Killian: The Hitman’s Virgin

by Alice May Ball

  I had electromagnets to scramble his surveillance and nuke the recordings. Should knock out the alarms too. During business hours he would probably only have intruder alarms at the back and a panic button. Maybe a few.

  I figured I was equipped to get in and lose any electronic trace of my visit. For the deed itself, though, I had no idea. There were plenty of toys in my kit but I would have to play it by ear. Whatever it was, I needed something swift and sure. There was no time to plot and plan. The white knitted hoods couldn’t be too far behind me.

  The thought of Clara coming into the job twisted a knot in my stomach. Right now, though, that would be the safest place for her. I needed to keep her close. I could only be sure she was safe if I could see her.

  LARA WENT IN first. I watched her through the cluttered window display. She wandered idly in the flickering light. Graynge was not in sight. As I entered, I turned the sign on the door around so it said, Closed. Quietly I slid the bolt on the top of the door across t lock it. I took what I needed from my backpack and left it by the door.

  Clara had unbuttoned her dress. It was open down to the bottom of her breasts. Graynge was still out of my sight, but I could see where he was by the way that Clara turned. She was playing with him, giving him views of herself from different angles.

  Pulling back the raincoat with her knuckles against her hip, she showed her milky-white thighs. Below the inspiring shortness of her thin dress and rising from the tough swagger of the pirate boots, they would have raised a fallen telephone pole.

  Prowling in the light of oil lamps among the dark rugs and brass antiques, she took care to pose, turn, and even twirl to make sure she had his attention. And not a glance in my direction. She was good.

  She went into the hidden part of the store. I moved swiftly down the aisle after her, leaving a small bag along below each of the oil lamps on the way. Some on furniture, some on rugs. Only one on the floor. That was good.

  My plan was to seize him fast and finish him with a narrow dagger. Preferably between his ribs from behind. The dagger was up my sleeve, ready. In a khaki jacket he sat in a captain’s chair with his thighs spread.

  Amber light dappled him from the heavy chandelier above the chair. When he turned the chair I saw his face. Immediately I knew where I’d seen his fancy mustache before. The surprise of recognizing him took me off guard.

  “You were in a village in the Pashtun hills.” I said, “About eighteen months ago. You had on dark shades and a headscarf, over a camouflage jacket. I saw you take tea with the village elders.”

  He gave me what I guess he meant as a modest smile. His eyes narrowed. “I have connections around that area. I take business to them. I buy rugs. Antiques.” He waved his arm to indicate the heavy brass chandelier above his head, lit with oil lamps. The wall beside him was decked with crescent-bladed daggers, elaborate curved swords, and long rifles.

  “What else do you bring back?”

  He shrugged, “Teas. Honey. Anything that can make some money for the villagers and the tribespeople in the hills. It’s a hard life up there.”

  Anger rose inside me. “What about poppies, do you bring back any of those? Or the sap? Do you bring opium or heroine, rolled up in the centers of your rugs?”

  He stood as he spread his fingers and lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. I think I’ve heard enough from you. Time to go. I’m closing the store now.” He stood in front of me with his arms stretched out.

  I said, “Or any little girls? Have you helped out the villagers by buying their children? Did you find them new homes in massage parlors in Virginia and the midwest?”

  I should have kept calm. It was one thing to know who he was. The advantage of surprise was lost now. Now I risked losing my temper. That would be dangerous. An unguarded instinct flicked my eyes to Clara,

  He saw it and his face unzipped an evil grin. “Oh, the two of you are a little raiding party.” He laughed as he reached back to Clara.

  Graynge was swift and smooth, producing an old Mauser 9mm machine pistol. It looked like it was very well serviced. He pointed the long blue-black barrel at my eye. His other hand clamped on Clara’s throat. Her eyes widened and her face reddened as she tried to pull back. His thumb was on her larynx.

  I hit the wrist of his gun hand and grabbed his elbow to crack his arm. He was strong. It didn’t give. Holding the elbow, I shoved harder on the gun. His eyes gleamed in amusement. The dagger was wider than I would have liked for the job, but I slammed it straight through his eye socket. The six-inch blade slid all the way in without difficulty.

  He convulsed as I twisted and waggled the blade. I grabbed the gun hand and held on hard. All four of his limbs shook wildly. Clara clutched at his arm. His grip on her throat tightened. A chain and cable were tethered to the wall. I reached over and released them from the hook and the heavy brass chandelier dropped on top of his jerking body.

  Clara was bent down by the chair. His hand still clutched her neck. I slid the dagger out of his eye socket and jabbed it in the wrist. Reaching over as he finally let go, I grabbed her and pulled her to me.

  She gasped. Her breath grated as she moaned. I held her close. Smoothed her hair, “Are you alright?”

