Royal Blood The Complete Collection

by Amity Cross

  Pulling out the backpack I’d stashed behind some old boxes, I stripped the clothes I was wearing and stuffed them into the incinerator. The boiler flared as it was fed the evidence of where I’d been and I dressed in the clothes from the backpack. A pair of dark jeans, a grey T-shirt, black cardigan and a leather jacket. Street clothes.

  I held the last piece of the puzzle in my shaking fingers and like I wanted to feel the pain, I flipped open the cover on the passport. Alison Crawford stared back at me, blonde, healthy, happy.

  I sucked in a deep breath and tossed the passport into the incinerator. Alison Crawford was dead.

  I turned to leave and at the last moment I caught my reflection in an old mirror stored against the far wall. A scared, desperate little girl with hastily dyed black hair stared back, a streak of dirt smeared across one pale cheek.

  Failure.

  I entered that room as one person and left as another.

  That was the night Mercy Reid was born, kicking and screaming into futility.

  Mercy Reid started out as a coward who didn’t have the guts to avenge her murdered family.

  Fucking pathetic failure.

  My eyes began to open and I shook off the remnants of my dream.

  I was curled up on the sofa, the blanket tucked around me. The room was full of warmth and the scent of wood smoke. X was right when he said the cottage had a deep chill of a nighttime. The days had been mild but ice settled during the darkness. The mild English Summer was fading fast into Autumn.

  The cottage was silent, the chirping of blackbirds outside the only thing that broke through the soft crackling of the fire.

  I sat up, listening. X wasn’t in the cottage and after last night’s deep and meaningful, I began to worry. I’d fallen asleep and where had he gone?

  Vaughn wanted X to complete a hit. If it wasn’t for me and my single-minded revenge, then he wouldn’t have to do it at all. What if killing was the thing that made X revert? What if it was the thing that made him snap completely?

  I rubbed my eyes as parts of my own dream surfaced. I was running from Sykes’ home. I was running from my failure.

  X hadn’t asked me outright why I’d chosen the name Mercy Reid. I guess he thought it was just a random selection, a random name assigned to me by the guy who’d created my fake passport and ID, but it was far from that.

  Mercy was a euphemism of course. Because that’s what Sykes would do when I held the gun to his head. He’d beg for mercy and that was the thing I wanted, second to blowing his head clean off his shoulders. I wanted his fear.

  Things had been so tense the last few weeks it was no wonder the memories I wanted to keep locked away were surfacing. First it had been the memories of my dead family. Blood on the walls, blood on the floor…Bam, right between the eyes.

  Once I’d pulled on some clothes and my boots, I found X outside.

  He was sitting on the trunk of a fallen oak along the edge of the yard, looking out over the field where we’d been practicing my shooting. The sunrise was spectacular. All orange and red, the sky ablaze with dancing color.

  I crossed the yard, gravel crunching underfoot, and climbed up on the trunk next to him. He didn’t acknowledge my presence, but that was X. He knew I was there.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” I asked. “It might help you work through the next step.”

  He gave me a look.

  “Who the fuck am I going to tell?” I went on. “I haven’t seen anyone but you for the past two weeks. I’m not fucking Snow White talking shit to birds and fucking dwarfs in the forest.”

  X smirked and glanced back across the field. “No, you’re not.”

  I sighed, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

  “Some fucked up fairy tale,” he murmured.

  “When do you have to go?”

  “Soon.”

  Maybe it was foolish, or completely fucking crazy, but I wanted to go with him. I wanted to see.

  “I want to go with you.” It was out before I could slap a filter on my big mouth.

  X’s eyes darkened and he snarled. “No. This isn’t for you, Mercy. I won’t let you.”

  “I want to see.” I was attracted to the darkness, the thrill…the danger.

  X recoiled like I’d slapped him. “My soul is gone,” he wailed. “It’s gone and it’s not coming back. You can’t see it.”

