Mortal Blow: An Urban Fantasy Series (Succubus Hitwoman Book 1)

by Eliza Hendrix

  She tries to pull away, but when she realizes I’m not letting go, spits in my face. “What the fuck is your problem, you stupid cabrona? Don’t you dare talk to me about my son. What do you want?”

  “I need a word with your little boyfriend,” I say.

  She spits in my face again, the thick glob sliding down onto my lips.

  With my sleeve, I wipe it off. “You’re a feisty one.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Although she isn’t wearing any makeup, she’s a natural beauty with long black curls, plush lips, and smooth olive skin. Her eyebrows are overplucked, but it somehow suits her face, as does the unsightly scar across her nostril. For pajamas, she’s wearing a silk button-up top that caresses her unsupported breasts and silver pants to match. These clothes look to be the most expensive thing in this room.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Miss nonayo fuckin’ business,” she says.

  Without warning, I drag her across the kitchen and the moment she opens her mouth to shout out, I slap a hand over it. With my foot, I kick out one of her kitchen chairs, force her down, and point a stiff finger in her face.

  “Not a peep.”

  She glares at me as I make my way over to her kitchen drawers. She could try to get up, maybe even attack me from behind, but I’ll hear her before she even stands.

  “What’re you doing?” she asks.

  Instead of answering her, I pull dish rags out from her bottom drawer—this seems to be a standard for a lot of people—and start wrapping her wrists and ankles.

  “What’re you doing?” she repeats, her voice an octave higher.

  Her anger is dissipating and being replaced by fear.

  Good.

  There’s a good chance she underestimated my criminal abilities, being that I’m a woman. Now she knows I’m not here to fuck around. Or maybe I am. We’ll see.

  I crouch in front of her chair and bring my nose close to hers. “Where’s your phone?”

  She doesn’t break eye contact.

  “Where’s your phone?” I repeat.

  Nothing.

  She’s trying to protect her man, but at what cost? Her life? The life of her son? She has no idea who I am. Though if I were to guess, I’d say she doesn’t think me capable of harming a child, especially after my insightful comment about the way she treats her son. Rachel being here isn’t helping my case, either.

  “Sweetheart,” I say, smoothing my voice over. “I’m not here to hurt you or your boyfriend. All I’m asking for is a few minutes of his time.”

  No response.

  Fuck it. I’m using my Lure. It washes over her like a drug swimming through her bloodstream.

  She parts her lips, but nothing comes out.

  Leaning forward to reveal some cleavage, I press my palms on her thighs, massaging her with my thumbs. Her eyelids flutter.

  “You can trust me,” I breathe. “I know you want to help me. In return, let me help you.”

  She’s too worked up to say anything. Although dominant by nature, this woman fantasizes about submitting her body. But she doesn’t want to be aggressively dominated. It isn’t the rough sex she craves—it’s being restrained and forced to orgasm through gentle touches, soft licks, and hours of torturous teasing.

  Unhurriedly, I unbutton her pajama blouse, and she sinks her teeth into her thick bottom lip.

  “You’ve never felt a woman’s touch,” I say, my voice soft. With one finger, I sneak into her top and trace a line down her bare chest and around her left breast. Her nipple hardens, and she releases a staggered breath.

  Spreading her shirt open, I bring my lips to her nipple, encompassing it with my mouth. With a playful whip of my tongue, I tickle it, and her heartbeat quickens.

  I suck on it before pulling away. “Where’s your phone, beautiful?”

  “It’s… it’s in the living room. B-b-beside the TV.”

  I stand up and brush the back of my hand along the side of her neck and along her ear. “Wait for me.”

  She nods fast with eyes sealed shut, and I disappear into the living room to get her phone. When I return, she’s still breathing hard, squirming in her chair.

  I crouch in front of her again, place the phone in front of her face, and it unlocks. Then, I scan through her messages.

  It isn’t hard to find her boyfriend—his name comes up as Babe with a red heart beside it. With my thumb, I scan through the messages, whipping out my speed-reading abilities.

