Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  I’d never actually met Sykes in person. That was an honor I’d yet to achieve in or out of my hitman guise, so when I laid eyes on him I really wasn’t expecting to see a man about my age, late twenties, early thirties sitting behind a desk, his feet kicked up on the surface like his shit didn’t stink.

  Ambition just ran deep in some people.

  “Xavier Blood,” he drawled, sitting up straight.

  “Sykes.” I nodded, straightening my suit jacket. He didn’t look like a leader, at first glance he looked like any guy out on the street, but looks could be deceiving. You never really knew what anyone did from one glance at the surface. Their true nature came out in their little nuances…the way they conducted themselves.

  Doing a quick survey of the room, I noted that the Necromancer’s leader liked to conduct business in a death trap. One exit, small windows and low ventilation. A muscled boneheaded biker stood in one corner like an ugly guard dog, but like that’d stop me if I really wanted to cause some carnage. There was little chance of the normal everyday thug getting out alive. Not with Handlebars out front blocking the exit.

  “Greggor certainly holds his cards close,” Sykes said, drawing my attention. “You’ve got quite the reputation.” He looked me over, sizing me up, his expression giving nothing away. “Pretty boy killer,” he drawled.

  “I’m here for the contract,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “Not to trade insults.”

  Sykes snorted. “A killer who takes the moral high ground? That’s a fucking new one.”

  The Necromancer goon in the corner stifled a laugh. Sykes had some balls on him, but that was part of the facade. I’d never met the man face-to-face of course, but I had yet to work out if the reputation was only skin deep or the fucker was rotten to the core and into his soul.

  “You want someone dead. I’m here to do the job.”

  “He’s cold, too,” Sykes said to the goon in the corner. They laughed like I was the butt of some Necromancer Internet meme.

  The dickwad out front had taken my gun but he was too fucking dumb to check for other weapons. Shoving my hand into the waist band of my trousers, I slid out a six inch switch blade and before it had even registered on their stupid faces, I stepped forward with one long stride and struck.

  The knife imbedded deep into the desk, right in-between Sykes’ nasty fingers. The goon in the corner pulled his gun and clicked the safety, but he was much too late.

  “Games,” I said, staring right into Sykes’ eyes. “Talk or I’m out.”

  “There is no out,” Sykes growled. “I’ve got eyes on you now.”

  “I don’t deal in empty threats or insults,” I snarled, angling the blade so it began to press into the membrane between his fingers. Cool steel pressed against the side of my head. “You really think that gun against my head will stop me?”

  Sykes stared at me, daring me to back down. There was a problem with that. I never made a threat I couldn’t follow through with. If I say I’m going to kill you and that’s exactly what I'll do. I had a reputation for a reason. I never failed.

  After a tense moment, Sykes lifted his hand away from the blade and gestured to the goon to stand down.

  “I know more than anyone that looks are deceiving,” I said. “I’m here for the job, nothing more.”

  Sykes regarded me for a moment, his cocky expression totally gone and replaced with a calculated coolness. Looks were deceiving indeed.

  Nodding toward an empty seat he leaned back in his own. “All business then.”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  I folded my long body into the chair, my hand in reaching distance of the knife. It was still imbedded in the surface like a warning.

  “Six months ago,” Sykes started slowly, watching for my reaction, “I was woken in the middle of the night with a gun pointing at my head.”

  I nodded for him to continue.

  “It was a woman, I couldn’t see her face or any distinguishing marks. She was covered up like a fucking ninja.” He shifted in his fancy chair like he was ashamed at admitting it was a woman who’d almost gotten the better of him. For a man like Sykes, being attacked by a woman was just as bad as getting his balls cut off.

  “She broke into my house without setting off any alarm or raising any suspicion. I can only guess the bitch choked at the last second and couldn’t pull the trigger.”

  “You suspect she's already a known expert?” I asked.

  “We did,” Sykes replied. “But we couldn’t tie it to anyone.”

