Roger lived in New Jersey.
Roger liked blondes, it’s why he’d only ever wanted Camille, and never the other girls.
Roger didn’t talk much, but he was a killer too. Big time dealer, higher up than a street pusher. Had heard about Steve’s offer to trade young pussy for heroin and crack and other shit, and that’s how they’d found each other.
Then Barry dissolved into sobbing between bursts of physical descriptions, and random stories Steve had told him about the guy. Mostly threatening, probably bullshit, stories about Roger breaking legs and burying men alive for snitching or being late on payments.
Camille was half-way through the flask when the first death-wish came from his lips. “Just kill me. Fucking shoot me, do whatever, but I don’t fucking know anything else.”
“That doesn’t sound like begging to me, does it, C?” Smith glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Not really.” She pushed herself up from the ground, gun in one hand, flask in the other.
When she stood over the bloody mess that had once been Barry Kopinski, she felt a grim sense of satisfaction. He was borderline delirious from blood loss and terror, and he was crying. His dull eyes opened and looking at her. “I hope Roger kills you, you fucking whore.”
“That definitely doesn’t sound like begging.” She tsk’d, and Smith put down the odd little tool in his hand to pick up a shiny, new knife. The blood on his hands marred the metal, but when he slammed it home in Barry’s thigh, it didn’t really matter.
A howl of pain escaped him, and the sobs returned. “Fuck, FUCK! Jesus, I’ve told you everything. There’s nothing else. Nothing! I barely knew the fucking guy!”
“Then beg,” Smith demanded quietly, and then twisted the knife, bringing another scream from the man. Her hero.
“God, please kill me, just please make it fucking stop.”
Camille crouched down beside him, and she was a little impressed that she felt as little for this sadistic fuck as she did for any other target on any other job. Most of them begged when it was their turn, when their actions finally resulted in a consequence, but it was odd that with Barry himself begging in front of her – she just didn’t give a shit. “You want me to stop?” she asked, quoting an old line he used to say to her.
“Yes! Please, alright? I’m begging, I’ll say whatever you want, just don’t let him -”
“Can I have one of those knives?” she asked the question to Smith, and Barry’s eyes went wide as she laid the flask down. In a moment there was a smooth handle in her palm, the blade a little broader than the one currently sticking out of Barry’s thigh. “See, here’s the thing, Barry. You don’t sound too fucking committed to the begging. I bet you can take some more.”
He opened his mouth to plead, but she stuck the knife between his ribs and he coughed and groaned, an endless stream of pleas leaving him. “Please stop, please. I’m sorry, alright? For all of it, fuck, just make it stop, please…”
“Up to you, C.” Smith stood up and tugged a dark towel out of the bag to wipe his hands on. Then he reached in and pulled out a gun. “Whenever you’re ready, use this one. No need to toss the P238, I know it’s your favorite.”
“Thanks,” she muttered while she slid her gun into the back of her jeans. As soon as he handed her the fresh gun she dropped the magazine to check for bullets, slammed it back, flipped off the safety, and then loaded one into the chamber as she stood over Barry.
Broken, bleeding out, and with a single pull of the trigger – dead.
The gunshot rang out in the open space, but there was no one around for a mile or so in the middle of the night. It was a cheap little Hi-Point 9mm, but the hole in Barry’s head worked just the same.
She stood there for a minute, mentally crossing his name off the list that still existed inside her mind. Now there was just one name left – Roger. Drug dealer, New Jersey resident, supposed badass with a penchant for young blonde girls.
“We don’t have much to give Lacroix.” She spoke softly, but Smith just reached over and pulled the gun out of her hand, wiping it clean before he tossed it next to the body.
“He’ll find him, and he won’t make the same mistakes. He’ll be sure he knows where he’s living before he sends us somewhere again.” Smith was quick with the rest of it, pulling out a spray bottle of bleach and a fresh towel to clean the knives he pulled out of Barry. Each blade was checked before it was tucked away in the cloth roll, and then it disappeared back into the bag. A moment later he was rinsing his hands in the bleach, then hers, and he put that away too.
“That’s a nice little kit,” she mumbled as she shook off her hands.
Smith lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “You alright after all that?”
“Are you serious?” A short laugh escaped her. “You were nice to him. I would have castrated him first.”
“Did you want me to?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice, but she shook her head and took another drink of the bourbon.
“I got what I wanted, Smith. Well, at least everything he could give, and you were fucking perfect. As usual.” She smiled at him and he looked instantly relieved, stepping around Barry to pull her against his chest in a firm embrace.
“It has eaten me alive knowing what happened to you and not being able to do a thing about it.”
“Did this help?” she asked against his firm chest, and he let out a huff of a laugh and hugged her tighter.
“More than you could possibly know, C.” A quick kiss pressed to her lips and then he was back in work-mode, tucking the last of the things they would bring with them into the bag – and then he was pulling out bricks of C-4 and stacking them beside the body that had been Barry Kopinski until a few minutes ago.
“I guess we’re not calling body disposal? I have the number memorized, you know.”
