“I was beginning to think you were dead, you stupid fucker,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“Who's the bitch on the bar?” I drawled, shucking off my jacket and tossing it on the sofa.
Weiss smirked. “Like her?”
“Bitch needs an attitude adjustment.”
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
Sitting on the sofa and kicking my boots up onto the coffee table, I glared at my best mate. I loved the fucker, we'd been through some nasty shit, but he knew what buttons to press and had a great time doing it. We were the same age, late twenties and were both stuck in the same god damned fucked up motorcycle club, Royal Blood. The only difference between us was that I was handsome. Weiss was ugly as fuck.
He eyed me for a second before saying, “Mercy Reid. Just blew in two weeks ago lookin' to get lost. Wild one, that woman.”
“Looking to get lost from what?”
He shrugged. “She does the work, handles the scummy fuckers we get in here better than any man. She’s proved herself.”
“In two weeks?”
He smirked. Ugly fucker.
“You fucked her?” I asked, my cock tightening.
“She's not the fucking type, X. She fucks you.”
“She fuck you then?”
“In my dreams.”
Despite my rage being turned on, I couldn't help the sly smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Mercy Reid.
Smart mouthed bitch. What I wouldn't do to press her pretty little face into that beer soaked bar top, rip off her tiny denim shorts and fill her pussy with my cock. What I wouldn't give to fuck her so hard she'd scream and moan and milk my dick with her cunt. I'd teach her a lesson in manners with my favorite body part.
“You're thinking about fucking her right now, aren't you, you dirty prick?”
“I'm ready to come back,” I said, effectively changing the subject.
“Are you sure?”
“I've heard the word on the street, Weiss.” Trouble with the Necromancers MC...again. Rumor had it that someone had tried to put a bullet in their president, Sykes', head.
Weiss fished around in his desk drawer and pulled out a big orange envelope that had been stuffed full of papers. And hopefully with a photograph or three.
“Target is unknown-” he began.
“Unknown?” I scoffed. Fuckin’ amateurs.
“I thought you were good at this kind of thing? A little challenge scare you?”
Running hits for Royal Blood wasn't the way I wanted to operate, but I was in too deep to get out now. Getting out entailed getting dead. Besides, I'd lost my soul the moment I’d picked up a gun and let them call me a hitman. Fuckin’ assassin. Having a soul in my line of work was baggage I didn’t need.
Weiss tossed the envelope at me and I caught it against my chest. “Target is a runner. Six months ago someone tried to kill the president of the Necromancers.”
I knew it wasn't just a rumor. There were a ton of fucks out there who'd want to do that guy in. I thought Royal Blood was bad when I first got in, but the Necromancers were a nasty piece of work. They defined the word evil. Drugs, guns, those were big enough things, but the Necromancers…their dealings went a lot darker. Rumor had it, they trafficked a lot more than drugs and illegal arms.
“Nobody knows who?”
“Nope. There's some leads, but the club hasn't been able to tie any of them up.”
“Why are they coming to us? Royal Blood and the Necromancers aren't exactly known for being the best of friends.” Both clubs had hit each other so many times no one knew the actual tally or who started it in the first place.
“They know a good thing when they see it,” Weiss said, nodding at me.
“Desperation’s more like it.” They wished they had me in their back pocket, but I was sworn to the Blood.
“You want it or not?”
Without even cracking open the envelope I asked, “How much?”
“Don't you want to sit on it for a day or two? You ain't even looked in the envelope.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “How much?”
“Half a mil.”
Sneering, I said, “Cut close to home, did it?”
“If someone tried to put a bullet in your head, wouldn't you want to know who it was to serve some revenge?”
“I assume Sykes wants to see me,” I said, ignoring his question. “He's not giving a rival club member a free shot, right?”
“He’ll call you when you accept the contract. No sooner.”
“Then my price goes up.”
“X-”
“If Greggor's handing over my identity in the name of peace,” I air quoted the most ironic word in the sentence, “then I want more compensation.”