  Turns out Clock Dragon’s name is Adrian, and her name is Camila.

  I lean forward again, my hot breath teasing her still erect nipples. “Oh, Camila,” I say, and she rolls her head back. “Why don’t you give Adrian a call? I’m sure he’d like to join us.”

  Still in a daze, she reaches for her phone and presses his name in her contact list as if her life depends on it.

  “A-Adrian,” she says, her voice husky. “You need to come home. No… Not the boys. Only you.”

  The sound at the other end is muffled—a deep, choppy voice.

  Spreading her legs apart, I aim my hot breath where she wants it most.

  “No… Right now,” she says, her hypnotized eyes rolling up at me. Without saying goodbye, she ends the call, drops the phone on her lap, and fights to catch her breath.

  “Good girl,” I say, spreading her legs farther apart.

  Chapter 23

  ──────────

  The moment the front door opens—a soft clicking sound—I pull away from in between Camila’s legs and wipe my mouth. She’s so out of it you’d think I dosed her with something.

  I get up, move toward the kitchen counter, and pull out a cheese-encrusted knife. While I enjoy using my awesome new wrist blades, there’s nothing more empowering than holding a knife by its handle.

  In the distance, heavy boots storm through the house.

  “Camila?”

  “I’m… I’m in here,” Camila says.

  At the same time, I shove a dishtowel into her mouth and her eyes squint with pleasure. For the last twenty minutes, I’ve teased her in more ways than I’m certain anyone has ever teased her. A few minutes longer, and her heart might have stopped.

  When Adrian enters the dimly lit kitchen, his eyes almost pop out of that big head of his. Without hesitating, he reaches behind his back to grab something, probably a gun tucked inside his pants.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” I say, twirling the knife in my fist.

  And that’s why I wanted the knife. Wrist blades aren’t the same when it comes to intimidation.

  His jaw muscles pop out and he looks like he’s fantasizing about tearing me in half.

  “You,” he says. It comes out as more of an accusation than anything. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “So, you recognize me,” I say.

  “What’s it matter?” he growls. He takes a step toward me. “I swear to God, if you fuckin’ hurt her—”

  In a flash, I press the knife’s tip into Camila’s neck and she moans. He wrinkles his nose, likely confused as to how any of this could be turning her on.

  “Oh, trust me… I wasn’t hurting her. But if you take another step, she dies.”

  Raising his hands to his scruffy face, he takes a step back. Around his neck is a long gold chain, which hangs over his white, oversized T-shirt, making him look threatening despite his current predicament.

  “What do you want?” he grits out.

  Cutting to the chase, I say, “How much is Lucius paying you?”

  He arches a thick black eyebrow. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

  He’s testing me, but it won’t work. Digging the point of my knife into his girlfriend’s neck, I bare my teeth at him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Camila is still too high on my magic to give a crap about what we’re discussing. She’s still moaning, and every time the cold tip of my knife touches her skin, she squirms in her chair.

  “Look, lady, I don’t
know who you are or what you think you’re doin’, but Lucius isn’t the kinda guy you wanna get involved with.”

  Smirking, I scoop Camila’s wavy hair back and let it hang over the chair’s backrest. Me touching his girlfriend seems to upset him more than the knife at her throat. “I’m well aware of what Lucius is capable of. I’m not after Lucius. I’m after someone else. And I’m not here to hurt anyone, Adrian.” He swallows hard at the sound of his name. “I’m here to make you a deal.”

  He sucks on his teeth and raises his chin. “What makes you think I wanna make a deal with you? You’re pointin’ a knife at my girl’s throat.”

  “You have a gun behind your back. I’m simply taking precautions. Toss me your gun, and I’ll put the knife down.”

  When he goes to reach for it, I add, “Nice and slow.”

  He moves as if powered by some slow-motion device and without breaking eye contact.

  I throw my chin out at the small kitchen table, where he places the gun—a black Glock 19—and slides it toward me. With one hand, I pick it up, unload it, and sweep it off the table. “Have a seat.”