Smith grinned and started to set up the detonator. “I know, but I had this planned already. This place is for sale right now, so we’ll just torch it and as close as Barry will be to this there won’t be much left to identify him by.”
“Good point. Anything I can do?”
“Make sure you don’t step in the blood, I won’t be happy if you track it into my car.”
“Would you spank me?” she asked, and the flash of lust in his eyes as he looked up from the bomb he was building made her smile.
“If you want me to spank you, C, all you need to do is ask. You don’t need to turn my car into a crime scene.”
“Good to know.”
He sighed, pretending to be irritated by her, but she knew him too well now – he was just as aroused as she was. Their adrenaline was high, the thrill of a job complete thrumming through them, even if no one was going to pay them for this one. “Alright,” he muttered and wiped the detonator down before he stood. “Let’s go.”
“Bye fucker.” Camille flipped off Barry’s body and then turned towards the exit, Smith falling into step beside her.
“Was that really necessary?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” She grinned and Smith rolled his eyes as he wiped down the door on their way out, and then he opened the car door for her like a fucking gentleman.
Such a contradiction between the incredible violence he was capable of – and the man who kissed her like she was the only woman in the world he could see. No one had ever made her feel safe like Smith did, no one had ever made her feel like a person, like anything more than a discardable piece of trash. He always made her feel precious, even when he was kicking her ass in a sparring session. Smith wasn’t afraid of her strength, he was the one who had built it up, who had made her deadly, who had made killing as easy as breathing.
Camille was someone new, because of him – and there was no way to thank him for that.
They were on the road for maybe twenty minutes when Smith tapped the radio, drawing her out of her thoughts. “C-4 just went off.”
“Good. Pull over,” she pointed towards the side of the road, and he looked over at
her.
“What?”
“Now.” When he heard her tone he pulled off, turning onto a short side road. Just as he started to speak she climbed over the gearshift and straddled him, rocking her hips against him. “You are ridiculously fucking hot, do you know that?”
“C, this is really not the -” He tried to be the voice of reason, but she stopped him with a kiss, pushing her hands into his hair as their tongues met and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
“I want to say thank you for my birthday present,” she whispered against his lips, her hand slipping between them to pop the button on his pants.
“Can it wait until we’re back at the hotel?”
“Two whole hours? No fucking way.”
Smith groaned and then his hand was in her hair, pulling her into an intense kiss that stole the air from her lungs. Then he stopped them, his fist tightening in her hair as his pupils dilated and those green eyes shifted a shade darker. “Out. Out of the car.”
Yes.
There were no other words needed. She pulled the handle and climbed out and he followed, grabbing onto her, his hands running over her curves, but she was busy unzipping his pants, her hand slipping inside his boxer-briefs to stroke him. Hard, velvet-coated steel against her palm, and he was all she wanted. He was all she ever wanted.
For a brief moment she was able to drop to her knees, jerking his pants down enough that she could take him into her mouth, but he wasn’t having it. On the side of the road, somewhere in Allentown, Pennsylvania he pulled her up and bent her over the hood. With a few sharp tugs he had her jeans and underwear around her knees and then he thrust inside her. “Fuck!” she cried out, and he groaned a wordless response as he started to move.
Fast, hard, and completely uncontrolled.
His hand slid around her hip, finding her clit and rubbing in devious circles that had her gasping and inching closer and closer to the orgasm that was sparkling somewhere inside all of the adrenaline and insane energy that seemed to flood her after every successful job. Smith was right there with her though. The unmasked version, the one that whispered sweet things into her ear as he thrust with all the power that his incredibly muscular body could give. “You are perfect, C. Beautiful, and perfect, and I am so very, very lucky.”
Each of the last three words were punctuated with hard thrusts, and she shattered under him as she came, dissolving into a liquid puddle of pleasure as he came inside her. Sparks lit behind her eyes, breaking through the dark around them as their breathing slowed. His touch gentled as he relaxed against her, the hard grip on her hip turning into stroking fingertips that glided up and over her ribs to lift her off the car – and then he hugged her tight against his front.
“So. Lucky.” The whisper made her glow from the inside out.
I love you.
Those words stuck in her throat as she swallowed down the afterglow of the orgasm. There was no way she could say that, so she just mumbled, “Yeah, me too.”
“You make me do the craziest things.” He laughed as he slid from her and stepped back, both of them putting themselves back together with smiles on their lips.
“Are you talking about the torture, the C-4, or the outdoor sex?”
“The outdoor sex.” Smith winked at her and then smacked her ass through her jeans. “Torture is old news, and C-4 is just fun.”
“Show off.”
“It’s the truth. Can we get back in the car, now? I’d like to sleep in a bed tonight.”
“Yes, a bed sounds perfect.”
“Good.”
“For round two.” She laughed and blocked his attempt to spank her again, dancing back from him and around to the other side of the car.
“We need to sleep, C.” Smith groaned but he was laughing as he got inside.
Camille just shrugged and grabbed the flask to take a drink. “We’ll see what happens. For now, cheers to only having one more name on the list.”
