Dixon lifted his head and glared at her with the one eye he could use. She was fucking beautiful—for a murderer. Dark hair. Delicate features. Fine porcelain skin. He blinked her back into focus. A small spattering of light freckles dusted her nose. Her eyes were dark brown and insanely sexy. She had to have some Asian influence in her heritage. Lucy Liu on her best day couldn’t touch the beauty of this woman.
“What happened?” Her words plucked him from his dazed observation.
“You fucking tried to gouge out my eye.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and lifted her head, staring at his eye. “Come down here.”
Dixon lowered his head incrementally. Her gaze drifted from his injured eye to his lips. “Lower.”
He blinked his injured eye and opened it. Tears still ran down his cheek, but he was able to see. Barely.
“Fuck, dude.” She stared at him. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
“You think?” Dixon still pinned her. He felt her flex under him but apparently, she was not trying to get away.
“Yeah. Want me to kiss it and make it better, Quick Draw?” She licked her lips and fuck him if he didn’t follow the path of her tongue with his blurred vision.
“I’m afraid you’d kill me.” Which, considering protests from his back and his blurred eye sight, wasn’t an untrue statement. The woman was a fucking flurry of deadly aggression.
“I told you, I generally don’t kill without being paid.”
“Generally?”
“Hmmm…some people just deserve to be ended.” She lifted her eyebrows a couple time in rapid succession. “Some people, I’d rather fuck. What do you say?”
“Am I in the dead category or the fuck category?” Dixon blinked again, trying to clear his vision.
“Oh, you are in the fuck category,” She purred.
“I only fuck in the hard, vicious, pound you through the wall and fuck you until you scream for mercy type way.” Dixon wasn’t in the mood to play nice. He hadn’t been for one hell of a long time.
Witnessing this hot-as-fuck contract killer take out that scum and then almost best him in a grappling match made his cock hard. Was that kinky as fuck? Probably. Did he give a shit? No. No, he did not. He’d been mucking through the fucking wasteland of his father’s defecation for four months. He deserved a release.
“You better make it good then, Quick Draw, I don’t like sex any other way.”
Dixon lifted slightly and released her. He dropped down on her and ground his erection against her.
Her husky voice dropped a bit lower when she spoke, “Damn…fucking someone with a dead body next door gets you going, huh?”
“Only when the fucker deserves it, and a hot as fuck woman wants to be pounded through the wall.” Dixon reached between them and yanked down her pants.
She gasped and pulled at his shirt, reaching under it to score her nails across his back. Her leather gloves prevented her from cutting his skin. He still hissed because there was no doubt, she’d left a fingertip path of bruises.
“Where’s my 'through the wall' pounding?”
Dixon lifted onto his knees and unbuttoned his black cargo pants. He glanced up and across the room. In an instant, he was on his feet and lifting her up. She tripped as he pushed her backward toward the wall. Grabbing her, he yanked her up into his arms. Her legs dangled as he slammed her against the wall.
Their first kiss wasn’t a mere press of flesh against flesh, no it was an explosion of teeth and hard, painful pressure. She growled and bit down on his lip. The biting taste of copper burst against his tongue. “Bitch.”
“Bastard."
"Damn straight.”
She kicked her legs, finally freeing her boot-covered foot from one of her pant legs. Both boots hit the small of his back, and the flap of fabric hanging from one leg swung forward between his legs. “Where’s that cock of yours?”
Dixon reached between them and worked his dick out of his pants. “You better fucking not have any diseases.” He pushed the underside of his cock against the wet heat of her core.
“I’ll hunt you down and kill you if you give me something, you bastard.” She gasped and shivered against him a second before she leaned forward and bit his shoulder hard.
“Dammit!” He slammed his hips forward and speared into her center with one thrust. He withdrew and slammed home again.
“Yes! Fuck, harder!”
Harder? Any harder and he’d split the woman in half. She wasn’t bigger than a minute. Dixon grabbed hold of her ass and leaned her into the wall. The change of position was just enough for him to move his hips with a beat that a salsa dancer would envy. He jacked his cock into her with such force and speed her body bounced against the wall and the picture beside them suddenly tilted on its hanger. Dixon didn’t fucking care if the motherfucker fell.
She arched her back, and he dropped his head to her shoulder. Sweat dripped from his hair, and her skin was slick with her own perspiration. He clawed at her legs. The leather gloves he wore had no traction against the wet skin. He managed to link his hands behind her, lifting her legs over his arms … oh fuck, fuck, fuck… The nuclear explosion at the base of his spine was going to happen way too soon. He lifted his head and found her ear, biting down on the lobe. Hard.
She arched off the wall almost, unbalancing him as she clamped her legs around his torso. The low raspy moan that followed would be a sound he would use as spank bank material for life because it fucking lit him up. He exploded, then imploded until he couldn’t see, think, or even breathe. He went off like a massive brick of C4.
