Called to Kill

by A. M Surtees

  CALLED

  TO

  KILL

  Called to kill by A.M Surtees

  Copyright 2018

  First printed in 2013

  Second edition printed in 2018

  Published with Kindle Direct publishing

  Cover art by Kiff Shaik of Solidarity Graphics

  All works contained in this piece are the property of the creators associated with the creation and are herein protected by subsequent copyright laws.

  Other titles by A.M Surtees

  Called to Kill

  Called 2 Kill: Revenge

  Called to kill 3: The final call

  “I’m writing a first draft and reminding myself that I’m simply shovelling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.”

  - Shannon Hale

  Dedicated to my children and those who showed their support on my journey to publishing this book.

  “I want someone to read these words and understand me for just one second so I’m not alone in my thoughts.”

  - Christy Ann Martine

  Reviews

  Emotional Rollercoaster

  This book kept me on my toes for the entire book. I didn't want to put it down. It is a fast paced book that will keep you guessing till the end. It gave me a lot of emotions, which doesn't usually happen to me with a lot of books. I can't wait to get my hands on the second book. Keep up the amazing work.

  ~Nechole ~

  One of the best

  One of the best Adult crime fiction novels I have read to date. I honestly couldn’t put the book down and now desperately awaiting the next two books. If you’re looking for an adventure with lots of twists and turns in between then this is the book for you. Congratulations to Angela for creating such a truly amazing book. I look forward to reading more in the future.

  ~ Jacinta

  Introduction

  Moaning with just the right combination of exhaustion and pleasure to be convincing, I massaged my pelvis against his, a sly smirk playing on my soft crimson lips as his back began slowly arching toward the ceiling, his breathe exhaling slow and deep. He was close to climax and I was close to the apple martini waiting downstairs.

  Helping him along, I gripped his hands and caressed them upwards along my abdomen until they found contact with the black lace bra that softly cupped my breasts, a softness that didn’t last very long when he realised what he had in his grasp. I can’t say it was overly pleasant as he squeezed in a manner that could have been compared to that of a stress ball during an intense interrogation, but the sounds I made as I rolled my hips in a downward curve against him made his eyes light up with hungry pleasure.

  Gently leaning forward and guiding his hands around to my rear, I tilted my pelvis upwards as I lowered my upper body until my chest came into contact with his hot and sweaty torso. Short, black hairs tickled against the exposed parts of my breast, the shorter hairs prickling against my flesh. This was definitely not the kind of body I would go for on a Saturday night at Bellatrix, but those guys don’t come with the same fringe benefits this one would be coming with, so long as I tolerated a few unsavoury moments here and there. Trust me, it’s worth it.

  The closeness of my body against his own was enough to really trigger an intense reaction, his body quivering as he pulled my pelvis down against his own in one final thrust to help finish him off before he fell back into the cloudlike softness of the hotel suite pillows. Sliding my hands along his torso, I smiled to myself at the view before me. Here lay this mid-forties man with his head tilted back, eyes closed and an ear to ear grin, brimming with pride at his feeling of great accomplishment. In all my years in this line of work, I’ve seen maybe two men who don’t behave like this when they release themselves. It’s what makes the next part of my job so easy.

  As I leaned back, keeping close eye on him to ensure he still had his eyes closed and maintaining enough soft movement to ensure he knew nothing other than I was simply just further enjoying the feel of him, I slid my hand down my thigh to the rim of my black leather boots. If it wasn’t for the biker babe fantasy that was admired by so many men, I would never get away with wearing my boots for these things. Then I’d have nowhere to hide my gun.

  Reaching into the lining of the right boot, I retrieved the small dark metal grey 22 calibre handgun with ivory woodgrain handle, while simultaneously retrieving the matching dark metal grey silencer from the left boot. Bringing the two halves together seamlessly behind my back, I looked down at him as he remained in a state of blissful unawareness to the end that was about to come for him.

  Slowly drawing my upper body down until my breasts gently caressed his torso once again, I placed my free hand against his cheek and offered a gentle kiss upon his lips, causing his eyes to open, his smile growing wider. A smile that faded quickly upon the sensation of the cool metal against the inner curve of his squared jaw.

  He eyed me with his emerald greens wide and pleading as a momentary awareness took over him, realising quickly that his lucky score was none so lucky after all. In the same moment he opened his mouth to speak, I squeezed down on the trigger, the silencer doing its job at keeping the sound of the blast minimal. As the bullet penetrated his mandible, I was overwhelmed with regret at not closing his mouth before engaging the trigger as blood and flesh matter erupted from his mouth, splattering down the front of us both.

  After taking a moment to gather my bearings from the shock of the unexpected mess, I unscrewed the silencer, placed the two parts back into my boots and rose off him, trying to avoid spreading blood even further before grabbing my bag from the entry table where it was dropped in what he mistakenly assumed was the ‘throws of passion’. What can I say, you don’t get to where I am without being an extremely convincing actress.