  “X, please…”

  “Letting you kill Sykes is already too much. I don’t want you…” He ground his teeth together and fisted his hands into his hair.

  “You don’t want me to what?”

  He glanced up, his eyes flashing with something that looked a lot like desperation.

  “X, tell me.”

  “I don’t want you to end up like me,” he spat. “A monster. A fucking psychotic killer.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. He was a victim in all of this. Sure, he’d committed the worst crimes possible, but he was made into this against his will.

  “Don’t fucking look at me like that!” he roared, shooting to his feet.

  I stood to face him, fear the furthest thing from my mind. “Look at you like what, X?”

  “Like I’m a lost fucking puppy.” He stepped into me, curling his hands into my hair. His pupils dilated and I realized he wasn’t himself, he was having another episode and my heart twisted. “I’m a monster. I get off on it, Mercy. I denied it for so long, but I like it. I get off on the moment that the life slips from the eyes of my victim.”

  “X…” I had to bring him back before he did something he’d later regret. I had to bring him back before he tried to kill me again.

  “I-” He jerked still as I slipped my hand down the front of his jeans and wrapped my fingers around his cock.

  “Don’t go away,” I whispered as his fingers pulled my hair painfully. “Come back.”

  His lips parted as I palmed his cock and his grasp began to slacken. “You can’t see…”

  “Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t go.”

  X’s lips found my forehead and he melded his body against mine, pinning my hand against his cock.

  “Don’t you see?” he whispered.

  “What?” I asked, moving against him softly, stroking him to full erection.

  “It’s you,” he sighed, rolling his hips forward. “You keep me here.”

  I understood exactly what he meant. I kept him in the present. Was he afraid that if I saw him take another life that I would leave him? It was fucked up, this whole thing was, but he’d never lose me. I’d never leave him to deal with his broken mind on his own. Never.

  It was far too late to back out of this now.

  “I told you, X. I told you when you were fucking me,” I said, my body humming. “I’m with you. I can't lie about that.”

  I pulled my hand away, undoing his jeans and shoving them down over his hips. He was free, ready and primed to fuck and I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to bend me over that tree and slam into my pussy from behind, but I wanted to taste him too much. I wanted to feel him pulse on my tongue, I wanted to suck him dry.

  Pushing him back, he leaned against the fallen tree, his eyes ablaze with lust. I knelt in the grass before him, fisting my hands around the base of his cock and guided him toward my mouth.

  His gaze met mine and held.

  Closing my lips around the head of his cock, I sucked lightly, flicking my tongue over the tip of his crown. X hissed, burying his fingers in my hair and forcing me to take him deeper. I slid my mouth around his length as he filled me and when he hit the back of my throat, I gagged but held. Pulling back, my tongue rasped the underside of his cock before I swirled around his tip and sucked.

  X moaned, his head falling back and I took him again and again. I fucked him with my mouth as he thrust into me and I sucked without mercy. I cupped his balls in my palms and felt his seed gather as I bobbed up and down, baring my teeth against his heated skin. His hands guided me, but I was the one fucking him, I was
the one he’d given the power to.

  He was with me and I was with him.

  X moaned long and deep as he began to come, his orgasm filling my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed, milking him greedily with my lips and tongue, delighting in his pleasure. The pleasure I’d given him.

  And when the sun broke the horizon and he filled my mouth with his cock one last time, I knew he'd come back to me.

  Chapter 8

  X

  The target was Agent Frederick Madden, a man in his mid to late thirties, plain to look at, but abusing his post at the MI6 field office in Birmingham. They had a front company, a bank in the center of the city, where the spy agency hid behind a wall of disillusioned customer service representatives depositing checks and dispensing loans with high interest rates.

  I sat on a park bench, watching the bank across the street. I needed to understand how Agent Madden worked and how good he was at his job. When I finally moved in, I didn’t want him to see it coming until it was too late.