  “What happened when she realized you were awake?”

  “I tried to grab her and there was a struggle.” He waved his hand like it meant shit, but I could plainly see he was trying to cover up that his pride was hurt. “She was a slippery little bitch. Got away.”

  “Were there any hits you ran around that time? Anyone who could’ve had a grudge?”

  “There were a few hits we did as payback,” he said. “A family, a runner who was feeding information to the cops and a little weasel who was trying to launder money into his own accounts rather than mine.”

  I sneered. “So, plenty of suspects.”

  Sykes leaned forward, clearly over our meeting. “All the information we have was given to Greggor. I have nothing else to say to you.”

  I stood, knowing that this meeting had only been for the Necromancers to ID me. It was their terms and Greggor had accepted. I just had to play along like the good little killer I was.

  “You better not choke, Blood,” Sykes drawled.

  “I never fail,” I said, pulling the knife from where it was imbedded in the desk.

  “You better not.”

  The warning was clear. If I failed, then I was done. I’d be the one six feet under and that was if Royal Blood didn’t get to me first. There was no telling what they’d do. I had no choice.

  Sometimes you had to do shit things to get things done. Shit things to even shittier people. If you didn’t follow through, there was always someone willing to follow right through until you were the one who was dead. I’d seen it so many times, that shit didn’t surprise me anymore.

  There was no black and white in my world. It was black or blacker.

  And I was the blackest of them all.

  Chapter Five

  Mercy

  I was so late. I was always on time, but tonight I’d had other plans. God, I had a life and it didn’t involve kissing ass twenty four seven.

  My feet crunched on gravel as I walked up the drive toward the house. All the lights were on and I knew the moment I walked in, I’d get the shit ripped out of me. Was it worth it? Hell, yes.

  Stepping onto the landing, I saw the front door was slightly ajar. I knew what was coming next, this part never changed, but there was no way to stop it. Stepping forward, I pushed the door open all the way with the flat of my palm, my heart hammering painfully in my chest.

  The air stunk like gunpowder, copper and rot.

  A man was slumped against the wall, a smear of red tracking down the cream paintwork. A woman lay on the floor in the hallway, face first. Another man was staring vacantly up at the ceiling in the living room, the carpet underneath him wet and stained.

  Everything was painted red.

  Thick, congealed, sticky, red.

  There was so much of it. Pooled underneath their bodies, splattered on the walls and over the furniture. Sinking to my knees, blood oozed through my jeans but I didn’t care. Grabbing a shoulder, I tugged at the woman and she turned over, her lifeless arm slapping into the wetness beneath her. There was a hole where there shouldn’t be.

  Bam. Right between the eyes.

  Sitting up in bed, I clutched the sheets to my damp body. It took a moment for my mind to come back to reality, but the sensation of hopelessness still lingered.

  Blood.

  It was always the same. Blood defined my life now. It was like some omen I couldn’t escape, references appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Was it a warning that I see
med to work for a bunch of bikers from a club called Royal Blood? I had no idea how the universe worked, but I guessed it was all up to chance. If we were all fated to meet a certain end, then what was the fucking point of living?

  Crawling out of bed, I padded into the bathroom and turned the shower on. As the water warmed and steam began to fill the tiny space, I stripped out of my sweat soaked tank top and undies, throwing them into the wash basket. Wiping a hand across the mirror, I stared at my reflection, rubbing at my hollow eyes. Demons, running, hiding, disappearing… How long could I keep this up before it was too late?

  Running my fingers over my lips, my thoughts went to X. X, the cocky biker who thought rubbing against me in the back room of The Gambler’s Inn would make me want to go to him. Fat fucking chance.

  It was obvious that X was handsome. Anyone with a vagina and a pair of tits could see that. Or a pair of balls if you rolled that way. Problem was, he fucking knew it. Did he really think his little submit and devour trick would work on me? Probably did.

