Forced Assassin

by Sam Crescent

  “You’ve brought a friend with you,” he said, without turning to face her.

  She lifted the gun. The heavy weight made her hands shake. “I don’t want to die.”

  He turned round. “You really think you can use that?”

  “You don’t know who I am.” If he thought she was someone else she may as well act like it.

  “Yes, I do. You’re Fallan Jones, shelf-filler for Asda.” With each word he moved closer and closer until he stood with his chest pressed against the business end of the gun.

  He was right, she didn’t even know if she could use it. Could she take a life even with the threat to her own?

  Bishop grabbed her arm, took the gun and spun her around with her back to his chest. He pointed the gun at her temple.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, legs almost giving out on her.

  “Pointing a gun at someone gets questions answered. Now tell me about this trip.”

  She felt sick, didn’t know if she’d be able to speak, but she’d give it a damn good try. “I got it through the post. Some kind of special treasure hunt game. No one playing was to talk about it and you got paid ten grand once you’d been on the weekend, delivered the bag, and returned home. I was visited by someone who ordered me not to look in the bag, said if I did it wouldn’t go down too well and I wouldn’t qualify for the money. Frankie Lash, he said his name was, and that I’d need to remember that name if I didn’t follow the rules because he wasn’t called Lash for nothing.” All the secrets she knew she shouldn’t be telling came spilling out. She’d lose the money now if that Lash man found out.

  “Who else spoke to you?”

  “Only Frankie. He was scary as hell, even though he smiled and acted nicely. I knew I shouldn’t have agreed once I met him, but… I need the money… I don’t want to die. Please. I only thought it was a bit of fun.”

  Tears streamed, and the very real knowledge that this guy pointing a gun at her could end her life within seconds slammed into her.

  I’m going to be sick…

  “Just so you know, I don’t kill women unless they’re on my list. Congratulations, Fallan Jones, this is your lucky day.” He kissed her cheek and let her go. “Oh, and by the way, this isn’t loaded. You wouldn’t have killed anyone.” Bishop tucked the gun inside his jacket.

  Fallan’s temper spiked. “You bastard. Threatening me and doing that.”

  She lunged forward, intent on scratching his face, pummelling him with her fists, anything to hurt him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the car.

  “I suggest you get in the car because you’re not out of the clear yet. You have Mr Lash to worry about. He’s…an undesirable man. He’d kill you without a second’s thought.”

  Fallan didn’t argue. Her life and safety were now in this man’s hands.

  * * * *

  Some time later, Fallan sat at a table in a kitchen. She didn’t know where it was. Bishop had blindfolded her for the journey. Once they’d arrived here, he’d chained her hands to the seat back. Shaking her head, she thought about her life again. What had she done wrong? Was this all part of the holiday resort test? Some new addition she wasn’t aware of? Was it their way of getting out of paying her the ten grand? If she spilled, she didn’t get it? Were all the other players going through the same thing?

  “Okay, we’re going to start again. Name?” he asked.

  “Mickey Mouse,” she mumbled, then, seeing the dark look he gave her, said, “Fallan Jones.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Drug dealer.” Stop it!

  “Fallan, I know this must be annoying to you but just try to give me the right answers. I know you’ve told me this before, but I have to make sure you really are who you say you are.”

  She glared at him, lips pressed together.

  He sighed. “I tell you what, I’ll find out for myself.”

  He click-click-clicked on a laptop, bringing up what looked like a file. If he’d done a search on her, he’d have found out she was just a boring, everyday girl.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “In my safe house.”

  “Oh, a safe house. Sounds so movie-ish.” She rolled her eyes.

  Silence met her statement. Bishop clearly had issues with women who spoke their minds.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” she said.

  “Hold it.”

  “I’ve been holding it. I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Like I said, hold it.”

  “And like I said, I have been.”

  He ignored her. She glared at him, hating the fact he was so good-looking. Hating herself for even thinking it.

