An Assassin’s Oath by Shayla Hart
1
Damien
“Are you ever going to tell me your name?”
I pull my jeans on and glance down at the naked blonde sprawled out on the bed, peering up at me with wide, curious cat-like green eyes. I fix her with a steely look, and she arches a curious brow at me. I watch as she shifts to the edge of the bed and reaches out to touch my chest. I grab her wrist, stare into her eyes, and she gulps. “The moment you start asking questions is the instant you’re no longer beneficial to me, sweetheart.” I hiss, wrapping my fingers around her throat and drawing her face close to mine. “We don’t speak unless we’re fucking. Capiche?” I feel her nod slowly while she stares at me.
“Bend over,” I utter frostily, letting go of her throat and see the fire ignite in her eyes as I reach for the flogger. I exhale as she spins and pushes her ass in the air. The lashes she took not even ten minutes ago still fresh on her ass.
I lean over and push my folded belt into her mouth to bite on. “Ready?” I growl in her ear, and she nods. I lift the flogger and hit her hard across the ass, and she screams. I close my eyes and slowly exhale before I run the flogger over her ass, over her already dripping pussy, and she moans. I give her four more lashes, each scream louder than the last. Violet whimpers when I slide my fingers deep inside her. Driving my fingers roughly deep inside her cunt till she’s screaming with pleasure and squirts for the third time all over the bed.
“Fuck.” I slide my fingers out of her, and she falls back on the bed spent—well and truly fucked out. I get myself dressed and pull my jacket on while she continues to pant to catch her breath.
“I’ll be in touch.” I throw over my shoulder before I leave her apartment. I check my phone and sigh when I see the dozens of messages and calls I missed while I was balls deep in a fuckfest with Violet.
I had built up quite the frustration over the week, and that session was just what I needed to burn off some tension. I send a quick text before I jump into my all-black Audi RS5 and speed off down the street.
* * *
“Damien,”
Twenty minutes later, I slump into a leather chair and lift my eyes, staring at the tall, slender, balding man sitting opposite me. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for the past four hours?” James questions scowling at me.
“I was busy,” I answer. “Out with it.”
James sighs and holds out a folder to me. I reach over to take the folder from him and open it to look through the papers and photos inside. “That’s your next mark.”
I toss the file back to him. “No.”
“No?” James intones with a frown. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no.” I hiss, fixing him with a firm look. James twirls in his chair and stands, walking around his enormous oak desk.
“Damien, this is barely a job. It’s easy money.” He explains, opening a wooden box on his table and pulling out a Cuban cigar. “You can do this in your sleep.”
I scowl at him as he lights his cigar. “Then get one of your other goons to do it. Stop wasting my time. I don’t babysit.”
“They requested you personally, and they’re willing to pay triple your fee. The client has requested The Ghost.” James defends, and I roll my eyes in response. He forgets I’m not like the other thugs he has on his books.
“Give it to me straight, James. What’s the catch here? If it’s such an easy job—as you say—why pay top dollar for this girl?”
“Have you heard of H.Q. Enterprises?” James questions holding the file out to me again. I eye it skeptically before I snatch it from him.
“Hugo Quintero,” I say, opening the folder again and skimming over the details. “He has firms all over the world. What gives?”
“Let’s just say he dabbles in more than just construction, and he has pissed off the wrong people,” James smirks, taking a long draw from his cigar. I pick up the photo of the girl and study her face carefully. She’s absolutely stunning indeed. Her hair thick and wavy, almost jet black, the kind you want to run your fingers through continuously. Her eyes, by far her best feature, almond-shaped, a deep cerulean with flecks of green lined with thick dark lashes, reminds me of a clear blue ocean. Her lips perfectly plump, pink, and soft. Kissable.
“She’s the only heir to daddy’s fortune. And I’m talking billions here, Damien.” I lift my gaze to him and glower, a look he knows well. I don’t like games, nor do I tolerate people wasting my time.
“Get to the part that interests me, or I’ll be on my way, and you can find another fucker to abduct and babysit the princess.” I shift in my chair, waiting for the pin to drop. There is something in this that I’m not going to like, and James knows this, which is why he’s dangling money in front of me in a pathetic attempt to sway me. I don’t buy into all that bullshit like the others. I came from nothing, and I’m quite happy living a simple life. I’m a ghost. I work clean, I take out my target, and I vanish. Simple as that.
