Page 106 of Mercenary
He straightens, and in a hoarse voice, informs Franco, “You want to get that bitch to talk, show Kylie her sister.”
Franco frowns, staring at me. “My men informed me her sister was dead.”
The laughter stops.
While he turns his attention toward his men, Hayden pulls me to my feet.
“Say hello to Kylie for me,” he whispers softly. Then in a louder voice, addresses Franco: “Remember who delivered this gift to you, my friend. I’ll be off, then. I’ve got a social-media campaign to attend to.”
“You’re a real down-and-out bastard,” I ground out.
“That’s right,” he responds, finally releasing me, only to reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
With a feather-light touch, he taps his finger on my temple.
A gentle reminder before he walks away.
31
Declan
Ismell Madelyn’s scent on my skin.
Even after I showered, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. Like a randy teenager, I had to have more, waking her up with my fingers inside her pussy, my tongue flicking over her clit, and her moaning my name.
My girl.
My love.
The field psychologist prepared us well, training us to bury our emotions. No self-doubts. No regrets. I was her star pupil in that aspect, proving over and over what a heartless, reliable killing machine I’ve become. Yeah, there are exactly twenty-nine reasons why I’m Hayden’s right-hand man.
Yet it’s Madelyn who could teach a lesson in stealing up on someone.
Catching them by surprise.
Causing them to yearn for things they’ve never had.
Bringing out the best in the fucking absolute worst.
What a fool believing I don’t care. Yet this feeling . . . this love . . . is as foreign to me as Christmas presents around a tree or Sunday family dinners. Hell, my only family is TORC. My gift is at being the best damned mercenary around. My dinners, lunches, breakfasts consist of intimidation and fear. This is who I am. Killing is what I do.
I bring my fingers to my nose. Jesus, I can still smell her. A simple reminder of how I want her more than anything I’ve ever wanted.
Which is why I plan on fulfilling our deal we made on the porch. I’m going to terminate them all, beginning with that second-rate punk Franco.
And after that . . .
I grimace. Man, he’s done a number on Kylie. While I made myself comfortable in an adjacent bedroom, I listened to his men come in, chuckling and thinking like fools. Underestimating her, until their humor died and turned to furious outrage. Until ten minutes later, when they finally succeeded in restraining her by force-feeding her a bunch of pills.
Preparing her for Franco’s abuse.
Amateurs. For a mercenary like Kylie, it’d take a needle into a major artery to sedate her. After they left, she puked their pills back up, draining her stomach like we practiced during Hayden’s Hell Camp.
It amuses me how Franco thought he’d get off by torturing a sedated woman. When they returned, in a macho I’m-the-fucking-boss move, he ushered his men away.
Wrong fucking woman to deal with alone, buddy. Kylie teased then taunted him. Led him on and then right down the evasive path of her choosing. Somehow, God knows how, she managed to tie him up.
I know this because when his piss ants returned to check on him, the mob boss kept screeching like a madman, “Untie me. That bitch is gonna tell me who she works for, why she was spying on me, then she’s gonna pay.”