He started the car and did a k-turn to get them back on the main road. “I’ll gladly toast to that once I’m not driving, but you go ahead.”
She nodded and swallowed hard through the burn of the bourbon as he started to speed up into the dark ahead of them, heading back to New York, and the hotel that was home for the week. After a few more miles passed between them and the burning husk of that warehouse she sat up straight, keeping her eyes on the windshield.
“Thank you, Smith.” The words were quiet, but she knew he’d heard her over the road noise because his shoulders stiffened a little.
He cleared his throat, adjusted his grip on the wheel, and then shrugged like hunting down and torturing a man for her was nothing. “I’d do anything for you, C.”
“I know. That’s why I said it.” She smiled to herself as she rested against the door, but his hand drifted over to the center console and she shifted so she could wind her fingers with his. It felt good, another piece to the puzzle inside her that was slowly forming. Forming a picture of who she would become – and she wanted to find out who that was more than anything.
Chapter Nineteen
Eight Months Later, thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic
“Alright,” Smith whispered, leaning his head close to hers. “Medical assistance in Paris.”
“Etienne, but he won’t be the one that shows up. He’ll send someone.” With a small smile she rattled off the mobile number, with the proper country code, and flipped another page in her magazine.
“Good. Body disposal in Brussels.”
Yawning, Camille stretched and leaned her seat back. They were in Business Class – and while it wasn’t first class, it was a hell of a lot nicer than the cramped seats in Coach she’d seen through the little curtains. She answered Smith while trying to continue reading an article about the latest hits in summer fashions, but as soon as she finished the number Smith’s hand landed on the magazine and pushed it down into her lap. “Hey! What the fuck, Smith?”
“I thought you wanted to practice the contacts.”
“You’ve been quizzing me for weeks, and we’re going to France! Can’t you just let me relax a fucking minute?” Tugging the magazine out from under his hand, she gestured at his bag. “Why don’t you do the damn crossword? Calm down for a bit, relax.”
“You think you know what you need to know?” Smith asked it with that tone to his voice, and she growled under her breath.
“What haven’t you told me?”
“Where will you arm up when we land?” There was a hint of a smile on his lips, the thin shadow of facial hair across his cheeks making him look way too sexy, even if he was pissing her off and ruining her pretend vacation before it even started.
“Bertrand. And he doesn’t have a phone number, we meet one of his contacts at the Lumineux Corbeau Café in Paris, and ask for him.”
“What else do you ask for?”
“His recipe for the chocolate kouign amann, which is some fucking ridiculous secret agenty shit. Who does this guy think he is anyway?”
“One of the more well-connected arms dealers in Europe,” Smith muttered and then leaned back against the headrest. “Look, if you feel confident in doing the job, then I won’t quiz you anymore. Go back to your magazine.”
“Well, I don’t even know the details of the job yet, all I know is that it’s in Paris, because someone said it wasn’t important,” she lowered her voice to a bare whisper, even though the two men in front of her were snoring and the dimmed lights of the cabin meant that most people weren’t paying attention.
“We’re taking someone out. My contact doesn’t trust anyone local not to share the information, or be recognized, so he reached out to me.” Smith glanced at her. “Anything else you want to know?”
“Will we at least have time for some version of a vacation? It’s my first time to go anywhere cool.”
“You live in New York City, C.”
“Exactly, there’s only so many times you can wander through Times Square getting catcalled by a drunk gu
y in a pile of trash before the city isn’t so magical.” She groaned. “It’s Paris, Smith. Can you try not to be an asshole about this?”
He chuckled low. “Of course we can do something while we’re there, C. Business first, then pleasure.” His hand landed on the inside of her knee, trailing higher under the edge of her dress where he squeezed her thigh.
Sparks licked their way up her spine, and she chewed her lip as she tried her best to suppress her reaction. “Promise?”
“Promise.” His fingertips brushed her underwear before he withdrew his hand and she bit down to stop the complaint. Smith might be willing to fuck her in a variety of exciting places, but on an airplane? She doubted it. Mile high club would be a card she would not be earning on this trip – no matter how amazing it would be for Smith to bend her over in that tiny cubicle.
Distraction. She needed to focus on something other than the steadily growing warmth between her thighs, and the job was the perfect thing. Details, what details were missing?
“Is the target a man or a woman?”
“Woman.” His answer made her sit up straight, closing the magazine completely. This was rare.
“Really? Why? What did she do?”
“Stole money from the wrong person. A person she also, apparently, cheated on.” Smith’s voice was barely above a whisper as he shrugged. “The kind of people she’s been involved with – well, let’s just say that dealing with dangerous people is a dangerous game.”
“One I guess she’s about to lose.”
“Yes.” Smith nodded, completely unfazed by the death warrant he carried, and it made him even hotter. Her perfect, sexy, specter of death.
Camille leaned back in the seat again, still somewhat distracted by the idea that in just a few more hours they’d be in Paris. In Europe. The actual Paris, France that she’d only ever seen in movies. If the payment for this trip was one dead idiot of a woman, she’d be glad to pay it. “So, that Jean guy was your contact? He gave you the job, right?”
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 21