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  “Did you get something to eat?” he asks, shuffling about the kitchen as if he hasn’t been knocked out twice by me or hasn’t been shot, nearly losing his life in the process. His sarcasm and light-hearted outlook on things is almost endearing. The coat he donned before going outside is now off, showcasing his muscled back underneath his tee shirt. I watch in fascination as the muscles shift under the fabric, finding my eyes drifting further down to where his jeans hug his perfectly toned thighs. Oh, and the— “Is there something on my butt?” He turns to face me, mischief in his tone, he smirks at me as he carries two cans toward me. Extending one, I take it in and find its peaches. “Fork?” He offers the utensil and settles down onto the bed next to me, making the springs creak with the action.

  “I don’t like peaches,” I state. He just shakes his head and stuffs a whole peach from his can into his mouth. The juice drips from his lips and disappears into the scruff on his chin before he wipes it away with his forearm.

  “Then I’ll eat ‘em,” he tells me, swiping the can from my hands. I watch as he finishes off his own then starts on mine. “Can’t believe you don’t like peaches,” he grumbles between bites. “I could eat them every day, every hour of the day.” He turns my way and winks again. “Bet yours would taste—”

  “If you value your balls, you will not finish that sentence,” I hiss, glaring at him as he laughs.

  “Relax, tiger. Just trying to get a rise out of you.” He winks again and finishes the peaches before walking over to the kitchen to take care of the empty cans. Then he stops and looks at me. “You ready to talk yet?”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself. But I’m warning you, you only have twenty-four hours. Then I’m leaving. The storm should break soon and I plan on getting the hell out of here. Whether you come with me or kill me, is up to you.”

  “What storm?” I scramble from the bed and pull the blanket from the window to find the sun blacked out from the harsh wind and snow. Does it ever stop snowing on this mountain?

  “Your choice,” he says again as I let the blanket fall back into place. I turn back to see him now lying on the bed getting comfortable. My choice. When was the last time I was given one of those?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I’ve tried to keep track of the days as best as I can. If I’m right, I have been here nearly three years. Three years of being taken to and from a cell much like the one I’m in now. The man that killed my daddy, who I now know to be Roman, drug me from that room and made me sit in the corner of his office each day with only a bowl of water to drink from like a dog. That was how I counted the days. I would find myself sleeping in that corner as people came in and out, meeting with Roman. It was just days ago that Roman gave me to someone. Gave me away like I was a puppy.

  “Rise and shine, sweetheart. There is work to be done today.” A voice cuts into the room. A voice I have heard in my nightmares. The man who was holding my father back that day, the day everything fell apart, gripping his shoulder so he couldn’t get to me. Shaking, I try to meld myself to the thin dirty mattress on the floor, as if I can hide from the footsteps drawing closer, but it doesn’t help. His hand shoots out and grips my hair, dragging me to my feet. “I knew you had some tits under there. Just needed to get you the proper clothing.” He lets a sinister grin spread across his ugly face as he hauls me from the room, almost ripping the new tee shirt I received. Right after I was put in this room, I woke up to find the tee shirt and a pair of stretchy pants lying next to my bed. I haven’t left this room in months and have yet to see my new owner since being thrown down here. I never have seen his face. Each time he came into Roman’s office I kept my head down as was instructed.

  I’m afraid of what leaving this room means. I want to go back. Please let me go back. My feet scrape along the brick floor, my toenails breaking with each pull the man gives my hair. I sob out my protests, but he doesn’t listen. He only brings me closer to wherever it is we are going. We stop at a door, he tosses it open and discards me without another word before slamming it shut.

  Landing on all fours, my face meets a pair of black leather boots tucked under a dark pair of jeans that lead to a tall man looking down at me with his arms crossed over a thick muscled chest. “Get up,” he instructs making me flinch at his words. So sharp, like razor blades scraping along my skin. It takes me a second to register what he is asking but he must grow impatient because he is reaching down to pluck me from the floor himself. His grip tightens on my arms as he hauls me to my feet, my face now level with his chest. The room is dim, only illuminated by one light, but with that one light I can see just enough. The dark hallows of his cheeks and under his eyes, almost as if he is the grim reaper himself, he looks like death. He might be tall and strong but something in his face tells me he is near death’s doorstep just as much as I am. Its then that it hits me who he is.