  A few seconds later the laptop beeped and he closed it.

  “So you’re Fallan Jones, Asda employee, and your mother died last year of cancer. You wanted the ten grand because you’re in debt from donating money to the hospital while she was ill. Hoping some medical cure would help in time? You dropped out of university two years ago to care for her. You’re twenty-four.”

  “Wow, you got all that from a computer? Congrats, whiz-kid. I bet you were the computer geek in high school.” Fallan rattled her chains. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

  “Why else did you decide to do this treasure hunt?”

  “I need the money. The house is about to be taken off me by the bank. I need to make a significant payment so that doesn’t happen. We fell behind on the mortgage while Mum was ill. Do you want me to continue?” The need of the money shamed her. She rattled the chains even more.

  “Don’t try anything funny,” he warned, walking towards her.

  “You’ve put a gun to my temple, threatened me at every turn. You know a lot more about me than I do about you. Please, just let me use the fucking bathroom.”

  Bishop unlocked the cuffs, leaving them dangling on each wrist, but led her to the bathroom, shut and locked the door, leaned his back against it and crossed his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, outraged.

  “Do your business.”

  “I’m not doing it in front of you.”

  “Either do it or I’ll chain you back to the chair and you can piss there.”

  “This is embarrassing.” Pulling her dress up to her waist, she followed by pushing down her tights. Before she touched her panties, she glared at him. “Won’t you give me some privacy? At least turn around.”

  Bishop snorted but faced the door. She blushed as she looked at his back and tight arse. His trousers enhanced the powerful muscles beneath, and, God help her, her body was melting to feel him underneath her hands.

  She shoved those thoughts away. Once she’d done her business and washed her hands, Bishop was watching her again.

  “You do realise you’re in a shitload of trouble,” he said.

  Fallan shook her head. “No! I had no idea! Of course I realise I’m in a shitload of fucking trouble, but I followed instructions and now I’m here. I just hope the other women were lucky.”

  “Other women. Tell me about them.”

  “About a group of ten, I think. We each got a different location. Some abroad and some stayed near home.” She sniffed and got a whiff of her body odour. “Just out of curiosity, will I be allowed a shower?”

  “Yes. With me.”

  “Wait a minute. This is a complete breach of my privacy, not to mention how unfair you’re being.”

  Bishop pressed her up against the wall. She couldn’t turn away from his intense stare.

  “Fallan Jones, you’ve signed on for an adventure of a lifetime. I know you want me. If that copper hadn’t come along…” He caught her wrist as she was about to slap his face. “I’ll let you get away with one, not two, darling, so you’d better put those little claws away.” He moved his hands down to her breasts. She gasped, outraged yet excited to have him do what he wanted with her body.

  “Don’t touch me,” she protested, even though it sounded weak.

  “You want me, Fallan. Don’t you?”


  He kissed her and she knew she’d been caught. Moaning, she wanted to touch him everywhere. Bishop swept her hair off her face, tilted her chin and deepened the kiss. Then he pulled back, leaving her breathless.

  “You taste like sweet honey,” he said.

  Her senses on high alert, she had the urge to wind her hands round his neck. She wanted to feel his thick hair between her fingers. The rattle of the cuffs brought her out of her semi-erotic haze.

  “I don’t want you. I’d never want a man like you.”

  Bishop chuckled. Fallan was sure she saw disappointment in his eyes before he turned away. Seeing the streak of real emotion, she felt guilty. The mysterious Bishop had been the first to really open up the woman inside her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure if he’d heard her at all. Closing her eyes, she cursed her body and her reactions to this man.

  “Like I said, you want me.”

  Chapter Three

  Waterman choked on his Earl Grey. It went down the wrong hole, and the resulting coughing fit lasted quite some time. At one point he thought he wasn’t going to be able to breathe, and he smacked the side of his fist on his chest, mentally cursing for swallowing wrong and showing a weaker side of himself. It was never a good thing to let your guard down in front of your employees, to have them know you were in any way vulnerable, but there was nothing he could do about that now. What was done was done, so to speak, and he’d have to deal with it.