  With a faint smile, she nodded. “Mmm,” was all she was able to say.

  I held her close for a precious moment.

  “We need to get gone,” I told her, “or we’ll be caught in the fire.”

  She frowned, “There isn’t a fire.”

  “Not yet.” I pushed her toward the exit. “The door is bolted at the top,” I told her.

  Several of the oil lamps around the chandelier leaked onto the floor. I put a couple more small bags along the streams of oil. Then I broke three more of the bags of lamp oil over the jerking body, trapped under the chandelier. I was ready to ignite the fuel if I had to, but it caught light without my help.

  It would have been neater to wait until his pulse stopped. We didn’t have time. Every second we were there put us more in danger. There was no option but to trust that Graynge was dead enough not to be coming back.

  I hefted my backpack and turned the sign on the door back to ‘Open. ’ Then I hurried out and urged Clara up the stone steps. Following her up, oh, those legs and that ass.

  One short drive from here and I would peel open and pierce the most luscious virgin alive. Then I was going to pound her until my name woke the dead.

  As my eyes drew level to the sidewalk, a blue sedan was pulling up in front of the steps. The door flew open.

  I called, “Clara!” But she could see him already. And it was too late.

  HE BLUE CAR was still rocking on its suspension. The tall man grabbed my shoulders. I’d seen the white masks three times now. I should be getting used to them. That was what I told myself.

  His hands slid quickly down my arms and he’d zipped a plastic cable round both my wrists before I had a chance to stop him.

  The plastic burned my wrists as he pulled on the part between my hands. He barked like a drill sergeant. “Get in the car,” and he tugged harder.

  Killian was behind him. The man froze when he felt Killian’s gun press against the back of his head.

  His voice was deep and loud. “You don’t want to pull that trigger.”

  Killian sounded relaxed. “I really don’t.” He shoved the gun and the man’s head jerked. “I’d say it matters even more to you, though.”

  The man growled, “You’re buying yourself a whole mess of trouble, pal. You’re reading this situation all wrong.”

  Killian said, “At this point I’d say you have more at stake, though.”

  Killian racked the slide on his gun. “So. You’ll cut that cable tie and release my lovely friend there.” The man drew breath like he was going to say something. Killian shoved his head again. “Then I won’t have splatter the goo in your skull all over her pretty raincoat.” His voice lowered. “Deal?”

  The man sighed. Took a breath and filled his chest. Then sighed agai
n. And he nodded.

  He snipped the tie with a knife. I backed away then went to stand behind Killian. Leaned against his back I felt safe. He was my indestructible hero.

  He still held the gun against the white hood. “Now, if I let you go, will you call this round to me? Stay here awhile and watch the fire? Maybe dive in and save the good citizen who may be trapped inside?”

  Sullen, the man sneered, “You mean will I let you go?”

  “Well?”

  He raised his hands. “I’m a government contractor.”

  “I admire your commitment to your duty.” Killian puled back the gun. I was sure he was going to hit the man on the head behind his ear. But he held back.

  His voice softened and he asked, “Is your buddy okay? The one in the diner?”

  He sounded surprised. “Uh, yeah. He’ll be fine. I don’t think he shares your brotherly feelings, though.”

  I could hear a grin light up Killian’s voice. “I guess I’m just all heart.”

  He banged the pistol butt smartly against the back of the knitted mask. The man went down like a sack of coal.

  Smoke was pouring out of the basement behind us. Fire was taking hold. As we sprinted to the car, Killian handed me a cheap phone. “Call 911 as soon as we’re moving.” He told me the address. “As soon as they’ve got it, toss the phone out of the window.”

  We got in the car and got moving. I did as he said. When the dispatcher asked who I was I told her I was a concerned citizen. Which was true in some ways. Then I hung up.

  Slinging the phone out of the window felt wrong. I hate litter. But it felt bad in some ways that were good, too. Almost too good.

  He looked over to me as we sped away. “Now, Clara, we have somewhere to be. Somewhere very special.”

  When he said ‘Somewhere special,’ I didn’t imagine anything at all like the place he drove me to. We rode out to the run-down edge of DC. A landscape of deserted or abandoned industrial and commercial structures. Many of them hollowed out. Some were completely ruined.

  We left the road to pass through rusty, chainlink gates. Killian got out to undo the hefty padlock on a fat chain. He locked it back up behind us and drove over weeds and cracked concrete. We bumped through a dusty warren of broken down warehouses and he parked at the edge of a wide river.

  He collected his backpack and my shopping from the back and led me to a narrow jetty.

  Uncertainly, I asked him, “Were are we going?”

  With a sparkle in his eye, he pointed along the jetty. A rusty-looking boat bobbed on the gray-green tide. “This,” I said, unsure, “this doesn’t look like a little house.” I looked up into his stern eyes. “Didn’t you say we’d have a little house?”

