The Huntress

by Dawn Robertson

  Another Conquest

  Remy

  “Remington?” I hear Suzanne call from the foyer just outside my office door.

  “Yes?” I respond as I pour myself about three fingers of scotch.

  She taps lightly on the door. “Eleanor McGuire is here to see you.”

  I glance down at my watch. Where has the afternoon gone? Last I knew it was still eleven in the morning and I was buried under file after file of my never-ending caseload. Days like today were my favorite: barely any meetings, just me and my mind putting the puzzle pieces of my clients’ defenses into place. I treat my job like a chess game, and I always have to be at least three moves ahead of my opponent at all costs.

  “Send her in,” I order, taking my seat behind my desk to wait for my gorgeous new client.

  “Eleanor, nice to see you again,” I say as she walks into my study. Her heels make her legs look amazing in her charcoal pencil skirt. I pray for a reason to make her turn around so I can check out her ass, but I figure I will have to wait until she is walking away to get that pleasure.

  “Ellie, please. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I know how in demand your talents are.” She leans over my desk to shake my hand, her plunging neckline revealing delicious breasts that I want to take into my mouth on the spot.

  “It’s my pleasure to help out one of Suzanne’s associates. Now what is it that you need my help with, my dear?” She takes a seat, pulling a file from her large black purse.

  She clears her throat, sifting through the pages. “I was hoping to get some help protecting my assets. My father claims it is time for me to finally draft up a will and when I mentioned it to Suzanne, she said you could help me. I know this is a little beneath your brilliance, but I need the best, and word on the street says that’s you.”

  I have to hand it to Ellie—if there is one thing she’s good it, it’s sweet talking and stroking egos. “That sounds easy enough. Why don’t you leave your paperwork with me and I will draft something up for you? Do you need a living will as well?”

  “Yes, that would be fantastic. I really don’t know how to thank you for this.” Her smile is bright, going all the way up to her eyes. All I can think about is how badly I want to feel her lips wrapping around the head of my dick.

  “How about we meet for dinner in a few nights after I’ve had time to draft up your documents. I always love getting to know my clients on a more personal and intimate level.” I take the file from her hand, letting my fingertips lightly brush the back of her hand.

  “That should work out perfectly.” Her smile grows a little as she rises from her seat. “Thank you again. I will leave you to your work. I am sure I just added more to your already hectic plate.”

  “Don’t worry about it. This will give me a chance to brush up on my will-writing skills. I am embarrassed to say I haven’t done one in quite some time.” I shove up from my seat and walk to the front of my desk to see Ellie out. I gesture with an open hand toward the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Oh, I can find my way. Besides, I want to say goodbye to Suzanne before I go. See you for dinner. I will have my assistant contact Suzanne to hammer out the details.”

  “Sounds perfect. See you then.” I wave to Ellie as she sways her hips side to side out of my office. Sitting back down in my chair, I glance down at the deal proposal I need to finish working on before I can let my mind get wrapped up in fantasizing about Eleanor McGuire.

  ***

  My meeting with Eleanor left me harder than a diamond in an ice storm. I think about heading upstairs for a cold shower and some busty Asian barely legal porn, but jerking off is not going to satisfy my appetite enough. I press the intercom that is connected throughout our entire the house.

  “Suzanne,” I bark into the receiver.

  “Yes?” She responds right away from wherever the hell in the house she spends the majority of her time. I have no idea what my wife actually does to fill her time; all I care about is that she leaves me the fuck alone for the most part.

  “Come here,” I order.

  Within seconds, Suzanne is making her way into my office, a pitcher of iced tea in hand. “Just made a fresh batch, should I pour you a glass?” Her voice is chipper as her heels click on the travertine flooring.

  “I have a thirst for something quite different, my dear.” My voice is gravelly as I take in my wife’s put-together appearance: not one hair of her long blonde locks is out of place, her light blue knee-length dress is perfectly ironed and fits her curves like a glove, and her pumps are polished and finish off her outfit perfectly. Usually men don’t notice the little details like I do, but I am a connoisseur of fine, minute details—they are everything to me.

