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~Rylee~

It took me two minutes to wallow in the pain of Kara and Mason’s betrayal. I allowed myself two minutes to be human. I deserved it, the time to cry, to ponder the choices I made, and to berate myself for fantasizing I could find love in this world.

In those two minutes, I had already devised a plan. I have to leave this place and move on with my life. Starting over is what I’m good at, but that doesn’t mean I liked it. I wanted to settle down, tired of moving from one place to another and going back to zero.

I didn’t bother to check everything inside the house. I still had the backpack I carried with me from New York. Going straight into the basement, I pushed the rickety bookshelf left behind by the previous owner, which I turned into secret storage. Behind it was a safe containing a wad of cash in different currencies, passports from different countries, a black pouch, and dad’s Scarce Perrin Revolver.

Without another glance into the house I considered my home, I trudge on the footpath with my backpack hurled on my shoulder, my spirit waning like fading daylight in the afternoon.

The Paradise Hotel in South Beach was the nearest hotel with a vacant suite that I could find. I’d be spending the rest of my day here and be on my way to do a job.

Inside the suite, I threw my bag in the middle of the bed, didn’t waste a second, and called Sloan.

He answered on the first ring.

“Malyshka?” he asked, surprised that I called.

“I need a job,” I said, not beating around the bush.

Sloan’s chuckle was followed by the shuffling of sheets and a woman’s whine, ‘pou pas agápi you?’ [where are you going, my love]

‘Miláo me tin próin kopéla mou, glykiá you,’ Sloan replied and chortled, enjoying the string of Greek profanities thrown at him by his flavor of the week. [I’m talking to my ex-girlfriend, sweetheart]

“That was brutal.” I shook my head, dropping like a log on the bed.

A door opened and closed on Sloan’s end, followed by the sound of waves crashing. “She gave a sloppy deep throat. You set the bar so high, malyshka.”

I rolled over and laid on my tummy. “Mason cheated on me with Kara,” I ignored his comment. Some time ago, Sloan and I were a thing. I wanted more, and he didn’t, so we ended things and maintained a good working relationship.

“Want me to teach him a lesson?” Sloan asked calmly.

“Nah,” I sat up. “A job would be nice, though.”

Sloan sighed. “I’ve got a request for a sweep in Vegas. It’s yours if you want it.”

Sweep meant assassination. For years, I have been on information gathering, handing over my collections to sweepers. “I’ll take it.”

“An asset will meet you in MIA,” sighed Sloan. “I can’t say I’m happy you are back in business, Ry. But welcome home.”

‘Home.’ 

There was a time when I was Sloan’s best agent, and I guess this was the only thing I’ll ever be good at. This was the only place I’ll ever belong to.

Morning came, and as I got rid of all the unnecessary things from my backpack, the black pouch fell on the carpet.

I picked it up; the zipper groaned as I opened it. Making myself comfortable on the bed, I pulled out the pictures I had kept and collected over the years. Pictures of dad, grandma Tiny, Sloan, Rain, and a few people I’ve worked with at Black Hand Debt Collection Agency, Sloan’s cover up company. A picture of Kara and I was included in the stash, taken on her high school graduation.

She was the only living family I had, but not anymore. 

The salty breeze hit my face as I stepped out of the balcony. Pulling out the lighter from my pocket, I set the pictures into flames.

I tossed it in the ashtray by the coffee table. It tipped over, giving me a view of the words written on the back. I still remember writing those words, dreams Kara and I wanted to achieve.

‘To finish college and have a stable job,’ Kara wrote. It was her idea to have them jutted down.

As the photo paper burned, hopelessness seared within me.

‘Be a mom and wife and have a family who’ll love me when I grow old.’ It’s my only dream I have ever had. Why is it so impossible to achieve?

My tears streamed anew. Such a foolish dream for someone as fucked up as me.

I wiped the salty beads rolling down my cheeks harshly, reprimanding myself from breaking down. I am alone. I have no one to lean on. No one will help me pick up the shattered pieces of my heart, so I have to be strong for myself, just like what I had done for the last fifteen years.

