by Laurin Kelly
Table of Contents
From Blood to Roses
Book Details
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
Rob's latest job is a simple one—kill the target, make sure it doesn't look like murder, break into the safe and take the goods back to his client. A second hitman who gets the drop on him definitely puts a dent in his plans.
When they cross paths again, Rob doesn't know if he wants to kill the man or screw him. Unfortunately, someone else wants both him and Kelan dead, and if they're going to survive two men used to working alone are going to have to learn fast how to work together.
Safely ensconced temporarily at a safe house in the middle of nowhere, Rob and Kelan team up to defeat their common enemy... and perhaps win each other's hearts along the way.
From Blood to Roses
By Laurin Kelly
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Emilia Vane
Cover designed by Aisha Akeju
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition Month 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Laurin Kelly
Printed in the United States of America
Digital ISBN 9781684311224
To Samantha, Megan and Sasha from Less Than Three Press, for taking a second chance on me - in more ways than one.
And to my editor Emilia Vane, for your candor, knowledge and direction. Thank you for making my books so much better than they ever could have been on their own.
One
A sleek black Infiniti G37 quickly passed the entrance to Kiss & Fly, pulling around the corner and slipping into a metered parking spot. Rob killed the engine and exited the car, discretely checking all angles of the street in his peripheral vision. He went to the meter and slid in that evening's credit card, paying up front for the full three hours allowed. Tugging on the gray blazer he wore over a deep blue, open-necked shirt, he made his way to the club's entrance. The music was so loud Rob could hear it well before he reached the front door. He handed a twenty dollar bill to the bouncer, waving his hand when the man reached to make change. Raising an eyebrow, the bouncer stamped the back of Rob's hand and Rob breezed past him into the club.
It was your typical high-end gay dance club. There was a time when a place like this would have never made it in Austin, but with the gentrification of the city's warehouse district came businesses that would have previously been impossible. Despite it being located in one of the most conservative states, Rob couldn't see much difference between this club and those in New York or L.A. The pulsing dance beat, flashing lights, and fog machines were the same. As were the sweaty, writhing bodies on the dance floor and elevated cages with smooth, pretty boys in the tightest of shiny hot pants. Rob made his way to the bar and ordered a Chivas Regal on the rocks. He leaned back against the bar, his body language relaxed and belying his sharp eyes as he searched the dim and foggy club for his target.
It didn't take long. The club was large, but Rob's view from the bar was the perfect area to spot the target: the dance floor where go-go boys were in easy abundance. He caught the glint of a shiny, balding head, and a quick look immediately identified a match with the dossier he'd been provided. Louis Ryan was sweating profusely and bopping awkwardly to the music while talking to a go-go boy clad only in turquoise lamé shorts. The boy smiled encouragingly and reached out to stroke down the arm of Ryan's cheap suit, and Rob could practically see Ryan shudder from where he was.
It was really no wonder. Although Rob had certainly seen his share of twinky dancers and rent boys, this one was a particularly nice specimen. His face was animated, his eyes wide and lively. His body was hairless and lean, but there was just a touch more muscle definition than Rob was used to seeing for his type. His grin was positively sinful, and Rob could definitely see why Ryan was intrigued. While Rob didn't often indulge himself, when he did it was usually with men just like that. And always for pay.
Rob sipped his drink and watched as Ryan fished out his wallet and removed a few bills. The boy pouted, shaking his head. Ryan pulled out another three bills, and the boy's countenance changed instantly. He smiled, bringing his arm to Ryan's waist and pulling their crotches together. He whispered something in Ryan's ear, bringing a thrust of his hips. He walked away, leaving Ryan wiping his forehead and almost visibly drooling. A few minutes later, the boy came back. He was still wearing the same obscenely tight shorts, but had added a white crop top and sneakers. He linked hands with Ryan, who lead them toward the exit.
Rob set his drink down and hastened to the door, beating Ryan and his little fuck-toy easily. Rob was a large man, but he could move as lithe and silent as one much smaller. He walked briskly to his car, slipping inside and making a u-turn as soon as he pulled away from the curb. Heading back to the club's entrance, he paused at the corner until he saw exactly what he expected: Ryan and the boy taking Ryan's vehicle from the valet attendant. Rob guided his car behind them into traffic, always staying a discrete two car lengths back. It was always possible that Ryan would be on the lookout for a tail, but it was fairly safe to assume that all Ryan really had on his mind was getting his rocks off.
It took them less than ten minutes to get to their destination, which turned out to be the Four Seasons Hotel directly adjacent to Lady Bird Lake. As soon as he saw Ryan and the boy enter the hotel, Rob drove into the hotel's parking garage. He took out his iPhone, tapping the extremely specialized app he'd built himself. Within moments, Rob was able to bring up Ryan's hotel account. He hadn't checked in under his own name, but Rob's research showed he used a number of pseudonyms, and it took little time to find the one he'd registered under in Austin. From there, Rob inserted a small plastic square into the headset jack of the phone. Taking a blank key card from his wallet, he slid the card through the top of the grooved square, which provided him instantly with a duplicate copy of Ryan's hotel room key. He stowed his phone and reached over to the glove box, taking out a Beretta 87 .22 caliber, his preferred gun for up close dispatching. He'd threaded the barrel himself to adapt it for his own custom silencer, and it had seen him through many a job like this. Tucking the gun into the back of his pants and palming the newly created keycard, Rob locked the Infiniti and grabbed a black messenger bag from the floorboard of the passenger seat. He headed towards the hotel elevators, which with a hotel keycard didn't require a stop in the lobby before traveling to the upper floors.