  “What’s that, Remy?” she asks, setting the pitcher down on the granite counter of my wet bar.

  “Naked. Face down. Ass up,” I demand, and like the good girl she is, Suzanne strips down and climbs onto the large leather couch on the far side of my study.

  Walking over to her, I can’t help but notice that she has put on a little bit of weight; her love handles are growing out of a cute stage and into the get-your-ass-to-the-gym-more stage. I run my hand slowly over her bare, plump ass before giving it a hard smack.

  “Rub your clit. Get ready for me,” I command while I take a few steps back to watch my wife run her middle finger over her folds and into her sweet wetness. The position she is in is my favorite: face smashed into the cushion, turned away from me, back arched, ass high in the air. A light layer of sweat starts to coat her body as her breath quickens.

  Stripping down, I pull my belt from my slacks. I let the leather rest on her bare ass as I start to stroke my hard cock.

  “Where do you want it?” I ask, a very rare question to ever escape my mouth, but every once in a while, I enjoy pleasing her too.

  She moans softly. “My ass.”

  I plunge my thumb into her dripping cunt while her finger is still inside. “Then we are going to need to get you ready,” I rumble before removing my thumb and putting it into her backdoor.

  She gasps from my roughness but I know she loves a little bit of pain. “Thank you,” she mutters with a shaky voice as I remove my thumb and repeat the process a few times.

  Rubbing the head of my dick over her slick opening, I grab her cheeks firmly, letting the head of my dick start to spread her tightness open. I grab my belt, wrapping it twice around her neck, holding on with one hand like reins.

  I quickly start to plunge in and out of Suzanne, listening to her softly gag, her fingers still working her clit. Ellie is all I have on my mind—her tight, perfect young body. The more I picture my newest client, the harder and deeper I push into my wife. I want to scream Ellie’s name out, something I hardly ever do, but it begs to leap from my lips.

  Suzanne starts to shudder under me as she pants. “May I come, sir?”

  I lean down, biting her shoulder blade. “Do you deserve to come?”

  She nods. “Please, Remy.”

  I bite down harder and she screams. “Yes, pet. You may come, but on my dick.”

  I pull out and thrust into her pussy right as her climax starts. Pulsing and tightening, Suzanne’s beautiful cunt gets me to the verge of my own orgasm.

  As her body starts to relax, I loosen the belt. “On your knees,” I growl.

  She gets onto the floor in front of me and opens her mouth, grabbing my cock with both of her hands. She pumps up and down my shaft as come starts to shoot onto her outstretched tongue and face. A low moan bellows from deep down in my throat.

  “Good girl. Now clean yourself up and leave me be. I have work to do.”

  Chapter 10

  Killing the Bastard

  Ellie

  I pace across the room. How did I get myself into this? I know full well that helping Suzanne is a necessity, not to mention her piece of shit husband deserves everything he’ll get, but unlike my other kills, tonight will be different. I won’t use my wasp knife because he
doesn’t even rank for that kind of a sendoff. His will be way more painful, and for all the bullshit he has put Suzanne through, he deserves it. Never in a million years did I think that poor woman was so abused at home. He is a fucking monster.

  “Linc, I need the powder,” I call from my bathroom while I finish touching up my makeup for our dinner date. Tonight will be Remington's last supper, he just doesn’t know that. This will be the first ever job I’ve taken on that is personal. I’ve connected with Suzanne; I treat her like she is a sister, not just someone I run a charity with. This has become far more personal than I should have let it, but there is no going back now. The job is contracted and paid for; now it is my time to deliver.

  “Are you sure you are comfortable with this?” Linc asks while putting the small vial into my purse on the counter, right next to my wasp—a girl always needs a backup plan just in case.

