by Amo Jones
I narrow my eyes. Fuck. Why does she have to be so fucking beautiful? She’s different. Like me, only not as bad. I play along with whatever the fuck she’s doing, taking her hand. “Yeah.” I nudge my head, but my eyes narrow. Her’s narrow back in defiance and I have to fight a grin because she’s mad. Again, why I like my illness, I wouldn’t give a fuck if the roles were reversed. Too bad she’s not a psychopath.
“Okay, both of you sit. This is going to be perfect with you both here.”
I break the stare-down with Ella and then quickly look to Ikea before going back to Ella. “What the fuck’s going on.”
Chapter 11
ELLA
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.
“Ella? Would you like to explain, or shall I do the honors?” Reality sucks me back into focus and the deep pounding of my heart begins to slowly decapitate. Compose thy self, Ella. He’s just a boy.
I smile, doing what I do best, masking my thoughts. I can see Frost watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t meet his gaze. I can’t. Because I want to punch him straight in the dick. Yeah, okay, so I can’t call dibs on him. We have a thing, that’s all it is. He never promised me anything and I haven’t him, but seeing it happen in front of me wasn’t something I wanted to witness.
“I’m working for Ikea now, and for The Operation…” I pause, and I swear to God I heard him growl. I continue, this time bringing my eyes to his “—as their personal assassin.” His eyes widen, his eyebrows cross in confusion, and then he leans back in his chair and grins.
“That’s cute, kitten, but this is real life shit. You can’t get your brothers to come do your dirty work for you this time.”
And…. I’m pissed.
“Actually—” Ikea cuts in, which is probably a good thing because I’m about to serve Frost up to Satan. She laughs. “You see, that’s why she’s always been the best. You men never see it. You see the blonde hair, the thick lashes, the pouty plump lips, and don’t get me started on the eyes and body, and you think ‘Huh, this girl is cute as shit, I’m going to take her home’, and then you take her to bed, right before she takes you to your funeral.”
I smile sweetly at Frost, circling my finger over my head to form a halo.
“Bullshit.” Is all he says.
“Really not my thing, but thanks.”
He stands, walks around the table and comes close to me. With every step, my heart rate picks up. It’s like a magnet is drawing me in. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t need to,” I snap, glaring up at him from where I’m sitting. “But by all means, I can show you if you like.” I finish with a grin.
“Yeah? And what’s your weapon?”
I stand and come chest to face because he’s six-foot-four and I’m five-foot-ten. I search his eyes diligently. “I don’t have a preference, it all depends on the job, but my favorite has to be—”
“—fighting,” he finishes for me.
I nod. “Exactly.”
“Which,” Ikea interrupts our conversation and it’s like an unwanted bucket of ice cold water is splashed over the both of us. “Is perfect.” She comes toward us, wraps her arms around Frost’s midsection and my jaw clenches. She continues to run the palm of her hand over his abs.
Frost keeps his eyes on mine, blatantly ignoring the hot mess behind him. “And how’s that perfect?”
“Well.” I swallow all my anger and jealousy before I rip out Ikeas throat right here and save us all the theatrics. “I don’t believe in killing someone cowardly from a yard away without their knowledge. I believe if you kill them, at least earn your kill, or you’re just a pussy with a gun.”
His eyes darken. “Fuck.”
“Hmmmm.” I put my index finger to my cheek. “Nope, necrophilia isn’t really my thing.”
“And if it was mine?”
I smirk, running my eyes lazily down his body and landing on Ikea’s hands that are still massaging his abs. “Then I can give you your next victim if you like?”
His head goes back as he laughs before taking Ikea’s hands and removing them from his body. He turns to face her. “Another rule. I don’t like public displays of affection. You know, people around here might see it as a weakness.”
Damn. He was good.
“True,” Ikea says, straightening her clothes. She peers around Frost until her eyes fall on me. “Where do your brothers think you are? Because I know they wouldn’t allow this. You’re one of their best assets and the princess of the most notorious underground king known to man.”