  My bag contained all the necessary tools required to clean up after a certain kind of spill, removing all traces of trackable DNA with a chemical concoction I couldn’t explain if I tried, I just know without a shadow of a doubt, that this stuff works miracles. I sprayed myself to clean off the excess blood before I got to work cleaning up everything I had touched, including him, so that there was nothing left but a body and a bullet hole, not forgetting to dig the bullet out of the headboard where it had dislodged after exiting through the top of his skull, a small pool of blood gathering in amongst his dark brown mess of hair.

  After bagging the wipes used to clean up both the body and the surrounding areas, bagging both the bullet and the used condom, along with my bra that was ruined by blood projecting out of his mouth, I went into the bathroom to change everything except the wig, which would stay in place until I was clear of the hotel security cameras. That way my identity remained protected in the event that someone stumbled upon the body before Jackson could send someone to dispose of the remains.

  My name, is Tamikah Jane Gray, and after a brutally painful past, I called the streets home. I became a call girl, a lady of the night if you will, from a very young age. That was of course, until Jackson Craig found me and helped me become someone else, something else. Something that sets me apart from the other girls down at Bellatrix. When my phone starts to ring, I bring lives to an end and make a hell of a lot of money doing it too.

  To some I am just Kitty Kat, Bellatrix’s Friday night delight. But when the call comes from Jackson, I am called to kill!

  Chapter One

  Ring ring! Ring ring!

  Groaning at the sound as my eyes struggled to open, I rolled over to check the time before even contemplating picking up the phone.

  03:07

  Three o’clock? Whomever thinks it’s a good idea to call me at this time of the morning had better be dying, or already dead because I’m going to kill them otherwise. Slamming my hand down with such forc
e that the corner of my phone left a red indentation in the palm of my hand, I retrieved the irritatingly noisy device from the side table, checking the illuminated screen to see the caller I.D. sighing loudly as I eyed the name Jackson Craig on the screen. With one ring left before the call would be diverted to voicemail, I slid the little green icon upwards, allowing the phone to connect.

  “Who died, Jackson?” I groaned. Even Jackson knew that I was not one to be disturbed during sleep and he knew better than anyone exactly what kind of hours my job entailed and why sleep was so important.

  “Hello to you too, Tam. And nobody died, aside from last night’s mark; well done by the way, the guys said it was a very clean scene you left for them. You’re getting a little too good at this if you ask me” he chuckled to himself as if to give himself a proverbial pat on the back for finding me. He was kissing up, meaning, he was calling because he was awake, not because it was urgent. I hate it when he does that.

  “Yeah thanks, was there an actual reason for your call or did you call just to wake me up to praise me? That could have waited till morning.” I didn’t hold back in letting my disdain shine through in my voice. He should know better than to wake me up. I don’t care if he is my boss, he still should know better. A little tantrum-esq, perhaps, but I had only been home for little more than two hours and he knew that. A sleepy Tamikah is a cranky Tamikah.

  “Oh, right, sorry. Yes, we have a job for you.” His voice changed to a harder more deepened tone as his focus turned to the more serious topic of who I’d be putting a bullet into next.

  “Is it urgent? Can’t I deal with this in the morning, Jackson. It’s 3am. I need some sleep” I whined.

  “Yes, Tamikah, it’s urgent and needs your attention now!” He snapped down the line, which meant that this case was one of two things; personal, or worth a bucketload of money. I hoped for the latter. Safe to say, I’m not a fan of being dragged into Jackson’s personal vendetta’s. They never end well.

  “Fine. Email me the details and I will get onto it now. And by now I mean after I make a ridiculously strong coffee to wake me up!” Jackson laughed at the remark and assured me I’d have enough time to get coffee. This case needed my full awake attention because it was time sensitive and had little to no room for error. Because, no pressure. My favourite.

  We said our goodbyes and agreed to reconvene in the morning to discuss a plan of action moving forward. Sometimes I miss the days where all I had to do was shake my money maker for a dime. Then I simply look out the window of my penthouse suite apartment, at my 1967 matte black Chevorlet impala hard top and remind myself that street corners and dollar blowjobs aint got nothing on this life. Not to mention I get paid ten times more to take my clothes off ten times less, which is definitely a bonus. Back then I did what I had to do, to get where I had to go. Now its just an added skill in the assassin game. It gives me a way to get close to high profile targets, without drawing suspicion because your run of the mill undercover cop would break their cover before they dropped their pants. I on the other hand, hold no such reservations. Which is exactly what makes me so dangerous. It also makes me an invaluable asset.

  After taking a beat to wake up a little more, I climbed out of my mahogany four poster, Californian king bed and slipped on my Chanel silk robe. A couple more of those ‘perks’ of working in the assassin game. I flicked on the coffee machine and let it do it’s thing while I splashed my face with some morning burst face wash to wake me up a bit more, before I jumped onto the computer to check my email for the next work order. Guess this is going to be another busy week.