  “I’m fine. I’m more worried about Suzanne after the fact. She’s so damn emotional, I just hope this isn’t something she lives to regret.” It’s true, but I think she has finally had enough. Slipping my heels on, I grab my purse and keys and head in the direction of my car in the parking garage. My heels echo through the parking garage as my heart slams against my chest. The pure rush of a kill always excites me, and I just wish this one could be just as gruesome as all the others; that part is certainly disappointing.

  I drive in silence to the restaurant with Linc’s words running through my mind. It isn’t often that he questions anything I do, and lately, that is all he’s been doing. It makes me question my own decisions, which is not something I should be doing right now. I drive on autopilot to Deuxave, where I use the back entrance. Before making it to my table, I will need to see Miguel in the kitchen; he is my in. Linc made sure I would have a seamless in for my plan. You can’t just wander into the kitchen of a fucking four-star restaurant and expect no one to notice. This isn’t a fucking movie! I laugh to myself.

  Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, I catch the attention of a waiter.

  “Can I help you miss?” he asks while looking around for an out. Clearly he isn’t too excited to be doing his job.

  “I’m looking for Miguel,” I say while eyeing the kitchen staff.

  “Oh just a moment, miss.” The young man rushes off in the direction of an office. A moment later an older foreign gentleman in a suit approaches me.

  “Can I help you?”

  “The password is lollipop,” I say while handing over the small vile and turning to walk away. No more words are exchanged. That is all I need to do—well, that and make it through a dinner with this son of a bitch. I make a pit stop in the ladies room, giving me an excuse for being toward the back of the restaurant and covering my own tracks. Heading to the maître d’, I stop and give my name while tapping my heel against the hardwood flooring.

  “Miss McGuire, this way please.” I follow behind the middle-aged man, who is probably pissed off he is still working in a bullshit place like this. I can’t imagine having to resort to food services; I genuinely pity the people. Shit, I am in a negative damn mood tonight. Normally a good job will bring me out of a funk, but this one is just too personal.

  “Your table, miss,” he says while pulling my chair out. Remington sits across the table, not lifting a finger to say hello. Typical fucking twat. God I hate lawyers so much sometimes. I smile a sly grin thinking about that to myself.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” Remy says with a cocky bravado. Fucker.

  “Oh I just needed to make a pit stop in the ladies room. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. Have you ordered yet?”

  “I was waiting for you,” he says with an annoyed tone. Fucker.

  I look over the menu in a hurry while sipping on the glass of water sitting on the table. I’m starving, but for what, I have no idea. I can barely concentrate on the menu thinking about my next few moves.

  “Ellie?” Remy questions. “Are you all right?”

  I snap my eyes to connect with his soulless amber gaze. “Yes, why?”

  “You’re staring pretty hard at that menu, is it that much more captivating than I am?” He sneers and I want to vomit all over the bread and butter in front of me.

  “So, were you able to make heads or tails of the documents I left with you?” I hate this small talk bullshit, but I need him to not be savvy to my plans in the slightest.

  He motions down to his briefcase on the floor next to our table. “All sorted and taken care of. We can go over them if you'd like.”

  I give him a sweet smile, putting my hand on his—time to get the flirting game on. “No. I’d much rather drink glasses of expensive wine and get to know you better.” As I play the part, his eyebrow rises and his thumb rubs against mine.

  The server comes to take our orders. Remy quickly orders a raw filet mignon and a seven-hundred-dollar bottle of wine, and I order a grilled chicken salad. Even though my stomach is growling, I know I am barely going to be able to eat a bite.

  The server quickly leaves and Remy dives right back into our conversation without missing a beat. “What is it that you would like to know?” he coyly asks.

  “How do you do it? All the women? Suzanne may be a fool, but I could see the way you looked at Heather the other night—how do I get you to look at me like that? Like I am your final meal?” I lick my lips and wink at him.

  “It’s not hard, Ellie. I’m all yours.” Remy smiles that sly player grin and I know I have him, hook, line, and sinker. It wasn’t even hard either; he is like a pathetic teenage boy just looking to stick his dick in the first girl that comes along.