  The coughing eased, and he looked ahead through watery eyes. Kemp stood in front of Waterman’s desk, and Frankie lounged in a chair beside him, seemingly unperturbed. Neither offered their services of a pat on the back. Waterman didn’t like fuss, and, unless he was dying, those two could stay the fuck back and they knew it.

  Once suitably composed, Waterman wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took another sip of tea to ease his now-sore throat. He placed the white bone china cup on the matching saucer and eyed the men opposite. They were his best blokes, but at the moment he wondered whether he would be better off recruiting new blood. These two were getting on a bit, going stale. He took his attention off them and stared at the green leather blotter on his desk, mulling over how to sort out this mess.

  “So,” he said, “say that again, Frankie. But slower. I need to make sure I heard you right.”

  Frankie squirmed. Kemp looked smug.

  “One of the women is with a government goon,” Frankie said, sitting straighter and holding both hands up as if to ward Waterman off should he decide to lunge forward. “I telephoned each of our collectors to make sure all the packages had been hidden then picked up, like you said, but there’s been a hitch.”

  “A hitch,” Waterman stated. “A fucking hitch. I don’t do hitches, do I? Go on.”

  Frankie cleared his throat. “Our bloke who was going to pick the package up at the hotel a few miles down the road—”

  Waterman sucked in a breath then released it slowly. “Which one, fuck-face? We’ve got several hotels on our list that are a few miles down the fucking road.” He clamped his lips together to stop himself calling Frankie a useless bastard. He wasn’t scared of him, could handle himself if he had to, but Frankie had a reputation for being a right hard fucker and Waterman didn’t fancy being on the end of his fist tonight.

  “The Hidden Gem,” Frankie said.

  “The Hidden fucking Gem,” Waterman said, chuckling without mirth. He was livid and having a hard job hiding it. That hotel hadn’t sat right with him when he’d arranged this job, but the client had insisted on it. “Right, well, what the hell happened?” He glanced at Kemp, who stared right back with an I-told-you-so expression. “Fuck you, Kemp. Carry on, Frankie.”

  “We sent our man to collect, but someone else got there first.”

  Waterman grimaced. “I thought that’s what you said the first time, but you know how it is. I needed you to say it again in case I was going a bit deaf, like. Got a bead on who took the cargo and how he even knew it was there?”

  Frankie puffed out his chest. “Yep on the bead. Our man followed the car containing the lifter and the woman. Took down the number plate.”

  “Which is?” Waterman leant forward to take a slip of paper from Frankie. He glared at the numbers and letters scrawled on it. “It’s that fucking wanker again, isn’t it? Using the same damn car, the cheeky bastard.” He held back from slamming his fist onto the desk. “I’m still pissed off we haven’t caught up with him from the last time he poked his hooter in where it wasn’t wanted.” He paused, looking at the ceiling, making a note to get the painters in. His cigar smoke had turned it off-white. “Remind me of the woman’s name.” He didn’t need telling. Just wanted to see if Frankie knew his arse from his elbow, whether he was still as sharp as he had been in the past.

  “Fallan Jones. Needed the money cos her old dear dying of cancer made her a bit skint. Stands to lose her house.”

  “Stands to lose her fucking legs if she opens her gob,” Waterman said. “So our man…lost them, is that right?”

  “Yeah. One minute the car was in front of him, the next, gone.” Frankie leant back and pinched his chin, flicking his tongue behind his bottom teeth.

  Waterman wanted to punch him. “Just like that, eh? Marvellous.” He took another sip of tea, enjoying the sound of cup base meeting saucer as he placed the drink back down. “Reckon he’ll be looking for a new job by now. Knows I won’t tolerate that crap. Put his name in my little book there, so if he comes knocking on my door asking for sympathy I can tell him to stick his request where the sun don’t fucking shine.” He propped his elbows on his desk and linked his fingers, resting his chin on top. “So, we need to find the woman. Been to her house yet?”