  I’d opened the folder the previous morning, right after Mercy had brought me back from the brink of another episode. She’d wrapped her perfect fucking lips around my cock and brought me back. I shifted on the bench, my balls beginning to ache at the thought. How fucking ironic.

  I blinked hard and returned my gaze to the bank.

  The folder had contained a great deal of intel on Agent Madden. It had also contained his MI6 personnel file and I didn’t want to know how Vaughn had got his hands on that.

  Underneath that was a series of surveillance photographs. The target was sitting on a park bench, in plain view. Obviously he was trying to be clandestine, but hadn’t been smart enough to pick up on his tail. The next photograph showed him with another man, exchanging a package. It was then that I began to understand Vaughn’s need to eliminate this particular target.

  The man he was meeting was known to me. Necromancer.

  Sykes was looking to take his operation global. There was no other reason he’d be dealing with an MI6 traitor. Madden must be dealing the same secrets to both organizations under the table. The Hangman had found out and was pissed enough to eliminate him rather than bring the asset into line.

  Vaughn must have his knickers in a twist big time over this. Necromancers, Sykes, the man who tortured and killed the woman he loved, encroaching on his business. The target was double-dealing, which meant double the profit if he wasn’t found out, but unfortunately he’d been made and I was being sent to plug the leak.

  The door to the bank opened and a man stepped out onto the street. He was dressed in a dark colored suit and tie and had an uptight look about him. When he turned, I made him as Madden. Game on.

  Vaughn had been quite clear how he wanted this to go down. It wasn’t enough that the guy would wind up dead. He wanted him to suffer a little first and he especially wanted me to complete the hit in a specific way. There was a reason they called him The Hangman and it wasn’t pretty.

  He wanted me to leave a calling card. Risky, but it would send a message loud and fucking clear. It was perverted and dark, but I wanted to help Mercy too much. I had to do this to get the information she wanted.

  I followed Madden at a distance, getting a feel for how he ticked. He walked slowly through the streets, weaving around pedestrians, taking a winding path to his destination. Occasionally, he’d pause and glance back the way he came, but his gaze never came to rest on me. He moved off again and a block further, he stopped out the front of a convenience store and picked up a newspaper.

  I melted back into the crowd, casting my gaze into a shop window, watching his movements. He glanced around looking for a tail and a moment later he seemed satisfied he wasn’t being followed and flipped open the newspaper. He produced an orange envelope from between the pages, stuffing it into the front of his jacket, before placing the paper back on the stand.

  I sneered. A spy at work. I wondered what secret he was about to sell now.

  I followed Agent Madden for two days. I found out where he lived, where he ate his lunch, where he did his food shopping. I learned that he sucked at being an MI6 operative and had absolutely no idea how to spot a tail. The one unfaltering thing I knew about him was that he liked money. Lots of it.

  He really must have a small dick.

  When I could put it off no longer, I made a plan and began the preparations.

  Agent Madden’s life would end tonight.

  I stood on the roof of the Holloway Circus Tower, all forty floors of hotel and apartments, my feet right at the edge of the sharp drop to the concrete below, and I marveled at the view. The lights of the city shone below and stretched out into the darkness, the orange glow obscuring all but the brightest stars overhead.

  I wondered what Mercy was doing and if she missed me. I was her only company, so I suppose she did.

  The pack on my back was heavy, but I couldn’t dump it. It held all the tools that I required for the evening. If I was efficient enough, I’d be done with the torture and dead drop and be back at the cottage with Mercy by tomorrow night.

  I clipped the rope onto the harness I wore and tested the resistance. Gaining entrance to apartment buildings was the worst. They were all stairwells, elevators, security entrances and CCTV cameras. The best way to be stealthy about this, was gain entrance to the roof through the service entrance and elevator, then rappel down to the floor of choice. In this case, it was number thirty-one, directly below where I stood on the very edge of a forty story drop.

