“I can’t. He hasn’t checked in for over two weeks. He goes out and drinks at night. He’s making inquiries about a certain contract killer.”
“Has he made contact with the contractor?”
“Not yet.”
“Find out what he’s looking for but be cautious. The mark has claws deep inside our asset.”
“How deep?”
“Deep enough to send you in to provide high cover.”
“Valid point.”
“Check in as scheduled unless something happens.”
“Of course.”
“Your usual?”
Dixon glanced up at the blonde. Her breasts pushed over the confines of the bustier she wore and threatened to spill over at any moment. Normally, Dixon would have chatted her up and fucked her senseless, several times. She was nice looking, definitely doable, and as she’d told him in more ways than he could count, she was available. But she wasn’t the woman he was looking for.
“Thank you.” Dixon watched the swing of her hips as she headed to the bar. Leggy and willing. Yeah, that woman would normally turn his crank. He chuckled to himself and shook his head as he pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. Drake wouldn’t chase that skirt. The man was a homebody and would probably read a book every single night if Dixon didn’t drag his ass out. Their childhood had changed them both. Dixon was only comfortable around anonymous people. He loved being the life of the party because it meant he was fucking alive. Drake, well Drake put on a happy face and followed his lead. They were almost a whole person when they were together. Almost. Dixon was sure it was his deficiencies that held Drake back from finding real happiness. He was too busy holding Dixon together to worry about his own needs.
The blonde was back with his whiskey, a coaster, and an ashtray. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the tavern…yeah right. His father owned and controlled the establishment, so whatever he wanted, he got. He lit up and stared down a woman at the bar who glared daggers at him. Whatever.
Dixon leaned back into the booth and took a sip of the whiskey as his eyes flitted from face to face. Several he recognized. Some were new, and the others were nameless entities that floated in and out like the tide on a beach. The ebb and flow of customers seemed to pulse like a live organism.
Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a long, nonsensical conversation with Drake. The verbal banter they exchanged was a coping tool. They used it to focus on things outside their own heads. They rarely had to talk when they were alone together. Some people found that eerie. Speech between them just wasn’t necessary. They were that close. A minuscule lift of an eyebrow or the tilt of a chin a fraction of an inch communicated all that needed to be said. It weirded people out. Not that they gave a shit. There were times, though, when he couldn’t stay inside his head. It was too fucking crowded. He’d start, or Drake would, depending on who needed to temporarily quiet the noise. He could use some relief from the mental din right about now.
He took a final drag on his cigarette and blew it out through his nose before stubbing it out. He immediately lit another. This waiting sucked. When his father had agreed to “add another soldier”, he’d made inquiries of the people who had access to that sort of information. The woman he described was known in those circles simply as “Joy”—a misnomer if ever there was one. He put the word out he wanted a meeting. In order to make himself available to her, he pried his ass out of his apartment every night and sat in the back booth of his father's upscale tavern.
The door opened, and several people walked in. For a second, he thought one of them was Joy, but when the woman turned around, he deflated. Was he stupid for wanting to see her again? He took a long draw on his cigarette and blew the smoke out across the room. Yeah, but fuck self-preservation. He was stuck in this cesspool for God only knew how long. He deserved a diversion.
The broken blood vessels in his eye had almost cleared which meant he’d have to go back to that fucker’s beck and call soon. Why hadn’t his father assigned him to scraping scum for the last two weeks? It worried him. There were no directions called in, and Smith was absent, if he didn’t count the few times he’d seen him here at the tavern. Not that they talked much. The guy would come in, slam two shots and leave, all while saying the absolute minimum to either Dixon or the wait staff. He’d found out from the waitress that Smith was new to the tavern, having arrived in the area a couple months before Dixon. The man was still a mystery, but not one that required his time or attention.