  Thinking about what might lie underneath that sexy leather jacket made my pussy twitch and I squeezed my thighs together. Yeah, I’d fuck him, but it’d be on my terms and in my own time. When I was done with him, X would be the one coming to me with blue balls.

  Ducking into the shower, I let the water wash my nightmare away. Trailing my fingertips over my stomach and against my clit, I worked out another form of stress.

  And despite trying my hardest, X slipped into my thoughts once again.

  Slimy bastard.

  *****

  By the time I walked into the cesspool that was The Gambler’s Inn, I still hadn’t managed to shake that nagging feeling. It hovered in the back of my mind, waiting below the surface. It was a warning, I was certain of it, but a warning about what?

  I stood behind the bar in my usual position with my usual mask on. Surly and uninterested. I picked up some empties, cleaning the bench underneath for something to do when the door banged open. I jumped at the noise, an empty pint glass sliding through my fingers.

  The glass shattered at my feet, sending shards everywhere. Bending down, I plucked the largest sliver and the ragged edge tore at my finger. Red began to seep from the cut and I shoved my finger into my mouth and sucked. As the copper tang hit my taste buds so did the image of blood and I closed my eyes. Fucking dead bodies everywhere.

  “Fuck,” I cursed.

  Weiss tapped the top of the bar, making me look up. “You okay, Mercy?”

  “Yeah. Dropped the fuckin’ thing.” I gestured to the floor.

  He eyed me as I snatched up a dustpan and began sweeping the mess. “Seriously, I might be a prick, but you’re edgy tonight.”

  “Edgy?” The dream had stuck with me longer than usual. It had been easing off the last two weeks. Until last night. Until X had walked into the bar and rubbed against me.

  Weiss nodded. “Yeah. You all good? Anybody giving you trouble?”

  “No. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “You tell me if they are, Mercy,” he went on. “We don’t take kindly to people coming in here and messing with our stuff.”

  “Oh, so I’m stuff now?” I said with a scowl.

  He grinned at me. “That’s more like it.”

  Sighing loudly, I swept up as much of the broken glass as I could, dumping it into the bin just inside the back room. Shoving the door open with my shoulder, I was greeted by my stupid wet dream X, who had appeared at the bar with Weiss. Those fucking men had to be best mates by the way they hung around. X looked different when they were together.

  “You’re spending a lot of time here, X,” Weiss said. It sounded like they were sharing some secret bro code I was unaware of. That, or Weiss knew X was in the middle of playing games with me. Which meant he did it often, not that I thought I was a special little snowflake or anything.

  X shrugged, his gaze zeroing in on me as I walked up to man the till.

  “Haven’t you got a job to do?” Weiss went on.

  “I’m taking a break,” he drawled, sliding onto a stool.

  Weiss turned to me and said, “Charge the fucker double.”

  “I was aiming for at least triple,” I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Charge him quadruple and keep the difference.”

  “Assholes,” X said, pretending to be offended, but I caught the sparkle in his eye. I didn’t really know the guy, but every emotion he’d let play over his handsome fucking face had never reached his eyes. Never. Not until now and it was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared.

  “What do you want?” I asked as Weiss disappeared into his office.

  “Corona.”

  Wrenching open the fridge, I pulled out a bottle and anchored the cap on the edge of the bench and popped it open. Slamming it down in front of him, the beer began to foam up. Hope it went fucking flat.

  “What’s up your ass?” X asked, flinging me a tenner. It fluttered across the bar and landed in the sink.

  Snatching it up, I rubbed the note against my jeans. “None of your fucking business.”

  How could a man with his head stuck so far up his ass that he couldn't see the sun shine be so fucking…hot?

  “You’re off your game, Mercy,” he drawled in his sexy lilt and I felt my pussy begin manufacturing juices like a little whore.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I declared, my voice extra sickly sweet, “but there’s only one person here playing a game like a child and it isn’t me.”

