Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
I’m a member of the Savage Crows MC, but more than that, I’m their assassin. Their hitman.
When they need someone taken care of, I’m the man for the job.
So, when the Ghost Born MC president reaches out, asking us to take out a billionaire who had his fingers dug into a trafficking ring, Grim hands the file to me.
I have a week to take him out.
But what I don’t realize is the man already knows about me, and he’s sending his own personal assassin to take me out.
His daughter.
She may be a pro, but I’m even better.
And after I take out her father, I’ll claim her soul, too.
**Please read the author’s note at the beginning of the book before deciding to read
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Julian
Grim pulled a rolled up yellow mailer from the inside of his black jacket and handed it over to me. It slowly unfurled as I took it from his outstretched hand. “Your newest target,” he told me, his voice deep and raspy from too many years of heavy smoking. He’d cut back since he’d become a dad a few years ago, but everyone knew he’d never stop completely. Smoking was the one crutch Grim allowed himself.
“Who’d he piss off?” I asked as I pulled the little metal tabs and opened up the mailer. Reaching inside, I pulled the papers out that gave me every bit of information on my target. The information in these packets went so deep, I would know what the mother fucker had for breakfast that day by the time I got through reading all of it.
When I first began prospecting for the Savage Crows MC Texas Charter, I’d been quiet. Kept to myself a lot. I was just trying to find a place to belong after getting out of the private sector of the military—a sector civilians had no idea existed. I was picked during basic training in the army based on my personal training scores and my marksmanship during weapons training.
One day, I’d been training for the infantry, and the next, I was issued paperwork to fly to fucking Alaska for specialized training. I wasn’t given a choice. My captain made it very clear to me I either cooperated or the government made me disappear for now knowing this organization existed.
“Copper received word that this man helped fund a sex trafficking ring that another club in Washington wiped out. He flew under the radar, but a man named Rico Martinez discovered him recently, and since he’s down here in Texas, the president of the Ghost Born MC, Shaw, reached out to Copper, asking if this was something he’d be willing to take on.”
Copper was the president of the mother charter of the Savage Crows MC. His father, Blink, founded the club with three of the men he served with in the military. While the other three founders had scattered, Blink was still around, but not as much as he used to be anymore. He now trusted Copper enough, so he’d started traveling the world with his wife, Lindsey.
“And Copper agreed because you have me,” I finished for Grim, looking back up at him.
Grim nodded and pulled his cigarettes out of his cut pocket. After tapping one out of the pack, he lifted it to his lips. “Who better to take him out than Hitman?” Grim asked around his cigarette as he worked on lighting it.
Hitman was my club name, and I’d come by it honestly. Once Grim found out just how useful I was, he and Alex, the Texas Charter’s vice president, sat down with me, asking me if I’d be willing to be the club hitman. It was what I was good at and what I knew, so I’d agreed. They patched me in, then contacted Copper to bring him up to speed.
I looked down at the papers, my eidetic memory immediately memorizing my target so I’d never have to look at the paperwork again. The man was overweight and balding with a horrible spray tan that made him look orange. I would’ve thought someone with a two point four-billion-dollar net worth would be able to afford better spray tans, but I guess I didn’t know much about billionaires after all.
Stewart Barry Dukes was sixty-three years old, the CEO of a company that’d been in his family for two generations, and he was known for making literally the most disgusting, cheapest liquor to be sold in the United States—Dukesuor. Not only was the liquor fucking horrible, but the name was absolute shit too and uncreative. But people drank it because it was a real easy way to get drunk.
“He’ll be taken care of by the end of the week,” I told Grim as I shoved the papers back into the mailer. Lifting my bike seat, I set the package inside, then lowered the seat back into its rightful position. Straightening my cut over my plain black hoodie, I asked, “We done here?”
Grim nodded. “We’re done here. Let me know when the job is done. I want to know before the news stations do so we can cover our bases and protect our asses.”
“Always,” I promised. Then, I straddled my Ducati and grabbed my helmet, sliding it over my head. I flipped the visor down, then turned the bike on. Revving the engine, I left the warehouse parking lot and headed for my apartment in the city.
Unlike my club brothers, I didn’t hang out around the clubhouse often. And it wasn’t just because I enjoyed my solitude. It was because if, somehow, I was found out, they would still be protected. It was agreed upon that I’d take all the heat and tell law enforcement officials I was working on my own. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie anyway considering besides either Grim or Copper giving me the targets, I did work on my own. I was one hundred percent responsible for the bodies that were dropped.