  “What—”

  “No questions. You are here for one reason, pet.” He sneers the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, shaking his head in annoyance. “You will obey. Nothing more, nothing less,” he snaps directing me toward a corner of the room. “Wash. You smell like piss.” He points at a large basin filled with water. A towel and a bar of soap on top lying next to it on the floor. Before I can attempt to question any further he is out the door, slamming it behind him as he goes. I waste no time. Padding toward the basin, I reach my hand down into the water and I’m surprised to find it warm. It’s not hot, but it will certainly do. Stripping down I toss my clothes aside and crawl into the tub. Its small but I fit just enough to get myself completely wet. The soap is an added bonus I would never expect. I attempt to scrub away the year’s worth of grime causing my skin to turn bright red from my fingers having to scrape away the impeded dirt. The only means I had of cleansing before was the spray of a cold hose. I find myself smiling at the luxury of being clean for once, but the happiness doesn’t last long before the door opens again and he walks back inside carrying something in his hand. I can’t tell what it is but when I try to get out of the bath his sharp demanding voice halts my movements. “Stay. Lean your head back,” he orders now stepping behind me. Hesitantly I do as he says and find myself looking up at the dark ceiling. Seconds later a buzzing flicks on and his hand goes to my head to hold it still. Something connects with my scalp. Its then I realize he is shaving my head. I immediately try to pull away but he holds me firm. “Your hair is beyond help. You can grow it back,” he barks yanking me back into place as he continues. The memory of being dragged by my hair just minutes ago to this room enters my mind and I decide that if I don’t have the hair then maybe I won’t be drug around like a rag doll. This might not be so bad.

  When he is done he orders me to finish washing as he gathers up my once long and beautiful hair and leaves the room again. It isn’t until hours later that he comes back, this time bringing food and more clothes. I happily get dressed and eat, all while he stands in the room watching me. It sends chills down my spine the way he does so. Like he is trying to solve the puzzle that is me. He must not realize that the puzzle is by far the easiest one in history, yet he still stares. As the days pass, I find myself not minding. In fact, I find it comforting each day as he comes into my room and stands in the same spot watching me. Sometimes he brings things for me to read, sometimes he brings things to color, other times it’s just food. Still, he doesn’t speak any words and his jaw is always set in a firm unmovable grit.

  I came to look forward to his visits, until one day he stopped coming.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Again!” We all stand back into strike position, ready to take down our sparring partner. “Go!” My foot steps forward as does my opponent’s. Then my fist collides with his face. No contest, just as before. Only this time, I don’t stop when the instructor calls out for me to halt. My opponent’s face grows wet under my fist as my knuckles turn bright red with his blood. “Esteban!” My name breaks through all thoughts of killing the boy under my f
ist. Immediately, I jump to my feet hands behind my back at attention.

  “How many is that?” Roman asks referring to the bloodied body on the ground.

  “Six. The boy is out of control,” the instructor spits.

  “Out of control? He seemed to stop when I told him as much. Maybe I need to find a better teacher,” Roman threatens on a growl, making the instructor cower and plead for his understanding but Roman doesn’t give it to him, he only walks away stopping mid stride to call me along to follow. Which I dutifully do, falling into step with his stride.

  “I think you are ready, boy,” he tells me on the walk toward his office, or that is at least where I think we are going. I’m proven wrong as we bypass the building where his office is located and continue on toward the barracks where his men live. “I have a job for you. You pull it off, and I’ll see to it you get this,” he stops at a door on the outside upper deck of the two-story building and opens it up, “and so much more,” he tells me offering his hand for me to go inside. Its more than what I call my room now. It actually has a room inside the room.

  “What is the job, sir? I won’t fail,” I declare causing a chuckle to bubble up from his throat.

  “So eager, I like it.” The smile grows on his face as he relays the details. “Someone who tried to steal from me. Thought he got away with it, too. I found the fucker though.” He reaches into his pressed pinstripe suit coat and pulls out an envelope. “All the information you need is in here.” He turns to leave but stops last second. “And, Esteban, if for any reason you decide not to come back, your little pet in the basement will become my little pet.” His words, meant to bring me to heel, roll through me.

  “Understood, sir. It will get done.” He nods and walks from the apartment, leaving me alone to look around the room, but I can’t bring myself to see it. His words echo in my head. Your little pet will become my little pet.

  Weeks passed before I decided I couldn’t just forget about her. She was sitting down there in the basement alone, so I had her moved. Let her take a much-needed bath and gave her some clothes. When I saw Trenton dragging her by her hair to her new room, I decided right then and there I would shave her head so he could never handle her in such a way again. I made myself known after that. Going into her room just to sit with her. I didn’t say anything though. I didn’t know what to say to her. She wouldn’t talk either, just seemed content on having me around as I was her. Time passed like this. I would go through my day of training and taking care of Roman’s dirty books. Then when the day was done I would bring her food and wait until she was done eating before going back to my room.

  Now the reason he gave her to me suddenly becomes clear. Leverage. He knew if I got attached I wouldn’t stray from my tasks. Now he is able to test me, see how big of task he can give me.

  Opening the envelope, I pull out a plane ticket, passport, and a picture. A middle-aged man stares back at me, pudgy in the face with dark beady eyes. Flipping it over, I find his name and location scrawled on the back in someone, other than Roman’s, handwriting. Likely the person who tracked this stupid son of a bitch down. The ticket informs me the plane takes off in five hours and I have no clue where to go to get to said plane. I have been out of the walls of this compound but not to an airport and certainly not to— “Belize? Where the fuck is that?”