As he’d worked jobs for his old man, Dixon had put casual questions to people. A picture of the snake’s underbelly emerged. Through innocent questions asked of a host of people, he’d built a map of his father’s enemies, his allies, and the oppressed few that managed to eke out a living either as a prostitute, pimp or drug dealer. For the most part, he’d learned how to navigate the landmines around that fucker.
Movement at the door caught his attention. Bingo. He lifted his drink and emptied the glass as she walked toward him. Tonight, she had her hair up in some kind of updo thing. Her hard as steel legs were displayed perfectly in sky-high heels and a tight black dress with a slit up the front of one leg. The soft dove-gray cape she wore flapped open and he could see the form of her thigh when she walked toward him. The high neckline wasn’t his favorite, but the gunmetal colored fabric looked phenomenal on her. He stood as she approached. Elegantly, she turned her back to him. He lifted the cashmere cape from her shoulders and folded it over his arm. The back of her dress plunged open only to fold delicately and nestle just above her ass. So much for the high neckline. He wanted to run a fingertip down the length of all that exposed skin to see if it was as smooth as it looked. The time they’d spent had been about fucking, not about touching. Thankfully, her cape hid his obvious desire.
She smiled seductively and slid into the booth as he laid her cloak down and slid into his seat. “What do you want?”
Dixon smiled and lifted a finger toward the waitress. She swaggered over. “Another for me and…” He glanced at Joy…that name sooo did not fit.
“I’ll have what he’s having.”
“Whiskey neat?” The blonde’s eyebrows lifted in a dare.
Joy blinked and regarded the waitress. “Make it a double.” Joy returned her gaze to Dixon, completely dismissing the waitress. The woman grumbled a reply as she passed him on the way to the bar.
“Enough of the niceties. What. Do. You. Want?” Joy’s stare leveled on him.
“I have a business opportunity.” Dixon reached into his suit jacket and handed her an envelope containing ten thousand dollars. “And, I believe I owe you this.”
Joy lifted the flap of the envelope and closed it almost immediately. “You won. This isn’t mine.”
“I didn’t claim the…” He stopped as the waitress came back and plopped both drinks down before flouncing away. Dixon glanced around him before he continued, “Prize. You lost out. My way of evening the score.” She lifted her hand and pressed her index finger on the top of the envelope, pushing it slowly and decidedly toward him. When she could no longer push it because the table was wider than her reach, she lifted her finger and sat back. “We had an agreement. I lost. I am a woman of my word. This is an insult.”
Dixon lifted his drink and took a sip. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
Joy lifted her drink and downed it. “Thanks for the drink.” She moved to slide out of the booth.
“I have been asked to find out if you could be placed on retainer.” He hadn’t been, but there was no way she would know that.
“Retainer?” Her motion stilled, but she didn’t relax.
“Mmmhmmm. We’d be working together.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass but watched her.
“Why would I want to change from freelance to retainer?”
“Nothing says you couldn’t take on freelance contracts, but the retainer work would come first.” Dixon took a sip of his whiskey. “Interested?”
She caught the waitress’s attention and
lifted her empty glass. “In the job or in working with you?”
“Both.” She might have rated his last performance a six, but she was as close to a ten as he’d ever had.
She leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms as she stared at him. He’d made the offer. Keeping his mouth shut was the best approach.
The waitress did a drive-by, swapped her empty for a full and headed back to a group that had pulled two tables together in the center of the pub.
“What is the potential for exposure?” Joy lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip.
“Very little. The employer keeps himself well insulated. Of course, if you fuck up and leave evidence at a scene, that is on you.” Dixon suppressed a chuckle when she gave an indignant snort.
“I’m a professional. My scenes are perfect.”
He watched her face. The smugness came from confidence and experience, of that he was positive. She’d been around the block.
“There is no such thing as a perfect scene.” He believed that. There was always something left behind to give away the killer.
“Bullshit.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I can name ten targets on the books as accidental death or death from unknown causes that were assassinations.”
“Yeah, and how would I be able to validate they were contract hits?”