Hours later…maybe days…she unhooked her linked feet from behind him. Only then did he release his grip on her. He propped his hands on the wall and pushed back so he could look down at her. Fuck, she was tiny. Maybe five feet tall? He pushed away when she stepped to the side and set about trying to reconfigure her clothes. He carefully tucked his over sensitive cock back into his pants and refastened the buttons as he watched her do an acrobatic balancing act on one leg while trying to pull her pants back up over the tread of her boot. Well, no wonder his back felt like he’d been hit with a baseball bat. That thick rubber was at least two inches thick on the sole, and the boot had a four-inch heel if it was a millimeter. Five-foot if she was lucky.
“You won, Quick Draw. Your kill to claim.” She hiked up her pants and buttoned them as she walked back into the room where the dead body lay. She returned with her knife and carefully lowered it into a scabbard that hung down her back. The small amount of hilt that may have shown above her neckline was covered by her thick hair.
“What’s your name?” He wanted to know. Fuck him if he knew why.
“What do you think we’re doing here? Dating?” She chuckled and walked straight up to him. “I don’t date, and I don’t do names. We fucked. Get over it.”
Dixon crossed his arms looking down at her. A self-assured smirk spread across his face. “I fucked you through the wall and that orgasm I gave you damn near knocked your ass out.”
She reached up and slapped his cheek softly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Quick Draw.” She turned on her heel and walked to the front door. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give you a six.” She slipped out the door silently.
Oh, no she didn't. That was fucking hilarious. Dixon chuckled as he went into the other room and grabbed his weapon. He unfastened the silencer, pocketed it, and re-holstered his automatic. He checked the room over and left the way he’d come.
Chapter 4
“Turning our attention to New York. Have we made any progress with the junior Senator?”
“No. We’ve applied pressure, but he’s the real deal. He believes he can change the world and we have yet to find a skeleton.”
“Blackmail situations?”
“No, ma’am, the man isn’t into drugs or prostitutes and has an uncanny way of avoiding any compromising pictures. Our contractor has sent what he’s been able t
o stage, but so far it’s nothing that the public wouldn’t easily dismiss.”
The woman at the head of the table pushed the folder away and leaned back into the comfort of her Italian leather, ergonomic, and obscenely overpriced, chair. She crossed her legs and admired her new Louboutin heels. The brilliant, unmarred red sole became her focal point as she assessed the situation.
The vote would happen early next year, and without the junior senator’s vote in their favor, the win would be in grave jeopardy. Her assistant sat quietly while she debated the ramifications of losing the vote. Far-reaching economic goals were tied to winning. It was a linchpin that needed to be secured before another series of moves could be made in a delicate chess game where the pieces had been set to advance the organization's goals.
She uncrossed her legs and retrieved the folder. “The governor is firmly in our control.” It was a statement, not a question. A puppet who thought he was going places, they told the politician what to do and when to do it. “There is sufficient time for an interim appointment due to a tragic accident.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Assuming that scenario, we need a candidate to fill the vacant seat.” She lifted her tablet and tapped through several directory trees until she reached the personnel folders for the New York interests. She scanned through the names and backgrounds. Her frown deepened. The candidates were abysmal, and only one would work.
“Pull up Simmons.” She glanced at her assistant. He tapped at his keyboard and the screen split. The left side showed the man’s image. Middle-aged. Blond hair, blue eyes, distinct and pleasant features. Physically, he was acceptable. Her eyes drifted to the right. Commercial business interests. Law degree, not practicing. He was tied to several other prominent politicians by past interactions as an elected city official and had even graduated law school with two of the people her organization currently directed. His finances were acceptable.
“Now the red background, please.” The veneer of the man’s public persona was stripped. She read the details and once again leaned back in her seat. This could be a tough nut to crack. Information was spotty, but she detected a distinct psychotic thread in his history. “Next.” Her assistant displayed the next page. Three sons. Ex-wife dead…ah…yes. Indeed.
She reached over and picked up the phone, activating the scrambler. She waited for the device to connect and secure.
A female voice responded. “Yes?”
“The operation we’ve been running on Guardian…I need one name removed from the kill list.”
“Which one?”
“Dixon Simmons.”
“We haven’t located him. He’s off the grid. The targeted Guardian personnel have been particularly difficult to pin down.”
A rare laugh fell from her lips. “Knowing you, my dear, that is tantamount to orgasmic.”
Her counterpart’s low hum confirmed her suspicions. She glanced at the screen in front of her and relayed the information she had uncovered. “I’ve found Dixon Simmons, but he is embedded in a particularly sensitive economic operation and could be useful.”
“He’s Guardian.”
She tapped her long red nails against the smoked glass of the conference room table. Her eyes swept the background on display. “I’m not sure that is still the case.”
“Send me what you have.”
“Indeed. Eliminate him from your mission.”
“Already done.”
“What the fuck happened to you?”
Dixon had braced himself for his father’s reaction. The damage caused by his broken blood vessels had taken over the white area around his blue iris. He looked like a walking gore poster. His sunglasses had shielded him from any unwanted looks today as he went about his daily business.
“Next time you decide to off someone, you should probably check how many other people want him dead.” He stared over the expanse of his father’s desk at the man who gawked at him like he had three heads.
