammer agreed. “And she likes them big.” He looked Jonas over. “Maybe not you, then.”

  “You want me to shoot you again, but I won’t.” Jonas took his hand away from Vi in disgust. “I’m going to make you watch everything I do to her, and then I’m going to have it done to you.”

  “Whatever. We still ain’t dating, Jonas.”

  Gio coughed.

  Scoria stared from Hammer to Jonas in disbelief. “He has no sense of self-preservation.”

  “No shit.” Joe strode to him and yanked his head back by his hair, a warning in his eyes. “I have more important things to do than watch you dig your own grave. Do it on your own time, you stupid shit.” He let Hammer go and turned back to Jonas. “Let’s talk.”

  “I’m going to kill you when I get free,” Hammer promised, not sure if he was saying that to add credibility to Joe’s role…if it was a role…or meaning it.

  “And this is why I can’t use you anymore,” Joe growled. “You never use that brain, what little you were given.”

  Jonas snickered. Scoria grinned.

  “Now, gentlemen, let’s talk.” Jonas flicked his wrist at Gio, who nodded.

  Gio approached Hammer. “Brace yourself,” he whispered.

  But Hammer was losing his grip on reality as the pain set in, and when Gio slugged him in the gut hard enough to crack that bruised rib, he saw stars. And then he saw nothing but black.

  SEVENTEEN

  When they eventually got out of this and returned home, Vi was going to give Hammer lessons on how not to be such a loudmouthed asshole.

  She had woken while over a large man’s shoulder and played possum through a lot of drama. Hearing them beat Hammer, the sound of a pistol firing and Hammer’s groan, then feeling that loathsome Jonas Hood feeling her up, had been hell.

  But she’d done it without making a sound or flinch, and now they left her alone while they plotted not too far from her position on the couch. A quick glance through shuttered lids showed no one in front of her. She could hear them talking behind her, however.

  In front of the glass table with its unfinished glass of champagne, she saw Hammer hanging from the ceiling, thick chains manacled to his wrists, his toes dragging on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His face had been battered. Bruises appeared to darken over his right side. And his left leg sported a bullet hole.

  Vi had no idea what to make of any of it. Hammer hadn’t outed his uncle. And the fact that no one had commented on his likeness to Hammer meant Joe must have disguised himself. So Joe, Scoria, the Italian giants, and now Jonas. That made at least five men she’d have to deal with before escaping.

  Not to mention the giant moron hanging unconscious.

  He’d done the right thing, playing off their relationship. God only new what Jonas would do if he learned how much she and Hammer meant to each other. But Joe hadn’t told him anything, and that was curious.

  What was his stake in all this? He’d mentioned chemicals. Did he mean chemical weapons? He seemed to be in league with Scoria and Jonas. But was he? That story of his, of sacrificing one for the greater good still bothered her. Had it been a warning? A lesson? A predictor of things to come?

  She couldn’t count on Joe standing by her side. Hammer right now was no help.

  So she’d have to do it on her own.

  She moaned, and the men stopped talking.

  “Give me two hours then meet me back here.”

  “Got it,” Scoria said.

  Joe managed, “But we—”

  “Got it,” Scoria said again. “Joe, let’s go.”

  “Fuck. Fine. But I have a schedule to keep, people.” He stalked out of the room with Scoria and a big Italian following.

  Jonas rounded the couch to look down at her. To Gio, he said in Italian, “Take the bleeding asshole back to his cell. Make sure he’s still alive. I’ll deal with him later.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  She watched the big man unlock Hammer and catch him before he fell to the floor. Then Gio swore about the mess Hammer was making, bleeding all over everything.

  “And don’t get that on the carpet,” Jonas called out with a laugh as Gio left the room. A young woman with a mop raced from out of nowhere to follow them. “Now, lovely Violet. Let’s have a chat.”

  She blinked, feigning confusion. Not so fake—she was confused. “What? Where am I? Who are you?” She stared at him, taking in his perfect features, his straight white teeth. The poster child for what Lucifer must surely look like, she thought. “Wait. The Prince?” She let her mouth fall open. “But you’re dead!”

  He smiled and helped her sit up, ever the gentleman. Yeah, right. “My demise has been greatly exaggerated.” He laughed. “Man, I have wanted to use that line for a long time. Yes, I’m still alive. No, I’m not going to give you all the gory details. What I want from you is knowledge.”

  “What?”

  “Thirsty?”

  What the hell. She nodded. “Please. My throat is super dry.”

  “It would be. They’ve tranqed you a few
times to keep you manageable. And unlike the fuckhead just hanging there” —he nodded to the chains— “unharmed.”

  She drank the water he gave her and accepted a second bottle.

  “Fruit?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He smiled, beneficent as he prepared a plate of fruit for her that he shared. “Eat.”

  She did as best she could with her wrists still bound. “Can these go?” She nodded to her hands and feet.

  He withdrew a large knife he’d had tucked behind him.

  She didn’t move.

  He cut through her ankle and wrist bands with ease then held the knife under her chin. “I’m not a fool, so please don’t make the mistake of thinking me one. I love women, and I’m more than aware that you have never been the weaker sex.”

  She nodded, swallowing audibly.

  “Please, eat.”

  She slowly reached for orange slices, making no sudden moves, and he removed the knife, tucking it behind him once more.

  “Violet Leon,” he said, his voice smooth, modulated, easy to listen to. “Your sister recruited you a few years after she started. Your father was an abusive bastard she killed. Slit him ear to ear.” He watched her as if fascinated, seated beside her on the couch, turned to face her.

  She could attack now, when he wouldn’t expect it. But she had no idea what he wanted or what might be waiting for her. Unlike some people, she thought of Hammer, I’m going to make the smart play.

  She nodded at him. “I never knew if he’d been killed by a gang or Angel. Hadn’t known about the slit throat though. I thought it was a bullet.”

  “Both, actually. First, she cut him, then after watching him bleed out, she shot him. Effective, efficient.” He sighed. “I miss her, you know.”

  She used the opening he’d granted. “I thought you killed her.”

  His brows rose over sky-blue eyes. “Me? No. She left me over a minor disagreement.” He sighed. “Didn’t she tell you any of this?”

  “No.” She let the grief fill her voice. “She and I used to be close as kids, but working for the Business, we grew apart. She was a legend, and I was so proud to be her sister.”