The Complete Contract Series (20 page)

Miller & Stormy

“No! Jeans and tennis shoes tonight.”

“Do you plan on me having to run?”

“Sit down, Stormy.”

“What, you’re scaring me, why so serious?”

“Doing this kind of work, Stormy, is unpredictable at best, and catastrophic at worst. At any time you have to be willing to put a bullet between somebody’s eyes. You can’t hesitate. If you are too far away to get a clean shot, then aim for the chest, it’s a bigger target. Tonight, you carry this.”

I watch as he hands me what I know to be a .22 Ruger with a disposable silencer. He hands it to me handle first and instructs me to put it in the band of my jeans behind my back. For the first time I feel the adrenaline rush of knowing this could be the first time I kill someone… and it can only mean one thing: the point of no return…

He’s getting bolder, Stormy, and the fact that he is hardly letting the girl out of his sight tells me that he is going to abduct her. It is how he operates. He keeps his distance and right before the abduction he becomes obsessed with them. He starts following them everywhere they go and worries less about them recognizing him. He’s gotten too bold and judging by his M.O. it can only mean one thing: he is going in for the kill soon or, I guess I should say, abduction. It is of utmost importance we kill this guy before he abducts that girl and subjects her to hell on earth. Then there is the issue of the little boy—they will put him in foster care with a shitty family who’s doing it for a check.”

“All foster care families aren’t like that.”

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m not taking a chance.”

The vicious demeanor he is exhibiting makes me wonder just what he has been through. I know he hasn’t been in foster care so what is upsetting him so much? I can tell he isn’t in the mood for chit-chat so I resist the temptation to ask him what happened to make him so adamant about keeping that kid out of the system. I follow behind him keeping my mouth shut. Tonight will be a night I pay close attention to the man who is training me to be a hired killer.

He waits until we get in the car before he begins to speak again.

“Watching me is as important as listening to me, Stormy. Many times we will be in a situation where I can’t verbally tell you what to do. You need to be able to read me. Watch my expressions, my eyes, my hand signals. Pay attention or it could cost you your life.

I shake my head and agree, intently listening to each detail. This isn’t a game, it is a matter of life or death. I am a novice and I don’t know how I’ll react when it comes down to killing someone. I find myself being more concerned about not letting Miller down than about the fact that I am scared. I don’t want to be the reason he goes to jail. He trusts me enough to take me under his wing and he has been here for me when no one else was. I can’t be the reason for his demise—I won’t be the reason for this man’s downfall. I want us to be better as a team than he was on his own. I want him to feel more secure with me than he would with a male partner. I can offer things that a man can’t offer as far as luring men away for the kill. It all comes down to one thing: can I kill when it’s time to?

Part of me wants this to come to a head tonight, I need to know if I am going to make it as Miller’s partner. I need to know if I am moving on with my life or if I’m going back to being the fearful hermit I was before he came into my life. I cringe at the thought and purpose in my mind that I will put a bullet in a serial killer before I will ever go back to that drab existence. I need to get to that place that will offer me a new future, to the point of no return…

Melanie

I look outside at the pelts of rain and inwardly kick myself for not bringing an umbrella—more like not buying one. The last time I had been faced with the decision at a thrift store, shoes for Tommy won out.

I look up from my locker and view the early morning biscuit maker of the day; she comes in at 3:30 am.

“I’d give you a ride if our ass wipe of a boss would let me, but he is already bitching about me getting clocked in.”

“It’s fine. I’ll jog.”

“Be careful, Melanie. I worry about you.”

“I’m a big girl, I answer, scurrying past the employee and making my way to the door and out into the drizzling cold rain. It is great that somebody cares enough to be worried, but I can do without the pity. I hate the way the look on her face had said,
I feel sorry for you.
I don’t need or want anyone’s pity. I can make my own way. What I need is a better job, better housing, and a better life for my son who didn’t ask to be in this shitty existence.

I trot through the parking lot and the eighteen wheelers, once again eager to make my way home. My mind isn’t on anything but getting home to my son. The rain that started out as a drizzle is now becoming a downpour as I enter the open field. My cheap black Crocs only serve to slip and slide on my feet. They sure aren’t providing the traction promised in the advertising I noted when I purchased them. Right when things can’t get any worse, I trip out of them and fall face first in the mud.

Rather than getting up, I find myself in a heap crying in the pouring rain. I feel like I just can’t take anymore, like I am going to have a mental breakdown if life throws any more shit in my direction.

“Hey, are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” I answer, looking up into the kind brown eyes of the customer I waited on earlier.

“Come on, this is ridiculous, you need a ride home,” he states, offering a hand to pull me up out of the mud.

“No, I’m fine. I really don’t want to soil your car.” Once again, I break down in tears as I note the mud caked uniform I now don due to the fall.

“Nonsense, I’m giving you a ride home.”