  The waiter returns, delivering our dinner, and we start to dig in.

  I take bite by savory bite of my salad while Remy begins to cut up his steak. With each bite he takes, I watch him ingest the poison, bite after bite while he lets out a hearty growl of enjoyment.

  “Good?” I ask, taking another bite.

  “To die for! Would you like a bite?”

  I find myself speechless. He is right, that meal is definitely to die for. The conversation continues as we chat about everything from current events to my documents, which are actually falsified—I don’t trust this fucker as far as I can throw him, and that’s not far at all. I knew the second I gave him anything private it would be leaked everywhere.

  “So, why don’t we get out of here? You can come to my place,” I say to him, trying to end the evening quicker than I anticipated.

  “Actually, can you excuse me for a moment?” Remy asks as he makes his way toward the bathroom. I let out a little giggle knowing exactly what is beginning. A few moments pass then he finally returns to the table.

  “I hate to cut this short Ellie, but I have a horrible stomachache. Can I get a rain check on this evening?” A sheen of sweat spreads across his brow.

  “Of course. Just call me soon and we will totally make it happen another night.” I stand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Always a pleasure, Remy,” I say as he heads for the front door of the restaurant.

  My work here is done.

  Epilogue

  Burying the Bastard

  Suzanne

  As I zip up my long black dress, I check my makeup in the floor-length mirror in the room I used to share with him. The space feels empty and quiet, a new kind of peaceful I never had the pleasure of knowing while that foul creature walked this planet.

  I wish I had been stronger. I wish I had known better than to marry a fallen angel, but glitz and glamour were all I cared about before. Before—before the contract, before the lies, before the abuse, before I turned into a monster of my master’s creation.

  I slip my stocking-covered feet into my favorite deep purple Louboutin pumps—I deserve to have a tiny pop of rebellion on such a gloriously scandalous day. Doing a last second onceover, I smear on deep red lipstick, smacking my plump lips together before taking my new black pillbox percher hat with a birdcage veil out of its black velvet box; I have to play the p
art of grieving widow, accessories and all. It is the final touch on my mourning outfit.

  My cell phone buzzes on my vanity with a text as I clip my hat in place.

  Ellie: We will see you at the church in thirty minutes. A car should be at your house any time now.

  Me: See you there. Just finished getting ready.

  My heels click down the marble stairs as I make my way into the foyer. Checking my black clutch, I make sure I have all my essentials—keys, makeup touchup kit, cell phone, credit card, and license—everything I needed for the events of the day. As I shut the door to Remington’s study, where the plans to turn it into my home office are splattered across his huge wooden desk, I hear the doorbell ring. A man in a black suit topped off with white gloves is standing in my doorway waiting for me.

  “Ma’am.” He bows his head and offers me his hand. “I am here to escort you to the church and then to the cemetery. I am so sorry for your loss.”

  Taking his hand, I smile sweetly at him, thankful that I can still cry on command. “Thank you,” I mutter, letting him guide me to the black town car parked on my cobblestone driveway, the one I begged Remy for a year to put in and finally got only a few months ago. I have to hand it to myself, I do have impeccable taste.

  Riding in the black leather-covered back seat, I let my mind trip back down memory lane to the first night Remington walked into my life. We were at a dinner to honor wounded veterans, the last event my father helped organize before the unexpected heart attack that took him from me.

  “Suzanne, I want you to meet someone.” Charles Hartigan was a man’s man down to the ostrich cowboy boots he wore with his tuxedo, but under his gruff exterior and military medals was a soft teddy bear that I had wrapped around my little finger.

  I smiled briefly at my father as he led me over to the bar where a few businessmen were gathered, sipping on scotch and talking about the Otters hockey game that was on the only TV in the hotel bar. Right as they all cheered for the goalie when he gloved the puck, my father ordered us some champagne from the bartender.