  He urged me along the jetty with a hand on the back of my shoulder.

  “Change of plan.” His voice was firm and flat. I couldn’t read anything in it. The boat looked bigger but not much better from close up. The rickety rope and wood ladder deck made me anxious. I hesitated to make the climb from the jetty down to the peeling paint and worn wood of the bobbing deck. But he urged me on.

  Those four or five steps swayed and pitched with every step I took down the ladder. A wide pair of double doors led to the body of the boat.

  “Go on,” he told me, “open them.”

  Out here on the river I felt a chill. I hugged my arms over my chest and rubbed them. I was anxious.

  “It will be warmer inside.”

  I opened the doors. The inside was dark. “Go on,” he said, “Take a look inside. See how you like it.”

  With almost no light, I stepped in cautiously. I couldn’t see the floor. There could be steps. There could be a drop. There were steps. They were wide and firm. And soft. The inside of the boat was carpeted. Holding the walls to steady myself as I stepped tentatively down, my fingers met a switch.

  When I pressed the switch, warm, low lights glowed softly to reveal a sumptuous room. It seemed huge and almost round. Wide, soft benches lined two walls. Soft, leather chairs and a couch, a bar and a massive TV were arranged on the thick fur rugs. In the center of the far wall was a polished mahogany door. Inside, the boat was a floating palace.

  When I turned he was right behind me. He stared hard in my eyes. Then he took my face in his hands. His kiss, the tenderness he gave me, sank through me. I reached for his wide, strong shoulders to hold on. My breasts heaved and were squashed against his hard body.

  His arms wrapped around me and, as he took me in his embrace the world fell away. My body clung to his. His hard thighs made me tremble and moan. The heat in the front of his pelvis sent bursts of shuddering anticipation through me like soaring fireworks. My pelvis rocked against his rigid length.

  As I reached to pull him closer, deeper, the thrill of my fingers in his hair released streams of sensation. From my fingertips and down my arms, the crackle set off fuses in my nipples. Wires of popping tingles trickled fast to my core. My thighs shook.

  His lips owned me. Lit me. Ignited me. Gently, he slid off the cute red raincoat and he dropped it neatly on the back of a chair. My hands grasped his trunk. Clawed up his back. I ran my fingers over his impossible chest. Down his flat stomach and around to his magnificent ass. Hard and fluid, it made my hands feel tiny.

  He breathed into my ear. “I’m going to open you up. I’m going to awaken you. I’m going to devour you. You’ll die and be reborn.”

  He pulled back to stare in my eyes. “I’m going to adore you, Clara.” I felt his massive cock twitch. “Inch. By. Inch.” And his tender lips kissed my neck, under my ear, down my throat as he softly peeled the thin dress off my shoulders.

  With all the force I had, I pulled his ass, drug his hips to rub against me. I wound and ground my mound against the length of his massive erection. His breath on my throat, my neck, and then my breasts made me shudder and jump. I wanted him and I couldn’t wait.

  As he cupped and squeezed my breast, the wait to be one, to have him complete me, to feel him fill me was unbearable. And wonderful. His mouth kissed, licked, suckled, and sucked on my breast and my chest rose to him. My leg hooked up behind his. Slid up and down the supple muscles of his thigh and his fabulous calf.

  My thigh stretched up and I was opened. It shot a wild need through me, like the burst of a fire hydrant. Clutching his head in my hands I pulled him against my breast. His fluttering, nibbling kisses alternated with deep, long sucks. My nipples stung for more.

  But his hands. One slipped down my back. Traced the curve as my spine stretched. Swept down and cradled my ass. He squeezed my cheeks, stroked the tops of my thighs, slipped his fingers up onto the soft flesh on the inside. Danced nearer. Played with the sensitive splashes of tingling from each part of my skin.

  The scent of my raging heat made me push my pelvis against his. Scrub my wet, aching lips through my drenched panties against his hard denim. The bumps of the rivets of his fly buttons bruised and crushed my wings and my desperate clit.

  His hand. His other hand. Slid my soaking panties. Slipped them down to my thighs. The air was cool on my ass and up between my thighs. Then his fingers spread and took me.

  Strong, agile, and expert, he took my pussy and played me. First he tripped the tips of his fingers, tantalizing and light, all around my folds. Stopped to press in circles over my mound. Around my hood. He pressed and squashed my wings. Flattened them and dragged his finger up between them.

  He sawed at the base of my clit, threatening my tiny entrance. Teasing it open as he pressed below my bud. My head rolled back. Then his fingers slid inside me. My walls gripped him. I gasped and stared hard in his eyes. My whole body wrapped and clenched around him. Every inch of my skin wanted to be on him. To pull him in. More. Deeper.