He laughed when she blinked at him and her mouth opened just to close again. She scowled and took another sip of her whiskey.
“I can’t, can I?” The exact opposite was true for the Shadows he’d met at the Complex. At times their coded and sanctioned hits needed to look like accident. History had revealed if you dug deep enough, there was usually hard evidence the death was “commissioned”. Unless she was a Shadow or worked for the CIA or Mossad, he doubted she could substantiate her claims. No matter how hot she was, she was an independent, thus barely a player in his world.
“I’ll think about it.” She leaned forward and placed her chin on top of her laced fingers. “In the meantime, care to try to change that six to a seven?”
All body parts below his belt were onboard with that idea. “Six? Woman, I rocked your fucking world.”
Her head lolled to the side as she pretended to think while her chin still rested on her clasped fingers. “Yeah…no, but you did get points for enthusiasm.”
Dixon threw his head back and laughed. That husky voice of hers joined him. He raised a glass to her in a silent salute. He finished his drink and leaned forward. “I only do anonymous hotel room fucks.”
“That’s good, Quick Draw, but I only do anonymous hotel room fucks if I pay for the room.” She ran her finger around the rim of her whiskey glass and then licked the tip before sucking it into her mouth.
Dixon groaned and didn’t try to hide his interest. “Good thing I don’t have a problem with women who pay to play.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “Oh? What an interesting attitude. I really hope you achieve that seven tonight.”
The hotel room door slammed open, hitting the wall with enough force to bury the knob into the sheet rock. Dixon kicked it shut, their lips fused together while he backed her into the room. A quick glance told him they were heading in the right direction. He reached down to pick her up, but she spun out of his arms. Her cape came off with an elaborate twirl. “Be a good boy. Take off your clothes and get onto the bed. She pointed to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Dixon waited until she’d shut the bedroom door and palmed his cock. Fuck, he was hard, but that didn’t stop him from scanning the hotel room. He checked for the obvious; cameras, recorders, or anything out of place. Since she had the keycard already, he figured she’d planned to fuck him, or someone else, tonight.
He checked under the bed, behind the tables, in the drawers and closet. It was clean. His coat landed on top of hers. The lightweight sweater came off next followed by his forty-five automatic. He placed the pistol on the nightstand before he unclipped the hard-plastic holster that attached to the back of his jeans. There was no fucking way a person with even a portion of functioning brain cells would stick a loaded gun inside his waistband without a holster. Ass meet bullet. He chuckled at the thought of trying to explain that injury.
His Italian leather boots and silk socks found their way next to his coat and sweater. He’d just unfastened his jeans when the door opened. He stood by his weapon, and that wasn’t a happy accident. The woman was a contract killer after all.
She walked out of the bathroom, and if it were possible, he would have swallowed his tongue. The dress was gone. She was completely naked except for those fucking heels. She ran a hand from her hip to her neck. She dropped her head and her fingertip pulled her bottom lip down. “Mmm, what is this? You still have clothes on. As you can see,” —she twirled— “no concealed weapons.”
Dixon’s brain rebooted after being shut down by the three-sixty view of her banging-hot, naked body. He shucked his jeans and boxers efficiently and started toward her, but she lifted her hand, stopping his forward movement.
“I believe you told me you didn’t have a problem with a woman being in charge.” She motioned toward the bed with a waggle of her fingers. “On your back.”
Dixon glanced from her to the bed. “What if I don’t want to be on my back? What if I prefer you with your legs in the air?”
“We can play that game later when you’re paying. I want you with your cock straight up in the air and hands behind your head.” She walked past him and landed a stinging slap on his ass. “Now.”
Okay, while his male ego told him that shouldn’t have been hot, his cock violently disagreed. His balls drew up and a pearl of precum hung from the tip of his shaft.
Fuck it. He’d play, for a little bit at least. He rolled onto the bed and put his hands behind his head, but his eyes never left hers. She reached up and pulled two pins from her hair sending the black fall to her shoulders. She circled the bed, her eyes traveling over his body. “So many scars. You’ve led a violent life.”
