Taken By The Hitman by Amber Adams
Chapter 5: Jason
I jump off the bike with a groan, grabbing my towel that is hanging off the bar. It’s one of those stationary bikes with the TV screen attached to it, with a person who is constantly yelling at me to pedal faster. I kind of love it, kind of hate it.
Due to my line of work, I tend to have a weird schedule, so a typical gym doesn’t work for me. Instead, I put one in my over-sized apartment instead, complete with this bike and weights.
Working out not only helps to keep me in top shape as is needed for the job, but it also clears my mind, helping me forget about anything and everything, even if just for a little while.
I wipe my face and locate my water bottle as I walk to the kitchen, hunting for my breakfast. I was up late last night researching my next target and now I feel the pull of too little sleep on my body and my mind.
Hazard of the job, I guess.
After fixing some basic scrambled eggs, I settle on the barstool at my kitchen island and pick up my cell phone, scrolling through my emails.
One in particular catches my eye and I grin, unable to help it. It is all in code but confirms a deposit to my secure account for my most recent job: over one hundred thousand to be exact.
For a guy who grew up on the streets, it’s still hard for me to process that I make that sort of money. Of course, I am killing for it, the epitome of blood money.
Blood money that I have no problem moving into my bank account. It also means that Stacco is dead, that my little trick with the needle has worked and my client is happy with what I eliminated for him.
Or her. It’s not like I know the identity of any of my clients, nor do they know that I am the one doing their bidding. The website used keeps everyone anonymous and the only thing that we share is the target. I had uploaded my completion of the Stacco job two days ago, and the only thing I was waiting for was my payment.
Now I could delete the information I had on the target and move on.
After I finish my breakfast, I walk out on my balcony and let the warm sun soak into my still sweaty skin, my cell in my hand, feeling unstoppable.
One perk of my job is that I don’t have hours. I don’t have to hurry with the rest of the commuters to get to the office in time, or slave behind a desk for hours on end. I make my own hours, though sometimes it’s a hell of a lot more than a typical 40-hour week of a regular job.
Murdock fails to remember that part when he talks about me finding someone in my life. How the hell am I to explain what I do? And while retirement is likely around the corner for me, I’m not 100 percent ready to hang up my guns. Working in a personal life in the meantime just doesn’t seem smart or feasible.
My cell vibrates in my hand and I look down, frowning. It’s a notification for that fucking stupid app that Samantha talked me into downloading a few weeks ago—Opulent Introductions. A dating website meant for ‘elite’ clientele.
The real reason I am interested has nothing to do with me wanting to date anyone but rather that it might provide a good resource for research. In my line of work, it always pays to know a little about everything, especially the social habits of the rich.
Of course, Samantha and Murdock coaxed me into it for other reasons, and now I’m being notified there’s a match nearby.
I snort at the thought. Unless she’s also a hitman, er, hitwoman, I’m not certain that we are compatible on any level.
Still, my curiosity gets the better of me and I click on the notification, leading me to a profile that is new, given the date it was loaded.
An arresting pair of green eyes catch my own and I click on the picture, taking in the dark curly hair that falls around her shoulders and perfect oval-shaped face that is staring at the camera.
There are only two pictures, both headshots, but I feel the stirring of my cock as I look at them.
How long has it been? I think back to the last woman that I had in my bed and it’s hard to even picture her. Hell, I’ve been on such a run with jobs lately that the last thing I’ve been thinking about is that kind of fun.
Maybe it’s time to add a little personal spice to my life like Murdock is bugging me to do.
I look back at her profile. Bianca is her name, and apparently, she is a nonprofit owner who has a weakness for Tchaikovsky and tiramisu.
Huh. It’s not much, but there’s something about her that is definitely drawing me in, so I click on the conversation box, my fingers hovering over the keys.
What do I say?
Hell, I know what not to say, even if I am just looking for a distraction and a casual romp, I can’t come off that way or this is going to be over before it gets off the ground.
So, I type out a line or two, hitting send before I can change my mind. I can almost hear Murdock’s response if he saw what I had typed to this woman, how he would shake his head and label me as pathetic.
The message sends and I slide my cell into my jogger pocket, stretching my arms over my head. I have a new mark to investigate some more, this one twice the amount Stacco was worth, and I think I can get this one knocked out fairly quickly.
Again, I love these creature-of-habit types. They make my job far too easy.
Grinning now at the prospect of an additional two hundred grand in my account, I move back inside to take a shower and get ready for my stakeout.