~~

Three days later, I stepped inside my target’s Las Vegas penthouse, dressed in a silver spaghetti strapped maxi dress.

Calisto McKay, 37, single, CEO of Calisto chains of hotels. He hosts lavish parties with ecstasy sprinkled on every food and drink. He indulges in a darker side of BDSM. Some of his partners were found dead, if not nearly dead, the morning after they attended his party. He chooses his prey from his guests, socialites, or girls who want to be seen in the spotlight with one of the most eligible bachelors of Las Vegas.

McKay’s MO, he’d record the scenes behind closed doors, blackmail his victim’s family not to file charges. You’d be surprised what these people would do to keep their name spotless, even at the expense of their children’s lives.

He probably pissed off some rich girl’s dad. This sweep cost ten million dollars, but it had to look like an accident, my specialty.

Tonight, I am a spoiled rich kid, a first-timer in Sin City, indulging in one night of freedom from my father, who is in town for business.

I danced and blended in with the crowd, waiting for my target to arrive. I shoved a few gropers away and stomped on their feet when they got handsy at some point. It was getting late. The waiting was getting on me, and the sweaty feel of being squashed in the middle of these intoxicated, rich kids.

Fifteen minutes past ten, I was ready to leave the party and find another way to put my plan into play when McKay finally showed up.

He wasn’t hard to spot. Girls flocked around him like they were bees, and he’s a flower oozing with pollen; no wonder it’s easy for him to find prey.

I eyed him like an owl in the night; the strobe of gold and silver laser lights didn’t make my job easier. There was a booth exclusive for the host and his girls. It was fascinating how he lures his prey. They indulged in a conversation as a group; three men, McKay’s best buds, and seven girls, ages ranging from twenty to twenty-five. He spots the youngest brunette, who can’t even stand straight, as he drags her upstairs.

That was my cue. I shoved the face of the guy I was dancing with. He cursed, stumbling backward, but I was already slipping out of the crammed dance floor.

Included in the bag I acquired from the asset three days ago was a blueprint of this penthouse and a few paraphernalia I could use to finish the job, particularly venoms that are no doubt a product of Rain’s chemical obsession. But for a man like McKay, a painless death is out of the question. I want him to die and feel what his victims felt in his rough ways.

My hands clenched tightly on my side, stepping onto the second-floor landing. The music from the party fades as I trudge down the dimly lit hallway. Moans and groans filled my ears from the rows of bedrooms I passed by.

McKay’s darkroom is on the far end of the second floor. It was soundproof, meant to suppress his victim’s cries while he put to reality his absurd sexual fantasies.

McKay’s darkroom is secured with a code. Taking out my phone, I pulled up Sloan’s decoder app, which he designed himself. Making sure I was still alone, I typed in the code generated by the app. I twisted the knob but an alarm whined from the inside. Since the room was soundproof, only the people inside could hear it, including me.

“Fucking hell,” I cursed under my breath.

This wasn’t included in the information I got.

A ruckus unfolded inside. A woman’s whine and McKay’s cursing.

The rooftop where I was supposed to make an escape is too far. I decided to make a run for the fire exit, but a hand covered my mouth. I balled my fist, gained momentum to elbow McKay’s security, which showed up like Flash on the scene.

He countered my attack using the hand covering my mouth and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. My head whirled. I immediately aimed for his throat, but he captured my wrist. My free hand groped for the knife I’ve concealed on my thigh, but he anticipated that too.

Fuck! His movements were so fluid and fast; it was as if he could read my every move.

He had both my wrists restrained above my head in split seconds, his body pinning me on the wall. I groaned, pivoting my hips to hit him in the balls with my knee.

“Don’t even try, mia rosa.”

I froze on the spot, breathing hard. Only one person addressed me like that. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the reticent light, and came face to face with the man that haunted my dreams for months and tormented me when I was awake.

“Klaus,” I swallowed, becoming aware of the delicious sensation of his body trapping me against the wall.

“Miss me?” he smirked, his face so close his masculine musk made my head spin. I’ve forgotten about McKay and my dire need to escape.

“What the fuck is this!?” growled McKay, looking like a beast ready to rip our necks off.