The Complete Contract Series: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, & Part Four

by Steele, Suzanne

  It is settled—I need to train hard, pay attention, and be careful to do what he says. He has been doing this a lot longer than I have, and he has been trained by the best—the military. They had no idea they were training a man who would not only kill for his country, but also for the inhabitants of his country after his return home.

  Whether it is abroad, or on American soil, Miller has every intention of protecting his fellow man, and I have every intention of protecting… my man…

  Melanie

  I am sitting in a quaint living room as I’m watching the endearing aunt of a mysterious man I have not met as of yet, and I feel unusually comfortable. I don’t have the normal awkward feeling that people have when they meet someone for the first time. Tommy is sitting on her lap cooing as if she is his long lost grandmother.

  “Oh my, he certainly is teething. Has he been fussy?”

  I chuckle, as I hand her a dribble towel from the new designer bag that the man I only know as Sir, bought.

  “He is never fussy and he certainly seems to like you an awful lot.”

  “I wasn’t able to have children of my own. That is why my nephew Charles is so dear to me.”

  I roll his name over in my mind and find myself wondering why he didn’t tell me his name. He only insisted I call him Sir. I resist the temptation to fish for his last name so I can google him.

  “I would love to have you and the baby staying here and I really am not much trouble.”

  “Well I’ll be honest with you Miss Jones, I live in government housing and I need this job. I don’t feel my son is safe in the neighborhood we are in.” I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at the cliché name but that was her name, Thelma Jones. She had gone through her life unmarried and childless, so it made perfect sense she was so enthralled with her nephew Charles.

  “Well, it is settled then. The two of you have a new home and a new family. Charles needs a friend. Why, every time I see that boy in the newspaper, he has a different woman on his arm. I just hate him being subjected to those women who are clearly using him for the social status he is able to afford them.

  Now she has my curiosity up. “Do you have an article I can see? I haven’t met him and it would help to know who I’m conversing with on the phone he provided me.”

  “Why yes, I keep every article my Charles is in.”

  I waited while she went to retrieve it and found myself hoping he wasn’t some middle-aged, paunch gutted guy. Why should I even care? I wasn’t sleeping with him and I had no intentions of doing so.

  She hands me the paper and Charles Wentworth the 3rd is anything but middle aged with a paunch gut…

  He is well over six feet with a thin athletic build and blonde hair. The tuxedo he wears in the picture is tailor made and his stark blue eyes jump off of the paper at me.

  The woman who is accompanying him is everything I am not…beautiful. She looks like a model with her perfect brunette hair and her perfect designer gown. I wonder why I find myself hating her. Oh well, I have the information to google the mystery man, and I have every intention of doing just that.

  Miller

  I am still talking to her and assuring her that she hadn’t left any evidence at the scene of the crime the night before. (Though I would feel much better had I witnessed the kill shot.)

  A message I have been waiting for comes in and I turn to her in a serious manner and begin to fill her in on details.

  “Well young lady, it appears we have our first official ‘contract to kill’. This isn’t a case of a vigilante kill. The man we are being hired to kill is a very important man. Our boy is quite the ladies’ man. He uses his skills of persuasion to lure women up to his hotel and beat the shit out them, right before he rapes them. It seems the last victim was the daughter of a Russian mobster, unbeknownst to him. You, young lady, are just his type, a blonde haired, blue eyed fox.”

  I grab Stormy’s face and turn it in my direction to signify how important this hit is. “This is a favor to Glazov, and we can’t fuck it up. There are very few people I respect or fear, and Glazov falls under both those categories. If at any time you feel you can’t handle this, I need to know. Fucking this hit up will sign our death warrants.”

  “I can do it,” she said.

  “Alright. Welcome to my world girl, because you are about to embark on your first official contract…”

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Prologue for ‘The Executioner’:

  Chapter One

  Stormy

  I wonder if he would kill me—if he will kill me? When you look at him you think that he is the boy next door; I can assure you Miller is anything but. He is a cold blooded killer and banking on him being in love with me may prove to be my downfall. He may not have it in him.

  I know the two rules: never fuck a woman more than once and never kill one… He has already broken one of those rules and only time will tell if he will break the other.

  I know there is a possibility of him killing me if my training doesn’t measure up. I can only assume that is his reasoning for staying on my ass the way he does. Everything I do is scrutinized and he is always testing me. It makes reading the man, which was already difficult, damn near impossible.

  We have a job coming up. I heard him talking to someone about a man holding a woman captive. That alone wouldn’t be very intriguing but, as it turns out, the man responsible, and the one we are being sent to kill, is a psychiatrist. He is holding a woman hostage for research. It sounds like something from a horror movie but it’s real. I’ll never look at therapy the same after this. That is some crazy shit. I feel more like I’m in a TV series about serial killers than living out my own life and destiny. I used to wonder where they got ideas for shows about crazy fucks who do the crazy shit they do; I don’t anymore.