I never see the chloroform soaked rag as it is pressed over my mouth and nose. If I wasn’t unconscious, I would know now it is only a matter of him getting me into the cargo van he has parked at the edge of the field. I would know the adrenaline coursing through his body is giving him the strength to drag me, because his small frame doesn’t possess it. I would feel him grab a handful of my hair, allowing me to crumble back down into the puddle, and drag my body towards the van that awaits him.

Yes, if I was conscious I would hear him cussing me out as if he hates me.

“Fucking cunt!” He cusses as he struggles with my body, dragging it over broken glass and debris. If I was conscious, I would know he is reaping the bad karma of his actions when he slips, falling down to his knees in the mud. I would feel him begin violently shaking me by my arms that he has clenched in his fingers, and though I’m not conscious he unloads the full barrage of verbal abuse he is feeling due to his hatred of women. “You stupid fucking whore you’ll pay for this when I get you back to where I’m taking you—oh you’ll pay—before it’s over with, you’ll pay with your life.”

Yes…if I was conscious I would know this is the last night of my life. Maybe it’s better I don’t know…

Miller & Stormy

Everything in me wants to beg Miller to give this poor girl a ride. Even though there has been no sign of her stalker, I know not to ask him because it will only enable her to identify us later on when we do have to rescue her.

As soon as we pull up on the side street that opens to the field she has entered, I know something is wrong. She hasn’t exited the field, but the van parked in the field entrance is a dead giveaway of her demise.

“He’s got her,” I yell, as I tumble from the car giving Miller no time to even stop. I walk as fast as I can, edging close to the buildings and standing under an awning to peer around the corner and see the meek, mild-mannered man I previously witnessed in the park. This time he is anything but mild-mannered as he crashes his victim’s head into the dirt over and over, indulging in a full-blown verbal tirade.

He is going to kill her if I don’t do something. Mud and water squishes in the running shoes I wear as I ease around the corner and he never sees me coming up behind him. With no second thought, I place the Ruger at the base of his brain stem and pull the trigger. His lifeless body slumps down into a mud puddle right as Miller comes on scene and grabs the girl, tossing her over his shoulder, but not before his gloved hand plants a Ziploc baggy with individual smaller baggies of coke into the killer’s pocket.

As quickly as we appeared, we disappear tossing the unconscious body of the woman we have rescued into the black SUV we’re driving.

“Listen to me, get that bandana and that baseball cap out of the backseat, tuck your hair in, and tie that bandana around your face.”

The woman in the back begins to stir.

“Get her out and walk her to her apartment door like she’s drunk, knock on the door and leave her and then get your ass back out here as quickly as you can.”

My eyes watch him as he speaks and I can only manage shaking my head yes in agreement as we pull up to her entrance and he pops the latch on the back opening.

I half drag her out and stand her up, leaning her against me, and quickly make my way into the hallway entrance. I do exactly what my partner in crime has instructed me to do: I knock on the door and as soon as I hear footsteps, I gently drop her to the floor, turn, and quickly make my way out to the SUV. We speed off and make our way out of the neighborhood having completed our first successful kill together.

Miller & Stormy

The ride is spent in awkward silence. When we do reach our destination, it isn’t home—it is a warehouse in a very secluded location.

“Get those clothes off,” Miller commands as soon as we enter and he slides a large bolt through the metal hasp on the large metal door.

It is evident he isn’t in the mood for a mouthy attitude so I peel out of my shoes and clothing until I stand nude before him. I watch as he does the same thing and makes his way over to an incinerator and tosses them into a fire hot enough to destroy evidence.

The slap across my face comes so sudden and hard that my head swings around. I crumble to the floor confused. His rough hands flip me over on all fours and I cry out when my knees scrape against concrete flooring from the force of him shoving his rock hard cock into me.

I am wet—how can I be wet? We just killed a man.

“You ever jump out of the car again without my instructions and I’ll make that slap look like a tap. I fucking own your ass now. You crossed a line tonight and the way I see it, I fucking own your ass until the day you die. Tears from the pain of my knees being cut open by concrete, the humiliation, and the sting of the slap still throbbing on my cheek pour down my face as his threats ensue and I become wetter and more turned on. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have just blown the back of a man’s head off and here I am letting Miller fuck me like a rabid animal. He is violently taking me with a fury I have never experienced before with him. I have no way of knowing he is marking me—purposely subjecting me to a violent sexual rage.

Cries of ‘please don’t hurt me’ spill from my mouth as I look for something, anything to grab onto. There is nothing, so I grab onto his arm, the arm that is connected to the fingers he has locked onto my ass. It feels like he is crashing into my cervix and it hurts better than anything I have ever felt before. Waves of orgasm roll through me, one after another until it becomes one continual tsunami of pleasure. He is taking me and I like it. He is hurting me and it feels good. He is degrading me and I am enjoying it. Yes…I am becoming more and more like Miller with each passing day…