She had no idea. The scars she could see weren’t anywhere as brutal as the scars he carried on the inside.
“Two gun wounds.” She trailed her finger along his scars. “Knife.” Her fingers traced the rippled skin along the base of his neck. “Fire?”
“Burning Sulphur.”
“Military.”
“Something like that.” He wasn’t interested in trading life histories; he wanted sex. With her. Now.
She kicked off her heels and leaned over, placing her knees onto the mattress. She inched forward until she could sit on her knees next to him. “Touch yourself.” She reached for her bare breast and rolled her nipple between her fingers. He watched her pull while she pinched it. Her mouth fell open, and a low, sexy-as-fuck moan resonated straight into the base of his cock. She switched nipples and spread her legs before she ordered, “Show me what you like.”
So she likes nipple play? Fuck him if he wasn’t going to incorporate that the first time he got a chance. He reached down and grabbed the base of his cock, giving it a firm stroke to the crown. He twisted his wrist around the top before he lowered his thumb to the head and let the side of his thumbnail split the slit on the top, pushing just enough to give himself a bite of pain. He lowered his hand and repeated the process, all while watching Joy watch him.
She kept the nipple torture going. The way she rolled and tugged on those beautiful peaks was a violent act. Her free hand slid down her taut belly and fingered the top of her mound. She’d been waxed smooth, and her sex was prominent and swollen even before she split the folds of her skin and sandwiched her clit between her fingers. Dixon’s hand sped up as he watched her pinch her swollen sex and then writhe under the sensation.
He reached down and rolled his balls with his free hand, pulling them away from his body. He could fucking come from just watching her pleasure herself, but that wasn’t how he wanted to end things tonight. He’d rather bury his cock so far inside her he’d never find his way out.
“Hold your cock up straight for me. She stood up on the bed and walked up to his hip. She turned as she straddled him, her back to his chest. Slowly she folded down over him until she sat on the top of his legs. His cock was cradled in the crack of her ass. She leaned forward and pulled the bedspread up. He tensed and shot his arm out toward the nightstand. She laughed and held up a packet. “It's just lube, chill out.” She tossed it back toward him and leaned forward over his legs. Her tongue danced over the inside of his knees as he ripped open the packet.
Anal sex wasn’t something a person did with a hookup. It took trust and intimacy, or at least he fucking thought it did. He pushed up, so he was sitting, her perfect ass arched right there. He set the packet down and grabbed both globes of her pert cheeks in his hands and spread her open. He had experience at this, albeit a fucking long time ago, but he had game. She’d give him a ten tonight. That he would guarantee.
He grabbed her and repositioned her with a minimum of fuss. She looked back over her shoulder at him, and he smirked at her as he lowered his lips to the dimples at the top of her ass. His tongue traced those indentations as his hands spread her ass cheeks. He used his thumb to put pressure on the nerve endings surrounding her tight pucker. The slight jump of her body under him at first contact was perfect. She pushed back into the sensation of the pad of his thumb rubbing the opening. Dixon continued with his tongue’s discovery of her, slowly easing his way down to where his thumb pushed in, not penetrating, just teasing. He added the movement of his tongue, and she mewled while pushing against his light pressure.
She moved and reached back, gripping a handful of his hair. “Fuck, yes!” She held him there—as if he was going to go anywhere. Give me some fucking credit. With his free hand, he started to trace her clit, teasing a flick against the nub while alternating his assault on her ass. He breached her with his thumb at the same time as he trapped her clit between two fingers. She damn near bucked out of his grip.
He played her like a fucking instrument. He kept her aroused as he stretched her to take him. He was hung. Not bragging. Just fact. Taking her ass could tear her apart if he didn’t make sure to prep her. He reapplied the lube to his fingers for the last time. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
Dixon Page 4