  He pulls out a chair, sits down, and slides closer to his girlfriend. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

  “Don’t bother,” I say.

  He glares up at me, dark shadows spreading across his cheekbones. “What’d you give her?”

  “I didn’t give her anything,” I say. “At least, nothing in pill form.”

  “You fuckin’ injected—” he starts.

  “I didn’t dose her with anything, brah. Calm your ass down.”

  He slams a clenched fist on the kitchen table, but Camila is way too out of it to even flinch. “Is this about Adam Shaw? I was only asked to collect some money he owed us that night. I ended up robbin’ the guy instead, so everything’s square. Lady, what do you want from us? I haven’t gone to the police. I don’t give a shit about the dead guy—”

  “Settle down,” I say nonchalantly. Though in reality, I am relieved to know I won’t have to kill him after I get what I want. “This isn’t about that. You have access to somewhere I need to be.”

  Slowly, he sits back in his chair, the wood of the backrest creaking behind him.

  “You’re obviously privy to information most Feeb—most humans aren’t,” I say.

  He knows exactly what I’m talking about, but his girlfriend doesn’t. I can tell by the way his eyes keep darting her way like he’s trying to protect her from this life.

  “She isn’t paying attention,” I say. “And I promise you she won’t be involved in any of this.”

  While I don’t make a habit of seducing someone without finishing the job, it does serve its purpose now and then. This tactic works better on women than it does on men, especially men who are prone to aggression—they often can’t handle it and try to take me.

  “So, what’s this about?” he asks.

  “All you need to know is that like you, I have a job to do, and that job involves Lucius’s new lover, Veerka.”

  “That vampire chick?”

  I nod.

  He laughs, revealing teeth as white as baking soda toothpaste.

  “Are you nuts? You got any idea how hard it is to get near her? No one gets near Lucius without there being a shitload of vampires in a room. So you can bet your ass you ain’t gettin’ anywhere near Veerka.”

  “You’ve seen her,” I say, watching him.

  “I mean, yeah. Once or twice. But she wasn’t alone. Listen, I don’t know how you think I can help, but I ain’t getting’ involved in your shit. If they ever find out—”

  “No one’s gonna find out,” I say.

  Typically, I wouldn’t discuss the details of my mark with a feeble. But this guy is precisely that—a feeble. He isn’t going to rat me out. If he did, he’d be putting himself and his entire family at risk for helping me in the first place. And if he’s dumb enough to try to run to Lucius to tell him about my request, Lucius will wonder how I knew to go through Adrian for information, which will destroy Adrian’s trustworthiness within the Vampire Mafia.

  He either helps me, or he dies. Simple as that.

  He must know it, too. Sighing, he says, “What do you need me to do?”

  “I need a strand of her hair,” I say, feeling like a nut job as the words come out.

  He gawks at me. “A strand of hair? What the fuck—”

  Raising a flat palm, I close my eyes. “You don’t get to ask questions. That’s my demand, and in exchange, I’ll pay you.”

  “How much?” he asks.

  Glancing around his kitchen—a room no larger than the size of a rich person’s en suite bathroom—I realize this guy’s desperate for money if he’s working for the Vampire Mafia.

  “Three thousand dollars,” I say.

  His laugh reverberates off his kitchen cabinetry.

  Well, it was worth a shot.

  “Bitch, are you insane?” he says, still laughing. “Three thousand dollars. The fuck you think I am? An idiot? What you’re askin’ me to do could get me killed. Like I said, if they sense me doin’ anythin’ fishy…”

  “How much does Lucius pay you?” I ask.

  He hesitates, no doubt weighing how dangerous it might be for him to talk about Lucius and his affairs. To speed up his thinking process, I shoot his girlfriend a look—one that says, Don’t make me hurt her.

  “I mean, it depends on the job,” he says in a hurry. “And I just started workin’ for him.”

  “Give me an average,” I say.

  He breathes out through his nostrils and looks at me as if to say, Why bother? It’s not like you can afford it.

  So I widen my eyes at his girlfriend again.

  He sighs. “Twenty.”