His father’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared as red traveled up his neck. “Be careful.” The sound came out low and dangerous like the rattle at the end of a snake’s tail.
Fuck. That. “Of what? Either you sent the contractor after the same man you told me to eradicate, or you are a step behind someone else.”
“Your work is complete?”
“Her work is complete. I watched her do it.” Dixon crossed his arms over his chest. “She has very impressive…talents.”
“Of course, you eliminated her.” His father sat down in his chair.
“No.”
“She’s a loose end.”
“No. I witnessed her committing murder. She has nothing on me. There is no physical evidence, no video. If anything, it gives us an advantage.” Dixon had thought long and hard on how to spin last night’s encounter for his father’s benefit.
His father sat forward in his chair, interested. Yes, Dixon had bait on the hook and chum in the water. “Explain yourself,” his father demanded.
“You use Smith or me to do your house cleaning.”
His father’s jaw worked, and Dixon rather enjoyed watching the man prep himself to stroke out. He’d be damned if he’d allow the bastard to intimidate him any longer. Well, at least that was the intention. Since he’d returned to dear old dad, the nightmares he thought he’d left behind years ago had started haunting him again. He rocked back on his heels before he spoke, “You’re overlooking a potential resource who could reach irritants in places neither Smith nor I can access, or during times we are unavailable. She has exceptional skills.”
“Better than yours?” His father sneered at him.
“No. But close.” He smirked in satisfaction.
His father studied him as if he was trying to read his thoughts. Once upon a time, Dixon believed the fucker could do just that. Not any longer. Dixon stared back, not flinching and not looking away first. That was a sign of weakness. Another lesson learned from the monster across the desk. This was a battle of wills he would not lose. Finally, without blinking, the sadistic bastard spoke, “You’re sure she’s a contractor?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know this?”
Dixon lifted an eyebrow. “I have my ways.”
“Which you will tell me.”
“No.”
“Then Smith will find her.”
Dixon laughed. “Not if she doesn’t want him to find her, he won’t.” He dropped his hands and put them in his pockets. “She’s a professional. Smith is a thug.”
“Smith has been loyal and effective. I haven’t had any problems.”
“You send him to rough up pimps and drug dealers. What is his skill set for deactivating digital alarms? Can he locate camera systems and manage to avoid detection on approach? What if he needs to track his assignment? Can he blend in? I can. She can. Smith? His knuckles drag the ground. You cannot mistake him for anything other than hired muscle. Yeah, he can pound the shit out of worthless, inept thugs. Don’t get me wrong, he has a presence on the street that works in your favor, but I assume you someday want to…elevate your game.”
His father’s head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed. “What have you heard?”
Dixon’s disdain wasn’t forced and slipped out easily. “Other than you’re trying to gain a political foothold? Nothing but what the news is reporting. Knowing you the way I do, I assume your goals far exceed those being bandied about by the talking heads on the local news stations.”
His old man relaxed into his chair. “Knowing me the way you do…” He lifted an eyebrow. “How well do you think you know me?”
Dixon snorted. “Everything you do advances your position at least one step closer to whatever your current objective is. You never move without considering the entire board and always outthink your opponent by four or five moves.” Which was the truth. Unfortunately for his fucked-up sperm donor, the man had developed myopathy. If there was any sense of karma in the world, that would lead to his father’s downfall. Dixon
made certain he operated far outside his father’s peripheral vision.
A smug smile appeared before his father boasted, “I’m better than that. I see the end of the game.”
Dixon nodded. “As you know I’m fucking tired of playing inside the lines. When you finish the game, I want to be there to see them fall. It will be fucking spectacular.”
His father laughed. “Oh, my boy, you have no idea. The people I’m”—he lifted his fingers and made air quotes—“‘working with’ are short-sighted. They plod when they should be running.”
Dixon kept his expression carefully blank. This was the first time his father had ever indicated his involvement with anyone. Four months and finally, finally a fucking breadcrumb. “Why work with them, then?”
“Ah, they have the leverage and underpinning I need to advance my agenda. As always, I will use them to get what I want and then move on.” His father waved a hand at the door. “The idea of hiring this contractor is something I’ll think about. You made a good point. A skilled soldier is always useful.”
Dixon nodded and spun on his heel. His father’s voice stopped him at the door. “Don’t come back here until you look presentable. You look like shit, and your flaws taint me.”
Dixon refused to let the verbal dagger his father thrust into his heart affect him, at least not in front of the bastard. He exited the study and drew the doors closed behind him. He didn’t remember walking out of the residence, only feeling the cold air on his face as he turned and made his way toward where he’d parked. Your flaws taint me. It was what he’d said to Dixon before every beating, what his father had termed “lessons”. The words chilled him to the deepest recesses of his soul. So much for not letting the bastard get to him.
Chapter 5
“Operator Two-seven-four.”
“Sunset clearance, zero operative.”
“Standby, zero operative.”
“Archangel.”
“He’s not working.”
“Explain.”
Dixon Page 3
