Sold to the Hitman by Logan Chance
One
Titan
“Look,Titan, you can garden your ass off after this job. Make your little spice blend and let out your demons. Hell, you can rub spices on my ass for all I care… as long as you say yes.”
I chuckle a little, spraying pods of glossy red pepper plants with a stream of water. “I’m not sure your ass could handle my Killer Spice Blend.”
“My ass can handle anything.” True enough. Rogue is one tough bastard. He’s a surly old man who has seen his fair share of crime, but he’s also one of my best friends, so it’s hard to say no to him.
He leans against the trunk of an oak with inked arms crossed, dark eyes narrowed on me. “One last job, one last hit, that’s all I’m asking.”
“I’m retiring from Ruthless Corp. at the end of this month, remember?”
“You’re only thirty-five.”
“And?” His gaze sears my skin as I mosey down the neat garden rows in my backyard, checking the onions and saffron, basil and mustard, giving anything that looks thirsty a drink of water.
“Listen… I can’t ask just anyone to do this, Titan.” He follows hot on my heels as I cross the yard to the patio and coil the hose around its metal holder. “It’s hush-hush, and I need the best man on this one.”
I snag my still chilly beer off the patio table and knock it back, eyeing him over the bottle. “Well, I am the best,” I say, tossing the empty in the recycle can, making Rogue grin. “I don’t think anyone would dispute that.”
Our casual conversation about murder might seem shocking to ordinary people who work mundane day jobs and then drive home to a loving family where they cook and eat a meal together around a dining room table.
I’m not ordinary. I wasn’t brought up that way.
Killing is in my blood.
I detest bragging, but I’m damn good at being a hitman. In and out. Job completed before the mark blinks. I’ve made more money than I can spend, but I want out. In the beginning, it was thrilling. There was so much action-packed adventure, I couldn’t stop even if I tried. Yet, that adrenaline rush finally crashed and burned. After working for Rogue for many years, I realized there had to be more to life than ending someone else’s. Even if they were evil fucks and the world is safer without them in it. I prefer to stop and smell the roses, as they say. Or lavender. It smells fucking amazing.
“Don’t go getting a massive head on me or anything.” The corners of Rogue’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “You said if I ever had a job I needed dealt with, I could call on you. I’m calling on you, bud.”
Rogue doesn’t appreciate hearing the word no, something I learned working for him for many years. “Fine, what do I need to do?”
“It’s easy.” He plucks a piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans. “Just go to this address tonight and check the place out. You’ll see a man named Steele. Big motherfucker with a tattoo of a rose on his neck. Steele is a buyer. The man he’s buying from is coming into town to meet with him. The hit is the man running the whole show.”
“What’s the mark’s name?” I ask as I accept the piece of paper from his hand.
“Don’t know.” Rogue shrugs. “It’s why you need to find Steele and let him lead you to the man calling all the shots.”
I nod, understanding completely. “I’ll call you once I’ve got something.”
He clasps my shoulder. “Be careful.”
I smirk. “Always.”
It’s late,and the moon is high in the sky when I hop in my truck. The streets are deserted as I head across town, but this is the time of night when evil lurks, so I don’t let my guard down. I locate the nondescript building Rogue sent me to and pull my truck around to the rear and park amidst the rows of fancy cars. I’m not sure what to expect when I walk inside this abandoned warehouse-looking place, but I’m always ready to attack when the need arises.
The military ingrained that into me. Ex-military, ex-hitman, it’s been an adventure, but I crave the simple life.
I stride up to a red door and knock twice. A short window slides open and a man sticks half his face out. One blue eye peers at me.
“Name?”
I swear if he asks for a password, I may just kick his ass. “Rogue sent me.”
No one wants to cross Rogue in this town, so the door opens without further questions and I’m ushered inside a dimly-lit entryway.
“In the back,” the bald man says. “Through there.” He points toward a black curtain and as I walk past, the man looks at my boots. Not your typical cowboy boots; steel-toed shit kickers, so if I get into a jam, I can kick my way out of it. They’re also a terrific place to tuck away a piece, and my Glock-43 fits perfectly there. But my Colt-45 is nestled securely by my side in its holster. It’s always good to be prepared.
Through the drapery, I enter a broad hallway and continue moving until I come to a door which reveals another passageway. This is a damn maze. Finally, I reach the end when I open a steel door. The place opens into a nightclub with flashing lights, techno beats, and a bar off in the distance. In the room’s front is a rectangular stage, and I see a few women lined up along the back.
“Find a seat, everyone,” a voice booms into the vast space. “The auction is about to start.”
I follow the herd of men and turn my attention to the high rollers.
You can always tell who they are at any club. They’re the ones with girls hanging around like accessories, sitting at a secluded table, protected by a swarm of security. They’re usually drinking a bottle of expensive booze, and being boisterous about how much fun they’re having. Right away, I spot a group doing just that. I keep them in my crosshairs as I head to the bar to grab a beer and blend in with the crowd. If I want to find Steele, then the fellow behind the bar is my best bet, because the person with the most information is always the bartender.
“Take a Heineken,” I say to the bearded guy polishing glassware.
He nods, turning to the cooler behind him to get my beer.
“Thanks,” I say as he hands me the green bottle. “Busy tonight. What’s going on up there?”
He stares at me for a moment, taking in my black henley and jeans, and I can see the cogs spinning in his mind, most likely wondering if I’m a cop or not. Once he’s convinced I’m not a threat of the legal aspect, he says, “They’re selling off the new batch.”
“Batch of what?” I ask. “Cookies?”
“Women. Each month they have a new batch come through here.”
I take a pull from my beer, thinking what to say next, because what the fuck? “Steele here?”
He nods toward the men I noticed earlier. “Man in all black. With the neck tat.”
I study Steele for a quick second, sizing him up while he motions to a server near the table. He’s tall, around the same height as me, but I’ve got about a million more muscles. He may not be a physical threat, but he’s packing enough firepower on the security team standing in the shadows behind him to do some major damage to my sweet ass.
“Thanks, man.”
I leave the bar, heading toward the stage as a man with a microphone tries to get everyone’s attention.
These fuckers are actually going to bid on women. I never in my life thought I’d be at a place like this, but the women for sale aren’t what I’m here for. I’m here to gather intel on Steele and his people, not get a conscience.
I move near the stage and pull out my phone, pretending I’m looking at a message as I snap a few photos of the group of men focused on the announcer.
“The first woman up for bid is from Romania. She can cook and clean, among other things,” the announcer says, like he’s selling a car and not a person.
A spotlight lands on a blonde in a tight, black dress, and the crowd cheers like they’ve never seen a pretty face or been laid in this century.
The bidding starts, and it’s lightning fast. The woman goes for five grand and I’m so disgusted I nearly spit out my beer.
The next woman ambles closer to the announcer, and big blue eyes stare out into the throng like she’s searching for someone. They settle on me for a moment, and a zap of charged energy ricochets between us.
She’s exquisite, long legs, full curves, and brown hair that spills in waves past her shoulders.
The bidding starts, and within seconds, Steele bids on her. Fucker thinks she’s only worth a grand? White-hot heat warms my veins that he thinks she’s only worth a thousand dollars. The woman on stage has caught my attention and a protective force overtakes me. I don’t know what possesses me, but…
I need more time with this beauty.
I need these assholes not to have her.
I need to make certain this woman is safe.
I place a bid.