  Spinning on my heel, I punched the asshole’s order on the till and promptly pocketed the change.

  X was still sitting there, watching me with his usual nothing expression so I added, “Thanks for the tip.”

  He grunted, putting the bottle against his lips and despite myself, I followed their movement as he took a swig of beer. His eyebrow rose.

  “You’re still there,” I declared, annoyed that he’d caught me staring, I bet he thought I’d already be rubbing against him like a cat in heat after the other night.

  “It’s free fucking country,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar.

  Glaring, I said, “If you want me to ride your dick X, you’ve gotta juice me up first.”

  His lips quirked. “Whatever happened to 'the customer is always right'?”

  “Well, they never met you.” I rolled my eyes and got busy cleaning empty glasses by hand. The bar hadn’t gotten any busier in the last five minutes and X was too bloody distracting.

  X chuckled and the smile that lit up his face was knicker-melting. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Weiss seems to think you are.”

  “Weiss is an asshole,” he spat like his mate had just ruined his fun.

  “You’re in a motorcycle club,” I added. “That’s trouble and strife right there.”

  “Let me guess, you don’t need it?”

  Buffing a pint glass with a clean tea towel, I shrugged. I didn’t want anyone knowing my business, least of all X whatever the rest of his name was.

  “Are you in trouble?” he asked, his voice low.

  “While we’re on topic,” I snapped, slightly scared that he’d picked up on it so soon, “I’ll use one of your favorite lines. None of your fucking business.”

  The office door opened and Weiss walked out. When he saw X still sitting by the bar, he strode across the room.

  X glanced over his shoulder, his gaze following mine and slid from his stool.

  “X,” Weiss said, nodding his head back to the office door.

  The two men left me behind the bar without any acknowledgement and disappeared. That solved that then, they were having an affair.

  Snorting, I straightened up as the outside door opened and a customer walked in.

  Unlikely. X and Weiss were probably plotting some diabolical criminal plot. That, I wasn’t touching with a forty-foot pole. Not even if you paid me.

  A half hour later, the office door opened and X appeared. He strode across the
pub and pushed out the door without even glancing my way. I kept telling myself that I didn’t want him, but the fact that he’d staked his claim so bluntly and had promptly dropped it, got me all riled up. It could be part of his game, or he could’ve gotten the message to leave me the fuck alone. Ironically, I wasn’t so sure I wanted him to stay away anymore.

  Was it a case of treat ‘em mean and keep ‘em keen? What an asshole.

  The bar was quiet, so I circled around and went over to Weiss’ office and shoved open the door. I’d never knocked once and it had quickly become code for the fact that Weiss trusted me. And having a biker trust you? That shit was gold.

  “What’s up?” he asked, the cigarette hanging out the end of his mouth bobbing up and down.

  I eyed the money he had laid out on the desk. Wads of fifties that he’d been counting.

  “You owe me pay,” I said. He did, but it was just an excuse to get him talking about other things.

  “So I do,” he muttered, opening a draw and rifling through the contents.

  Perching on the edge of the desk, I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s his deal?”

  Weiss glanced up at me. “Who?”

  “X. He hangs around here like his shit don’t stink. Pisses me off.”

  “It fuckin’ stinks, Mercy,” he said, peeling a couple of notes from the pile on the desk and shoving them into an envelope.

  “What’s his deal?”

  “X?” he asked, dropping everything to look at me like I had a death wish. What the fuck did I say?

  “What does he do?” I asked.

  “Do?” Weiss asked, picking up the wad of fifties and stacking them into a neat pile. I didn’t want to know where the cash came from because it certainly wasn’t the bar.

  “His job? Or is he just an arrogant asshole for a living?”

  Weiss shook his head, puffing out a plume of cigarette smoke. “You don’t want to know, pretty girl,” he replied. “X is a mean son of a bitch. Fuck him if you want, but don’t get mixed up in whatever game he’s got going on. Here.” He held out an envelope. “Pay.”