“Damien,” James sighs and moves over to his desk and sits again, setting his cigar in an ashtray he regards me seriously. “I know this isn’t your thing; you like a clean kill. I get your skepticism, but you’re the best man I got. The others, I can’t trust them with this one. We’re talking six figures each. You take her, hold her for a week or so while the client does the rest.”
“Kidnap for ransom? I don’t babysit. I don’t have the time nor the patience to entertain a preppy little rich bitch. It’s hard work, and no amount of money is worth the agg.” I tell him and stand up. “Find someone else and call me when you have a real job.” I throw over my shoulder as I reach for the door.
“Damien,” James calls out, “You’re not in it for the money, but what if I told you Hugo abducts children and sells their organs on the black market? He uses young, innocent girls from Mexico to traffic his drugs, sells them a dream of a better life, and then has them killed. The firms are all a front a way to launder his money; that’s where he makes his millions. Stealing and selling organs, trafficking drugs, and weapons.” I turn to face James, and he meets my gaze. Bastard. He knows how to wake up the devil within me. Now he’s singing my melody. I close the door and walk over to his desk and take the file.
“Why is he not my target? Why not drop the filthy scumbag?” I ask, and James shrugs; leaning back in his chair, he picks up his cigar and relights it again, taking a couple of pulls.
“Ezra is all Hugo has, his most prized possession. First, we take his heir, then we take his kingdom, and then we finish him. What do you say, kid? You in?”
I nod, “Consider it done.” James smiles and leans back, rocking in his chair.
“That’s my boy. Excellent, I’ll inform the client. Drop me the text when you have the girl, and the client will do the rest.” I nod and walk out of his office.
I don’t like this. Not one bit, but fuck if I was going to sit back and let Hugo Quintero hurt innocent children and young girls to make a quick buck. It’s because of scums like him I got into this line of business in the first place—that and a bleak past I’ve locked away in a box deep inside my mind.
That’s a whole other shit-storm I’m not quite sure how to deal with. There’s too much evil in the world, too many corrupt systems, and no one can do a damn thing about it. That’s where we come in, a team of expertly trained, contracted killers to take out the scums of the world. Each of us taken an oath – hurt no innocent. An oath-bound by blood; an unbreakable contract is only broken by blood—yours, and if you decide you want out, once the oath is broken. You don’t live to talk about it.
The agency is for those with nothing to lose. Much like myself, no family, no life outside the job, and the job is all that matters. We focus on drug lords like Quintero, politicians, all the big boys up in their ivory towers that think they’re untouchable, invincible, hiding behind their money and the power wealth brings. Money—the greatest evil of them all. There’s a whole lot money can buy, but immortality is not one of them.
I have two rules, and I don’t break them for anyone.
Harm no innocent.
Never leave an open contract.
My name is Damien Wolfe, and I am an Assassin. In the business, I’m identified or often referred to as ‘The Ghost.’
You’re probably wondering why I chose or how I wound up becoming an assassin. Let’s just say I didn’t choose. It chose me. The agency is the only thing close to a family that I have.
I was picked up at the age of sixteen. My foster father at the time, Kevin, had enough of my adolescent ways. I was a little shit and got into quite a bit of trouble, so he contacted a friend for some advice and suggested Dynasty, thinking it was a boot camp for troubled kids. Boy, was he wrong. I was the perfect candidate, an orphan boy with nothing to lose. Before I knew it, I was picked up off the street and hauled into training.
I spent two years in intensive combat, weapon, and survival training. Beaten mercilessly until I figured out how to fight back, and believe me, when they inflict that much pain on you, you learn fast. An assassin is more than just his gun. You must have a sharp mind. Anticipate each move before they even think about making it. You must always be two steps ahead of your target. And the most important one of all—remain unseen.
I don’t know why, but I couldn’t seem to shake the tense feeling I got in the pit of my stomach. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. I do not get tense—in fact, I completely dispossessed such emotions. I’m the unattainable beast. Often people use the words coldblooded, unyielding, and impenetrable when describing me. I always have my guard up. I don’t allow anyone in. Ever. I prefer it that way—less headache.
I look at the file in my hand and shake my head. I better get to work. The sooner I get this shit over with, the better. I walk over to my car and get in, tossing the file on the passenger seat. I push the start button, and the engine to my Audi RS5 roars to life. I slide my shades on and tear out of the underground car park.
Ezra Quintero. I’m coming for you.