Rob rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor and exited, turning right immediately. Hiding behind the wall that led to the hallway, he quickly checked to see that the hallway was deserted and spotted a small CCTV camera mounted in the ceiling about halfway from the end. He glided silently up to room 1121, withdrawing a laser pointer and directing its beam into the camera lens as he passed by. He sank to his knees when he arrived at the door, opened his bag and pulled out a small object with an attached earpiece and placed it against the door. The now-amplified noises he could hear were exactly what he had been hoping for: faint moans and whimpers that suggested Ryan and the boy would be too distracted to hear the click of the lock releasing and the door opening. Rob tucked the listening device away and slipped his keycard in the door, moving into the r
oom quickly.
Ryan had booked an executive suite, which made things a lot easier. There was a small sitting area with plush furniture, with the bedroom off to the left through a set of double doors. Although the doors were open, the doorframe greatly limited the view of the sitting room, so it was a piece of cake for Rob to sneak up to the doors and peek inside without revealing himself. He pulled out his gun, holding it out to the side, and looked around one of the slightly ajar doors.
There was a residue of white powder on a small table, along with a razor blade and straw. Ryan was standing at the foot of the king sized bed, wearing nothing but rather saggy looking white briefs. Every light in the bedroom was on, and the brightly lit interior was not doing his pasty, lumpy flesh any favors. The boy was tied to the bed with canvas straps. He still wore the tiny shorts but that was all. His eyes were large and teary as they looked at Ryan. Rob wondered if maybe the whore was new to the game or just hadn't had any of his previous tricks get too kinky before. Upon a closer look, he noticed the boy was staring not down the bed at Ryan but at something on the foot of the bed.
"Are you ready to play, pretty?" said Ryan in a high, slightly manic voice. He laughed shrilly, and the boy gasped and shook his head. Reaching forward, he pulled a wickedly sharp looking switchblade knife from the rumpled sheets, brandishing it. Though Rob wouldn't have thought it possible, the boy's eyes got even bigger, and he started to whimper. Ryan moved around to the right side of the bed and began to caress the boy's chest with the flat of the blade.
"It's okay, my sweet boy. Need you to bleed for me, but it'll only hurt a little, and then I'll fuck the pain away." He adjusted his grip on the knife, then made a quick slashing movement. The boy cried out, and Rob saw a thin spill of red run down his taut chest.
This scenario could work to his advantage. He would let Ryan get the boy good and sliced up, so there would be plenty of DNA evidence all over Ryan's body. If it wouldn't take too long, he'd wait until Ryan fucked the boy. When both of them were bloody enough, he'd come up behind Ryan, get the knife away from him, and inflict the necessary stab wounds until the job was done. He'd then stab the boy in the ribs after releasing him from the restraints, delivering an injury that would disable him from running away but not kill him instantly. Lastly, Rob would take care of the other half of what he'd been paid to do and slip out after changing into the fresh set of clothes in his bag. When the bodies were discovered, the authorities would assume the boy had been stabbed by Ryan but managed to get a hold of his knife and fight back before he died. The scene couldn't have been better if he had planned it out, and Rob took it as a sign that the job would go off without a hitch.
Ryan climbed on top of the boy, trailing the tip of the blade down his slender sternum and torso. Considering how high Ryan was, along with the obvious erection beneath his underwear, Rob was surprised by his control. The blade made a scratch that allowed just a bit of blood to well up, but not drip down over the pale, porcelain skin.
Ryan drew the blade onto the fabric of the blue shorts, prodding gently at the softness inside the crotch. "Now now," he said. "We can't have this. I paid for you to be hard, boy." The whore moaned, but it was obviously fear and not pleasure. "You better get it up, or I'll make sure you can never get it up again." The boy bit his lip and closed his eyes, obviously conjuring up some sort of fantasy.
After a few moments, a firm bulge began to rise in the boy's crotch, pressing against the miniscule fabric covering it. Rob was honestly impressed. He was sure he could do just about anything necessary to ensure his own survival, but getting a hard on when you had a switchblade next to your cock couldn't be easy.
"That's it," said Ryan. He switched the knife to his left hand, bringing it to the bed to brace himself on. With his now freed right hand, he reached for the button of the boy's shorts.
In a move so fast Rob's eyes could barely register it, one of the boy's legs flew up. He kicked Ryan squarely in the solar plexus with deadly precision, and Ryan dropped the knife as he fell off the bed. From his viewpoint Rob could see the kicking of Rob's skinny legs as he seized up. The boy managed to yank one of his wrists free of its restraint after a brief struggle and freed the other within seconds. By the time Ryan had attempted to claw his way back up the bed the boy had the knife in his hand. He dragged Ryan up by the back of his neck and stabbed him twice through his windpipe before dropping his body to the floor. Unseen, Ryan made a few guttural choking noises before finally falling silent.