  Frankie nodded. “No one at home.”

  “Got someone posted outside?” Please tell me you used your brain, dickhead.

  “Yep.” Frankie wiggled in his seat, clearly proud of himself.

  “Good. Kemp, your job’s to find that wanker who took the goods. We know he uses aliases, has some gaff he hides away in, but now we know he’s using the same car we might get lucky. See if that bastard at the city CCTV place can help us out, too. Might catch sight of his car on video.”

  “He said he couldn’t last time I asked,” Kemp said. “Something about his bosses getting suspicious.”

  “I don’t give a toss what he said or what he’s going to say.” Waterman took a cigar from the wooden box in front of him and toyed with it. “You just remind him we know where he lives, where his wife works, and where his kids go to school.”

  “I did that before but—”

  “Then do it a-fucking-gain!” So help me God, I’ll shoot you right now if you argue with me anymore.

  “Right, Guv.”

  “So,” Waterman said on a sigh. “Like I said, you’re on finding that wanker.”

  “Continuing the search for him and failing, you mean.” Kemp smirked.

  Waterman pointed at him, jabbing his finger in the air. “If you’re not fucking careful, mate, you’ll find yourself at the bottom of the Thames wearing a new pair of cement shoes. That mouth of yours is starting to get on my nerves, know what I mean?”

  Kemp blushed and shuffled from foot to foot.

  “Get to it, lads. There’s a lot of money riding on this, and, until you come up with the goods, you’re losing out. I won’t pay up until we have all those bags back. Oh, and Frankie? You need to give that dopey bastard a warning—the one who lost that wanker and the woman. Let him know how the land lies, right?”

  Frankie nodded and he and Kemp left the room. Waterman picked up the phone and issued an order for Kemp to be tailed. That little fucker had been pushing his buttons for too long now. Getting too big for his boots, he was.

  Waterman didn’t do people getting too big for their boots.

  * * * *

  Bishop leaned his back to the cold tiled wall of the shower while Fallan stood beneath the spray, facing away from him. There was no
way he could hide his hard cock—no way he wanted to, either. There was something about her that made him act differently, like when he’d told her he knew she wanted him. Although he sensed she did, he had no idea why he’d said so. That wasn’t his usual style. The lack of sex must be getting to him. The last time he’d had a ‘usual style’ was too far in the past to remember, and, if Fallan was under any illusion he didn’t want her, she’d only have to turn and face him and he wouldn’t have to say a fucking word.

  He took in the sight of her shapely arse and the way her thighs tapered to slim calves and even slimmer ankles. She had a good body on her, he’d give her that, and the glimpse he’d had of her tits when she’d climbed into the shower was all he’d needed to send his dick bolt upright.

  It wasn’t fair that men didn’t get to hide their arousal.

  Was she turned on with him in here with her? When he’d kissed her, she’d been breathless, clinging on to him as if they weren’t in any jeopardy at all, were just on a date where they’d progressed to the next level after dinner. Maybe the danger of their situation had made her needy…horny even. Who knew? He thought about that as she soaped herself, thick bubbles gliding over places he longed to touch himself.

  He never thought he’d wish he were lather.

  Could he fuck her knowing she might only allow him to through fear? Or, worse, to get him on side, make him drop his guard so she could slip away when he was having a weak moment? No, he couldn’t, no matter how much his cock protested now, throbbing like a son of a bitch, announcing that it needed touching, needed to be inside her.

  If she wanted a fuck, she’d have to ask for it, make it clear she was up for it. He’d laid the groundwork and it was up to her to start building the frame. If he pushed her he might lose her. That wasn’t something he fancied contemplating. She’d already got under his skin in a way no other woman had, and the thought of not fucking her left him oddly empty inside. He hadn’t felt like that since…well, in a long time.