  With a coffee in one hand and my laptop in the other, I gazed at the screen in search for the email from Jackson. In typical style, he had flagged it as urgent so it sat in bold at the top of my inbox with a little red flag next to it so it wouldn’t be missed. The encrypted file opened in my secure server to display the following work order details:

  Attention Kitty Kat

  Name: Richard Atkins

  DOB: June 10, 1964

  Age: 54 Years

  Occupation: GameCorp Gaming Tester

  Likes: Fishing, Camping, Strippers, Fast cars, Red heads and Whiskey

  Wanted for: Stealing and selling unreleased games online for a profit. Has cost GameCorp approximately AU$5M

  Bounty: $50,000

  Your role: You will be the headlining show girl at The Gentleman’s Club on Chapel St in South Yarra. You will gain his undivided attention before inviting him backstage for a private dance and then proceed to convince him of your intent to ‘break club rules’ by letting him take you home for some ‘off the books’ action. Once you gain entry to his residence, you will seduce him and gain access to his computer which is safeguarded in his secured office. Once you have the information you need to get into the computer system, take care of him and then move all the data to the USB powerdrive you will be given and wipe his computer. Also be sure to check for any files marked ‘GameCorp’ and bring those with you to the office the following morning.

  Execution: Clean. Strangulation or drowning recommended.

  Please be present at the Gentleman’s club at 9:45pm for a 10pm start.

  Regards

  Jackson Craig

  Sighing, I resisted the urge to throw my laptop across the room. ‘Be present at 9:45pm’! Was he serious? He woke me up at 3am for something that he could easily have told me about, in person, when I got into the office later this morning. Sometimes I really hated that man. He had zero rational concept of time and no common decency when it came to letting people sleep after a long night. After throat punching him in my mind a few times, I gathered myself together, emailed Jackson back to tell him I got the email and I would be fine to do the job before shutting down my computer and putting it back on my desk, rinsing out my cup and climbing back into bed. I have at least 5 more hours that I can sleep before I have to be in the office at 10am. Curling up in the still warm blankets, I planned to make the most of every second.

  Chapter two

  I gave Jackson a death glare as I walked into the office later that morning. Waking up at 9am when my alarm went off for the third time, wasn’t nearly as bad as being woken up by the phone at 3am for something he could have given me now that I was here. Alas, everyone who knows Jackson, knows that when he says its urgent, it means he is going to tell you about it as soon as he hears about it, not as soon as you wake up in the morning. I’d like to say it was the first and last time he would wake me at some stupid hour of the morning for something he deemed important that actually could have just been left on my desk for me, but I’d be lying. In actual fact, he does it a lot and not just to me, we have all been on the receiving end of that phone call and rarely has ‘urgent’ actually been legitimately urgent.

  Walking into my office and the file on Mr Atkins was sitting on my desk. What Jackson had given me in the email was fine enough, but this file contained everything they had on this guy. Where he works, where he hangs out, even what he had for breakfast yesterday morning; Eggs Benedict on rye and a large chai latte at The Bakehouse on Bourke.

  Reading over the file, I made some notes that would help me pinpoint his desires to ensure that I didn’t have to work too hard and risk being questioned as suspicious when trying to seduce him.

  Seems he has a monthly subscription for ‘God girls gone wild’ which I thought was a typo, until I typed it into our server and wanted to vomit. These girls are not God’s children anymore, that’s for certain. As disturbing as it was, it did give me a good angle. He liked the Catholic school girl gone bad and he liked red heads. So I thought the best way to peak his interest would be to combine the two. Add a glass of whiskey on the house, served by me on a silver tray after my set, and it was bound to be a winner.

  Jackson was out the back puffing away on a eCigarette, also known as a piece of rubbish technology that I will never understand the point of since they are more dangerous than actual cigarettes, what with all the reports of them blowing
up in people’s faces. Pretty damn sure I’ve never seen someone lose half their face from a pack a day.

  “I really don’t know why you waste your time with those things, Jackson” copping a flash of his ‘not this again’ expression at my distaste.

  “Yeah yeah, Tamikah. What do you need?”

  “Well, I have an idea for this Atkins guy tonight but I wanted to run it by you first. Red hair, green contacts and a Catholic school uniform jazzed up a bit to match in with something like what the girls wear in the porno he’s seems so obsessed with.”

  Looking me up and down, I could tell he was trying to picture it in his mind which, I must say was never going to not be completely disturbing. This man was like a father to me. That being said, when he tried to picture outfits and ideas I gave him, it wasn’t for arousal purposes on his part, merely to picture if the look would appear ‘too much’ or not. We both knew we didn’t have that kind of relationship. May have something to do with him finding me on a street corner in little more than busted up fishnets, a thong and what could only be described as little more than a headscarf, covering my entire upper body, at sixteen years old. Or the fact that I’m only a year older than his niece, Abbey. But old unease dies hard and the questioning look always made me uneasy. I only allowed the look like that from him because I always could reassure myself, that he would never look at me as a desire for himself. Only as a desire for our mark.

  “Hmm” he uttered after what seemed like an eternity but was more like 45 seconds.

  “What? Too much?”

  “No, it’s not that. I just feel like the look is missing something” and then it hit him, his eyes lighting up as one of the girls from downstairs caught his eye. “Glasses. That’s what is missing. Add in some glasses and add some tech inuendoes like ‘Plug your USB into my port’ and you are golden.”