Rob scrambled to adjust to the sudden change in the situation. It was rare for him to so badly misjudge what was happening. Doing that one too many times could get a man in his line of work killed, and Rob liked being among the living quite a bit. This was no twink whore he was dealing with; this had to be a professional hit man as well. The man had the same soft skin, pert nose, and angular cheekbones Rob had noted before, but now he looked like a different person. His eyes were narrowed and dark, the lush mouth set in a hard line.
Rob could have easily taken the other man down but decided to bide his time for the moment. It was likely he'd been sent on the same job, albeit from a different client. God knew there was no shortage of people who wanted Louis Ryan dead. Rob had no problem with letting this guy do most of the dirty work, then blowing his head off before returning with the spoils to his own client. It wouldn't be as neat as leaving the cops a wrapped up package of self-defense gone bad, but since Rob would be long gone from Austin before the bodies were discovered it didn't concern him too much.
The man moved off the bed swiftly, making his way automatically to a framed print of flowers above a small writing desk. He lifted the picture off, revealing a standard hotel room safe beneath it. Ryan was apparently stupid enough to keep his valuables in the room safe, a device which could be easily cracked by even a novice burglar. Because hotel guests were often so terrible at remembering their self-created pin numbers, most manufacturers set their safes with a reset code, usually known only to the hotel management. Each manufacturer's codes were different, and they did change from time to time. But an encyclopedic knowledge of how each model could be opened was common among men like Rob.
Sure enough, the other man pushed a few buttons and the door swung open. Rob watched him take a stack of bills out, ruffle though it, and set it on the desk. This was repeated several more times, until the desk was half-covered in cash. Finally, the man drew out a very large plastic ziplock bag filled with smaller bags of white powder. As he set it on the desk with the money, Rob made his move.
Light on his feet, he walked into the bedroom holding his .22 in front of him. The other man turned instantly, looking surprised before relaxing his features. Rob drew closer, never taking his eyes off the man for a second. He was well aware of how lightning-fast he could move.
"You're good," the man said.
Now that Rob was up close, he could see that despite his earlier boyish appearance, the man was probably in his mid-to-late twenties.
"That so?" replied Rob.
"You must be. I never heard you until a moment ago. It's very unlike me, you know."
Rob was being stalled, but since he definitely had the upper hand, he allowed it. This particular adversary had caught his interest, and Ryan wasn't the only one who liked to draw things out on occasion. Rob had a gun pointed at the man's head, whereas the only other weapon in the room—the switchblade—was far out of reach. Rob tilted his head ever so slightly. "And how would I know that?"
The other man mimicked his body language. "You'll have to take my word for it, I guess." A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Rob felt a frisson of... something, he didn't know what. It made him uneasy, which was not a feeling he approved of under any circumstance. All he knew was that now he had what he came for, there was no reason to stand around bantering with this guy for Christ's sake.
With no discernable warning, the man's foot whipped out and kicked the gun out of Rob's hand. Rob tried to tighten his finger on
the trigger, but the guy was faster than anyone Rob had ever encountered. The gun clattered to the floor, and before Rob could duck down to scoop it up, the other man punched him in the face. Pain exploded in Rob's nose. He recovered quickly, grabbing the man's retreating fist and pulling him forward. With his other hand, Rob balled up his fist and delivered a brutal punch to his stomach. The man bent inward, and Rob followed it up with a solid strike to his jaw. The man's head reared back and blood flew from his split lip. But then he yanked his hand out of Rob's grip, grabbing the back of Rob's head and crashing their foreheads together.
"Guh!" shouted Rob. His vision momentarily blurred as his brain slammed against the back of his skull.
The man swung out his leg and knocked Rob's feet out from under him. Rob fell back, unable to keep his balance, his head crashing to the thankfully carpeted floor. He tried to sit up as soon as he could, but there was a pressure on his chest. He opened his eyes, squinting. The pain in his head was making his eyes sensitive to the bright light. He saw a shadow above him, and opened them a bit further.
The man was straddling his chest, holding Rob's gun steadily in line with his forehead. His pale chest was slick with sweat and the blood from Ryan's earlier ministrations. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he swiped out a pink tongue to lap at it.
"Like I said, big guy, you're good," he said, grinding his hips into Rob's chest. "Not good enough to best me, though. I'd say you've met your match tonight." He pressed the barrel of the silencer against Rob's brow, caressing his cheek with the other hand. The hand traveled further, down his neck and into the vee of his open shirt, fingers tangling in the dark curls of his damp chest hair.
He leered, and the look filled Rob with an anger that was tinged with desire. "Fuck you," Rob spat.
"Maybe some other time." The man leaned down quickly to nip at Rob's ear with sharp teeth. He came back up before Rob could even register the movement. "For now, I think you'll do better as a scapegoat. Nighty-night, big guy." Rob saw him draw back the arm not holding the gun and flinched. Blinding agony crashed into his temple, and after that there was nothing but blackness.