  I feel no guilt about what I do for a living. I have an innate trait no amount of training can give a hit man, or hit woman in my case—I truly believe the only way to rid society of the monsters is to kill them. I don’t believe a man who preys on women and children can be rehabilitated. They’re born fucked up and, if left up to Miller and me, they will die fucked up.

  I make my way into the front room to view Miller cleaning his gun.

  “That gun should be pristine as much as you clean it, Miller.”

  “I haven’t cleaned it since I fucked you with it.”

  “Yes you have... Miller? Would you kill me?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to fuck you to death with my gun.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. Getting a straight answer out of this man is a challenge, to say the least. Suddenly, my attention is diverted by a reporter on TV with breaking news.

  A local woman has been missing for two days. Her car was found parked in an alley behind a popular boutique in the Louisville, KY area.

  Police state her personal belongings were still located in the front passenger seat of the car. They do not believe robbery was a motive, but rather that this was a kidnapping. Police are unsure at this time whether the perpetrator could possibly be someone who knows the victim, or if this is just a case of her being in the wrong place at the right time.

  They are warning women to lock their car doors when out commuting and to be aware of their surroundings.

  I’m certain Miller knows something about this missing woman so I begin to fish.

  “You mentioned we are going somewhere tonight; where?”

  “Diego’s club. Wear something sexy because the mother fucker can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. There isn’t anything I love doing more than making him eat his heart out because he can’t have you.”

  “Th
at guy is too much of a player for me. I don’t know how Selena does it—being with a man who fucks somebody different every night.”

  “Diego is a pimp, girl. You can’t have a stable if you don’t fuck your women; it’s how he keeps them bonded to him.”

  “I’m not cut out for that shit; I’m too jealous.”

  “What are you doing even debating it?”

  “I’m not debating it—just making an observation.”

  “Keep your fucking observations to yourself, Stormy.”

  By now, he is glaring at me as if waiting for an answer. I make my way into the shower for self-preservation’s sake.

  Nothing I say right now is going to be right. That’s just the nature of the beast when it comes to Miller. Anytime another man is brought up, he gets pissed. Jealous doesn’t even begin to describe this man. He’s crazy and I have no intentions of crossing him. I’m much too busy with making sure I get my training right so he doesn’t kill me. The thought of dying isn’t something I relish even if it is death by pleasure or, as Miller said, being fucked to death with a Glock.

  Chapter Two

  Black Rose

  To say I’m a contradiction in terms would be a gross understatement, and that’s putting it mildly.

  Though I don a well-tailored suit by day, I am just as content padding around my mansion barefoot in nothing but a pair of jeans, usually unbuttoned for the sake of comfort. You see, though I was raised in the upper echelon of society, I was born with a trait which cannot be learned nor acquired. I am a born ‘Predator!’ Once I have tracked my prey, I will stop at nothing to attain that which I crave.

  As fate would have it, I have raised my nostrils in the night air, filled with the promise of sensuality, and gotten a whiff of the prey I desire. Her name is Melanie and the fact that Melanie has a son only makes her that much more desirable.

  I am convinced a child born with my DNA is destined to become a serial killer. Though I have been able to hone my craft of taking others’ lives and steer my compulsion in a positive direction, I have always had a thirst for blood. Thus, I have no doubt a child born of my loins will carry the same trait. Tommy offers me the chance to have an heir and to be normal, or at least as normal as one can be in this fucked up world I inhabit.

  Watching Melanie on surveillance is causing a concupiscence within me to take her but she is such a fragile little thing and it is necessary to gradually introduce her to my deviant desires. They will all be unleashed on her in due time but, until then, I still have needs. Though she is somewhat meeting my lust for control, my cock is still hungry and needs to be sated.

  I have to say that the biggest problem for me is that I always measure every other woman by the standard I perceive Melanie to be… and they never measure up. The women in my escapades curb my passion—nothing more, nothing less and tonight… I need some curbing to be done.

  I make my way into an establishment on the Upper East Side for a drink. It always humors me how ‘the high society girls’ make their way over as if they aren’t trying to pick me up.

  I eye the latest flavor who has eased her way into the bar stool next to me. Her hair is done in long dark ringlets cascading down her back and her make-up appears as though it was professionally applied by a stylist. She wears a tight, salmon colored, banded dress that lifts up just high enough to show the lace at the top of her sexy, black thigh highs when she sits down.

  I don’t have much time for the high society women who reside in my income bracket. They remind me too much of my Mother—uptight, frigid, social-climbing cunts.

  I’m smart enough to realize they can’t be that frigid all the time, not if they are anything like my ‘Mommy Dearest.’

  I know all too well I am the seed spawned from an affair my Mother had years ago but like any good high society family, denial runs rampant. The secret has been swept under the rug, and all is well in the Wentworth home. In my world, appearances are everything. I learned to wear a mask very early on. Needless to say… it has been very useful to me in more ways than one.