“They think I’m attending NYU.” I gaze out the floor to ceiling windows that line the side of the room, sitting back in my chair. “And the princess has been sort of replaced by a queen, so I’ve found myself bored. Besides,” I snap my attention back to Ikea, “they started taking numbers off me since Hodgkin’s.”
“Oh,” she chuckles, leaning on the table, “that was art.”
“What happened?” Frost crosses his arms in front of himself.
“It’s really not that gr—”
“—Are you kidding?” Ikea rolls her eyes. “That case was precisely what put you on my radar. Well, you always intrigued me, but when I saw the tape of that night, I knew I had to have you one day.”
“Okay, now I have to see this,” Frost declares, focusing down on me with a grin.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t smirk if I were you.” Then I stared back toward Ikea. “Well, you’ve got me.”
“That I do.” She pushes off the table. “Come, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying during the time you are here.” I stand and follow her back out the doors I came through. The Operation runs from what they call The Beehive, which is where we are right now. It’s basically a building that looks like one gigantic glass beehive with render windows so no one can see inside from the outside. At the very top is a helipad, and below the helipad is Ikea’s headquarters. No one has been up there, but I’ve heard it’s like a penthouse. Five bedrooms and all the fancy nooks and crannies. That’s about as far as my Beehive knowledge goes. Raze never wanted me on this side of the spectrum and I know that I’ve betrayed him by doing this, but this isn’t only about Frost. This has more to do with Raze. To think he would assume I’d just ride off into the New York sunset and attend college like my whole family isn’t in the middle of a war has made me question his intelligence. We walk down the long corridor where other offices sit behind glass walls.
“So how long do the operations go for?” Frost questions, stepping between Ikea and I. I shoot him a glare and then carry on.
“Six months usually. Though, we have an issue that needs to be taken care of. We need the best, and we need people who have no feelings.” She looks to Frost. “Which is obviously why you’re here.”
“Great to be of service.”
“Oh really,” I snort, crossing my arms in front of myself as we wait near the elevators. “Why is that?”
“Because he’s a psychopath.”
My eyes close and I let out a deep breath of air. Of fucking course he is. I knew he wasn’t joking when he first asked me if I had fucked one, but having it confirmed in such a placid way, was eye-opening. Composing myself, I crank my neck. “Well, that’s great to know.” The elevator comes to a halt and the doors ping open. Stepping inside, my eyes catch Frost’s in the reflection of the mirrors inside, and a moment passed between the two of us. It was just briefly, fleeting, but my heart pounded, and my flesh throbbed, and then it was gone, and I straighten my shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 12
I should have gone to fucking New York. To hell with my family. But even as those thoughts passed through my mind, I instantly felt sick to my stomach. I love my brothers with something fierce, so there’s no way in hell I was letting them have all the fun. As a kid, Raze and Miles would always try to kick me out of the fun things. “You need more training, Ella!” The fuck I did. I was born for this, just like Raze. It ran in our blood, and I was ready to spri
nt. I lay back onto the bed in the room Ikea had put me into. There were two small self-contained apartments, one being the one I was in. I’m not sure who was in the one opposite me, but I do know that it’s occupied, thanks to Ikea pointing it out. “Ella, your neighbor is one of my most loved and prized soldiers, please play nice, and try not to kill each other,” she had said. I shrugged and replied that I couldn’t give her any promises if he was anything like her current right-hand man soldier, while pointedly looking at Frost. He laughed, she didn’t.
The apartment was decent. It was a studio style layout with a queen bed on slats against a brick wall, a couple of chest of drawers, a TV, and a cow skin mat at the foot of the bed. There was a large floor to ceiling window that filled the space to the side of the bed, and then just as you walked into the apartment, to the right was a small kitchen, all with stainless steel appliances and on the opposite side was the bathroom. Thankfully, with a bathtub. After every takedown, I have a ritual I follow and have followed. I’m not sure why, I’m not going to heaven, but it’s just something I started since my first kill…
Back then…
“I can do it, Raze… geeez, you’re so irritating.” I snatched the holster off my annoyingly overbearing brother. I should be thankful, at least he seems a little off balance. It shows my doing this has him a little twitchy.