  As I look into his honey-brown eyes, I think of little Pedro and I’m reminded of Jamal. Like Jamal, Pedro’s future is dark and full of dangerous uncertainty. I’m betting Adrian started working for the Vampire Mafia to give his son a better life… To get the hell out of their neighborhood and build a life someplace safer. It’s tough to make ends meet in a place where all you know is drugs, violence, and poverty.

  The shitty part is that the vampires know this, especially ones like Lucius. That’s why they prey on people who are desperate for money. And as it so happens, a lot of these people live in Estreenos.

  Some days, when I’m riddled with guilt at the thought of Jamal’s brutal murder, I try to imagine how long he would have survived the streets of Jormane had I not taken him in. When he turned five, his older brother was already teaching him how to use a gun.

  Adrian gawks at me, likely wondering what the fuck’s going on in my head.

  Jamal could have ended up where you are, I think, staring back at him.

  I can’t help but wonder if Pedro will turn out like his father.

  My throat tightens and I reach for a half-empty bottle of tequila sitting on their table.

  Adrian arches a brow, probably thinking I’ve lost my mind. The moment the liquid burns my insides, my head clears and I’m reminded that I’m here for business. I could try to negotiate Adrian’s payout, but I want this damn job done as soon as possible, and I’m not in the mood for the whole back-and-forth bullshit. And who knows? Maybe if I’m generous enough, he’ll stop working for Lucius.

  That is, if Lucius allows it.

  “I’ll give you a hundred,” I say.

  I realize I went high on my price, but the goal is to have him want to do the job, not resent me for it and somehow try to fuck it up for me. He also needs an incentive. What’s stopping him from shooting me in the back as I leave this place? He’d be wasting his ammo, but that’s not the point.

  A crooked smile pulls at his face and he shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  This time, he stomps his boot and slaps his thigh like I delivered a kickass joke.

  In the distance, a small voice calls out, “Daddy?” and rapid footsteps come rus
hing down the dark hallway.

  “Way to go,” I say. “He heard you.”

  Adrian rushes to his son with open arms before the kid sees his mother tied up. “Hey, Pedro, my man.”

  Rachel comes chasing after Pedro but stops when she comes face-to-face with Adrian.

  “It’s fine, Rachel,” I say, removing the mother’s restraints. “We were just leaving.”

  Adrian plants a firm kiss on his son’s cheek.

  “Where’s mamá?” Pedro asks.

  Adrian brushes Pedro’s hair away from his forehead. “Mommy’s resting in the kitchen. I’ll make sure she gets good sleep. Don’t you worry, buddy.”

  The two of them disappear and a bedroom door closes. Seconds later, Adrian comes back empty-handed.

  He flicks a light switch on, filling the living room with an ugly warm yellow light, and I wince like a vampire caught in the sun. Still standing next to the light switch, he spots Rachel, crosses his arms, and gives me an unimpressed look.

  “Are you kidding me? You brought a kid with you?”

  “I’m sixteen,” Rachel says.

  My eyelids go flat. “You work for the Vampire Mafia. Who are you to judge? Hundred grand. Take it or leave it.”

  He won’t be crazy enough to say no—he needs the money. And if he wants to provide a better life for his family, he’ll do this job.

  Finally, he lets out a long, defeated sigh.

  “Whatever, lady. I’ll get you your damn strand of hair. After you pay me, I don’t want you showin’ up here again. Ever. Is that clear? And if you don’t pay me, you can bet your ass me and my boys will be comin’ for you.”

  Fantasizing about my five-million-dollar check, I smirk. “Yep, you got it.”

  Chapter 24

  ──────────

  Rachel plops herself down onto my living room sofa as if she owns it. “So… I’m still missing a vampire’s toenail. And the strand of that chick’s hair.”

  I fight the urge to smack her upside the head. “Are you kidding me? We were just talking to a guy who works with vampires. I’m getting you your damn strand. Why didn’t you think to mention the toenail when we were there?”

  She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I was busy playing figurines with some random kid.”