  Tonight’s entertainment makes her way to the ladies’ room. I retrieve my wallet and lay a generous tip down for the bartender. I swiftly turn on the toe of my Italian leather shoes and make my way into the hallway that houses the restrooms to await the brunette. She steps through the door and I lean in to speak in her ear.

  “I’m leaving and I would love nothing more than to pin you in the alleyway and fuck your brains out before I retire for the evening.”

  With that, I turn swiftly and make my way out the door. The baffled brunette stands for a moment in shock and watches while I walk away, as if I had said nothing.

  I lean against the alleyway wall, smoking a cigarette and listening for the click clacking of stilettos that I know will soon come.

  Sure enough, the brunette turns the corner, looking back and forth over her shoulder behind her as she makes her way into the alley.

  As soon as she opens her mouth to speak, I grab a handful of hair and growl in her ear, “Shut the fuck up and get your hands up against the wall!”

  I pull her legs out, bend her body at the waist, and move behind her as I begin to growl threats. “Don’t you dare move your hands off of that wall, bitch!”

  I stand behind her and slowly shimmy her dress up. I yank her G-string off of her as if it is nonexistent and watch her body tremble with interest as I lean in and begin to degrade her with my speech. “I’m a vile nasty man who is going to use you in a back alley and probably never see you again!”

  I jerk her head back and command her to open her mouth. I shove the soiled panties I’ve torn from her body between her perfectly lined lips and into her mouth.

  I am viciously defiling her when I look up and see a man who has entered the mouth of the alley. He is now watching us.

  “You are a Fifth Avenue slut who is getting fucked in an alleyway while a drunk watches.”

  It is evident I’m not the only one who is getting turned on by the knowledge that we now have a voyeur. Little Miss High Society is now clawing her perfectly manicured nails into the bricks as she climaxes.

  I grab both of her hips, viciously pounding in and out of her, as I unload into the condom I’m wearing.

  I take a moment to recoup and then hiss in her ear, “Don’t call me or look for me. If I ever want you again, I’m well able to find you.”

  I turn, making my way down the alley. I can hear her heels clicking their way around the corner and back into the bar. I chuckle as I think about the irony of ‘High Society…’

  Chapter Three

  Miller

  I pull up to the front of the club and eye the woman with me, my woman. Mine…Mine…Mine…

  My hand slowly makes its way to her throat and squeezes. “I’m going to take you home and choke the shit out you while I fuck your brains out.”

  “You’re such a romantic,” she gasps as she cuts her eyes over to me.

  “You just fucking remember who you belong to. Fuck that feminism bullshit. I own you. Remember the rules and you and I will remain on good terms: Don’t do any drugs, don’t get cornered by any men when you head off with the other ladies while we talk, and don’t ever fucking leave here with anyone, male or female, unless you want to get someone killed.” I laugh when her eyes get all big because she knows I’ll do it.

  We make our way in, once again, being instructed to leave our guns at the door, and once again, sneaking in with a knife hidden in my biker boot. I check out Stormy as we make our way over to Diego’s reserved booth and she looks so fucking gorgeous. Even in just a denim mini-skirt paired with a feminine white muscle shirt, she’s the most beautiful woman in here. She’s beautiful and she is mine. Already, Diego is staring and even though he’s a blood brother, I have to resist the temptation to knock his fucking teeth down his throat. Seeing him lick his lips before we even make it to the table only intensifies my desire to teach him a lesson. Diego is a man-whore and he isn’t getting near my woman.
/>
  I’m surprised to see Trent at the table and even more surprised to see that he has a woman with him. The guys all greet each other as we sit down to have a drink and discuss the business that brought us here.

  Stormy

  We make our way to the table and I notice new people I have yet to meet. Even before we are seated and I have a chance to view the stranger’s face, I find myself pulling in closer to Miller for a sense of security. I haven’t been having any panic attacks and I seem to be holding the agoraphobia at bay, but nothing could have prepared me for this introduction.

  We sit down and the man seated at the table looks… well… just fucking dangerous. I’m not talking just scary, I’m talking sinister. He is dressed in jeans and a hoodie. The hoodie is pulled down over his face causing me to have to intently focus to really see him. I have never seen a man who reeks of murder like he does. His face appears as though it was carved from granite, as if Mother Nature herself had taken extra time on this beautiful monster. The scar that runs down his face, from under his eye down to his cheek bone, only makes him more intriguing. When I do finally make eye contact, the intensity of his gaze makes me quickly look away, but not before I notice the color—one blue and one brown. He looks at me as if he knows my inner most thoughts. I squeeze even closer to Miller, my protector. The woman who is with him addresses him and the name she uses sends chills up my spin. She addresses him by the name, ‘Executioner.’

  Miller’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I look up to see him talking to Diego.

  “Quit staring at my woman, mother fucker.”