“Don’t be a fucking smart ass, Ella. This is real shit. This isn’t training. I don’t think you’re ready…” he whispered off.
“Nonsense…” Miles walked into my bedroom, balancing a knife between his fingers. “She’s more than ready, Raze. Let her fly.”
“She owns too much purple to be killing people.”
I rolled my eyes, taking the knife out of Miles’ hands and walked toward the door. Throwing my button up coat on and fluffing up my hair, I snapped, “I’m ready.”
Walking down the long dark alleyway, I came to a red door, and just before I was about to knock, I pushed the button on my earpiece. “Listen, I’m going to need music—I think. I mean, I always trained with music, I haven’t done this without it.”
“Ella…” Raze warned, his voice low. “You cannot have music on during a kill. You need to be focused.”
“I get that, I do, but I’m more focused with music on because I have to use my other senses to help me. Raze… I need music. Something heavy, something metal. Yes, I need heavy metal.”
“You’re not ready,” Raze repeated in the same tone he used earlier.
“Get out…” Miles interrupted, then his voice came through my ear. “All right, Devil face. Who do you want.”
I grinned. “There’s a reason why you’re my favorite brother. Ok, so once you hear when shit hits the fan, start playing something. I don’t know… Korn. ‘Got the Life.’”
“Korn? Oh hell… all right then.” I dropped my hands, cranking my neck and pulling out my compact mirror. Ok, so I went a little over the top on the makeup and big hair, and let’s not get started on the attire underneath this coat, but it has to work, and will work, because my target tonight is a human trafficker poacher. Now, don’t think I’m being a hero here. My family are far more wicked than anything else in this living world, but the reason he’s my target is that he has been basically, taking our business. Yes, that’s right, he’s sucking our business dry and leaving behind dirty marks. He’s messy with what he does and it’s starting to draw far too much attention. Attention that may eventually lead to The Army—my family.
I knocked on the door and then waited. A peephole slid open loudly, then an eye peered through and looked me up and down.
“You gonna let me in, or do I need to say that magic word?”
“What is it?” the voice asked me.
I rolled my eyes. “There is none.”
A heavy lock slid open and then next the door. A big man with hair in almost every part of his face, stood there, glaring down at me. “You got bank?”
I stared at him with a flat, bored expression. “Does it look like I got bank?” I gestured at my clothes.
He chewed on his gum a few times, let his eyes roam over me again, before finally stepping aside. I strode into the corridor, adrenaline pulsing through my veins so fast my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest, then I followed him down the dark hallway, where the only lighting was from the light bulbs flicking on and off above us. We reached the end and he pushed the door open, gesturing for me to go inside. Deep laughter danced amongst the smell of rich, thick Cuban cigars, an overload of cologne and aftershave, and the bitter, but zesty hit of whiskey. It was the perfect match to my recipe.
“Thanks.” I side-stepped around him, ignoring how the room fell quiet. In the middle, was a medium-sized poker table with around five men, all wearing suits, all sitting in dark leather seats. Jacob Atkins, some hotshot CEO-type dude that makes more money in a week than most do in a year was one of them, followed by David Macintyre, his buddy, whose business was dabbling in real estate, and beside him was another hotshot. I knew every single guy that was sitting here, their background, how many kids they had, and the name of their first family pet. But they’re not who I’m here for, although, I’m rather sure that I would probably need to kill at least a couple of them while I’m here. You know, collateral damage.
“Hi, boys.” I walked into the room with confidence, unbuttoning my long jacket.
I removed it, and one of the men shot up from his chair, taking it from me. “Here, let me get that for you.”
I peered straight at him. Ah, and here we have it. Ella McKenna’s target numero uno. Shame. He’s a little good looking, you know, if you’re a daddy’s girl. Can’t say I’m into that type at all, he’s a little too suit and tie. I like my men a more on the unhinged side. If I had a taste in men, that was.