  Turning, I stepped off the edge and eased myself down the first few meters until the rope was securely positioned on the edge above me. Then I began to rappel down the side of the building, wind whipping against my exposed skin. A black shadow of death.

  The windows flashed past and I counted, thirty-nine, thirty-eight… I put on the breaks when I reached the magic number.

  Hooking one hand around the edge of the balcony, I hauled myself across. The lights were on inside, casting a warm glow out into the night. The curtains were open and I caught sight of Madden pacing back and forth, his head down, talking heatedly on his mobile phone. He wasn’t paying any attention to the windows, so I moved forward in my plan.

  Kicking one leg over the edge of the tiny space, I hauled myself over and unclipped myself from the rope, securing it to the steel balustrade. Madden now had his back to me, his hand gestures becoming more and more wild. He was pissed about something, but who gave a shit. His days were about to be slashed down to minutes. An hour if he was lucky.

  I slipped off the heavy pack and leaned it against the wall. Stepping forward, I tested the door and it slid open silently. Unlocked. Fucking idiot.

  I stepped into the apartment and drew my gun from the holster at my side as he ended the call on his phone. He threw it onto the sofa, cursing loudly. I took another few steps and that’s when he realized he wasn’t alone.

  Madden turned, a wild look of surprise in his eyes, fumbling for his sidearm and I struck. The butt of my gun collided with his temple before he could unholster and he crumpled to the floor in a heap. I seriously began to wonder if this guy was field rated or just a glorified desk jockey. My guess was the latter, but it didn’t really matter now, did it?

  Retrieving the pack from the balcony, I got to work. Vaughn’s instructions were clear. Hang the bastard up by the legs, bleed him, play with him, and make him beg. 'Take plenty of fun snapshots’ had been the exact wording.

  The tools I’d brought were simple. A frame to hang the body from, restraints and ropes to secure him, duct tape to stifle his screams, a gun for back up and a knife to open his flesh.

  I rigged the frame in record time and wrapped the restraints around Madden’s legs. Hooking the rope into the mechanism, I hauled with all my strength, raising his comatose body from the floor. When he was hanging, his fingertips barely brushing the carpet, I secured the rope and let him swing before stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the side.

  My gaze caught on a flash of orange
on the side table. Realizing it was the envelope I'd seen him retrieve from the newspaper the day before last, I strode across the room and snatched it up.

  I turned it over in my hands, wondering if it was legit, or some sort of communication from the Necromancers. Curiosity was getting the better of me. I glanced at Madden’s comatose body and opened the envelope.

  Inside, I found a photograph and a single piece of paper. Instantly, the pieces began to fall into place.

  They had a hit out on Vaughn. They, being MI6. Madden must be tasked with it, or he was the handler for the person who was. He didn’t seem intelligent enough to carry out a hit on his own.

  Couldn’t say I was surprised, but I wondered if Vaughn knew. I shoved the envelope into the pack and hoped that The Hangman would see this for what it was. A hand extended in friendship. Not the traditional kind, but the dark underworld kind. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.

  I’d deliver the orders along with the required photographs of Madden’s corpse and wait as instructed. There was nothing else to do. Patience was a virtue in this game.

  There was a low groan behind me as my mark started to come to.

  Leaning against the table and crossing my arms across my chest, I watched as he became aware of his predicament. I saw the moment he realized he was in trouble. It flashed across his face and he began to move, trying to haul himself up, but all he did was flop around like a fish out of water.

  He swung back and forth as he struggled, his face turning a bright shade of red as all the blood in his body pooled into his arms and head.

  Crossing the room, I sank to my heels in front of him and watched his useless struggle. When his focus turned to me, I smiled and picked at the end of the roll of duct tape I’d left beside him. The walls were soundproofed with reinforced steel and concrete, but I couldn’t let the slightest scream leave this apartment.

  “You’re The Hangman?” Madden asked, his face reddening even further. Vaughn’s reputation proceeded him, I saw.