“Thank you.” I took a seat beside him, skimming down my black dress. It was strapless, short, and tight enough that you could almost see the junk in my trunk. I matched it with some burgundy heels, burgundy smudged lips, dark smoky eyes, and voila! You have yourself a girl who is dressed to kill. Literally.
“You buying in, sweet stuff? You sure you wanna play with the big boys?”
Trevor McAlister.
Forty-eight-years old.
CEO of twelve different car dealerships around the globe.
—Side bitch to Snake, and likes to do his dirty work by poaching women off the side of the street. Not just women though, oh no, girls young enough to be his granddaughters. That’s where we drew the line, at least. The Army didn’t take little girls under the age of puberty. You know, morals and all that, and also, it was because we bred them. See, intelligence. I was being sarcastic. The Army were assholes, but my brother and Miles were a part of it, and me, since I am, technically, Army blood. Snake’s boys, though, have been running around rampaging for the same time as The Army—so I’d heard. He was the same age as my father, and apparently, they used to be tight. Snake was not our competition, but we were constantly having to clean up his dirty work, not for his benefit, but because if he gained any more attention, it wouldn’t be long before we attained that same attention.
I smirked, pulled out five large and dropped it onto the table. Leaning over, I took the cigar from between his fingers, all while keeping my eyes on his and brought it to my lips, wrapping them around the tip seductively. I sucked on it a little, then puffed out the smooth smoke. “You scared to lose to a little girl?”
I could see him readjusting himself from under the table while the rest of the guys went quiet. “How little?”
I narrowed my eyes and licked my lips. “Young enough to not know any better.”
He turned to the men and nodded his head. “Let her in.”
The dealer dealt our cards and I had to fight the smile that was forcing itself onto my lips. For a first timer, I wasn’t doing too bad. Raze, suck on that.
“You good at this game, sugar?” Trevor asked, driving another cigar into his mouth.
“Ehh, I’m about to find out
.”
“You do know that beginner’s luck is all shit, right?” Another man said opposite me, and I notice it was Trevor.
“Guess we’re about to find out.”
Except we weren’t, because I wasn’t here to play fucking games, and I wasn’t about to spend valuable time with these motherfuckers.
“I mean…” I shrugged. “Or not.” I quickly stood, pulled out my gun from my holster, and aimed right at Trevor, firing a bullet right between his shocked eyes. Blood sprayed out everywhere behind his head, and then I turned to the rest of the men. “You wanna play boys, or no?”
A sound of growls went around the table, and then each of them went to stand from their chairs. I cracked my neck. “Guess we’re playing than.”
Korn, “Got the Life” started playing through my ears, just as one man opposite me, pulled his gun from his pants, aimed, and shot right at me. I dodged, cartwheel-flipped over the table, and elbowed him right in the face before roundhouse kicking him in the guts. Swinging my other hand up, I shot another right between the eyes who was about to reach for his gun and then to the left, I saw a shadow coming at me in full force at the same time as I felt the guy I just kicked move his feet from around my ankle. I punched the guy coming at me square in the nose until I felt his naval bone crush beneath my knuckles, before grabbing him by his throat, twisting him in front of me so I could use him as a shield, swung my aim to the man on the floor, and shot him right in the forehead. The guy whose throat I had in the grip of my hand snatched my gun, pulled back, and aimed it right at me. I closed my eyes, embracing the electric sound of the guitar that was strumming in my ears, and ducked. Just as he pulled the trigger, I yanked the knife I took from Miles out of the holster around my ankle, stood, and quickly launched it straight into his groin. All his movements stopped as if in slow motion, before falling to the ground, but with me wanting to be precise, and hungry for more blood, I sunk the blade in deeper, and then swiped the blood off of my forehead—but only smudged it more. I yanked the knife skyward, cutting through his pelvic area and up, slicing the flesh of his stomach open and watching as his guts poured out from under his shirt.