  “Esteban. Boss said you are doing a job.” Trenton’s voice comes booming into the apartment. “Get your ass dressed, we leave in an hour.” He barks out his order and stomps from the room. An hour.

  The plane ride is uneventful. A new experience for sure. As was the woman that checked over the passport that claimed my name was Frank Grant. “You can’t trust a man with two first names,” she told me with a bright smile. Maybe if the situation was different I might have found her attractive, only when she smiled I found myself wondering what the girl in the basement would look like with a smile. That made me start to wonder what her name may me. Who she was before Roman had taken her. Why he had taken her.

  “Landing, boy.” Trenton breaks into the thoughts I shouldn’t be having. The rough hit of the tires meeting the tarmac jolt me to the side and I grip hold of the arms rests as if they will help me. “Better not shit your pants over a landing. You got bigger things than a little plane landing coming at you tonight.” A voice starts talking overhead but I don’t hear through the pounding in my ears. This will be the first person that I’m supposed to, how was I supposed to kill him? I hadn’t even asked, and I doubt that while we are exiting the plane is the right time to ask.

  It takes us nearly an hour of driving to reach our destination. I don’t see much due to the dark but when we reach the resort the target is in, the lights throughout the place illuminate the landscape. Making what will happen tonight very real. “You will get this one shot boy, don’t fuck it up. Boss is counting on you. If I have to step in, it won’t look good for your little pet in the basement.” The words nearly make me flinch but I hold it back.

  “Got it,” I grit out.

  “We’ll see,” he says before dropping me at the lobby and driving away, telling me he is giving me exactly thirty minutes.

  The moonlight shines in from the sliding doors as I let myself in through. The sounds of grunting and slapping flesh assault my ears as I step further inside. Movement catches my eye on the bed and I find a woman bouncing up and down while she rides my mark’s cock like a pogo stick. Its turning out to be her unlucky night as well as his. Quick with my movements I pull my blade from its sheeth in my belt and waste no time. The blade slides through the side of her neck like butter, the sudden spray of blood stunning the fat man beneath her enough for me to toss her body away and bring the tip of the same blade to his throat. “Roman sends his regards,” I hiss through my teeth and plunge the knife upward, causing him to choke on his own blood when I pull it back. His hands fly to the hole in his neck, trying to keep the blood inside but it will never stop flowing.

  Kennedy Fitzgerald. The name will always be something I remember. My first target. The second I will never forget is Yolanda Adams. The woman he was fucking when I found my way into the honeymoon suite.

  Thirty fucking minutes. That is how fast I went from being just some accountant grunt to being the most sought-after killer under Roman’s employ.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It turned out that the man in Belize was just the start. When I got back to the compound Roman gave me more assignments. Mainly kills that consisted of offing some sorry bastard dumb enough to cross him. Each assignment was accompanied by Trenton or someone else who worked for Roman, as if I needed a babysitter to kill someone. Still, each and every trip I would hear the same words come out of Roman’s mouth, your pet will become my pet.

  I didn’t go and see her like I had before, I stayed away and sent food down to her. Sometimes I would check on her while she slept, just to watch her. Her hair has started to grow from the cut I gave her and it’s nearly to her thin cheeks. If only I could feed her more, she would look so much healthier.

  “Esteban! There he is. Come in, boy, we have a visitor.” Roman’s fake cheerful accent pulls me into to his office. I was summoned from training to meet with for possible job opportunity.

  “This is the man I have heard so much about?” The man who speaks is tall and lanky, dressed much like Roman, wearing suspenders underneath his suit coat. I also catch sight of the gun he has secured at his hip as he brushes his hand along his side, making sure I see it’s ready for use. It’s not usual for visitors to bring their weapons so him having his means something. What I’m not quite sure yet.

  “Esteban, this is Doyle, a good friend, we go way back. I want you to listen to his proposal and give him whatever it is he needs. Whatever it is,” Roman instructs lifting his overweight carcass from his overworked chair, shaking hands with Doyle before leaving us alone in the room.

  “I must say, you aren’t anything like what I expected,” Doyle says, rounding the desk and standing on the other sid
e, taking Roman’s place but not sitting down. Instead he leans forward and places his hands on the desk. “There is a man trying to ruin me,” he starts, leveling me with his pointed stare. “I want you to kill him. I will reward you beyond your expectations. Think of whatever it is you want and I will double it. Even if it causes conflict with Roman. I will do it.” He pauses, gauging my reaction, but I have none. His words register but all I hear is kill someone.

  “Give me a name and he is dead.” My words cause a laugh to rip from his throat but when I still don’t move a muscle he quiets and answers.

  “Larry Kinkaid.” I nod and turn from the room, ready for a kill.

  “Jack on the rocks,” I tell the bartender that hasn’t stopped swaying her ass back and forth since I sat down. I can tell she is putting a little more emphasis into her strut for my benefit, because she only does it when she walks away from me, not toward me.

  “Got you, handsome. What brings you in here tonight? You don’t look the type to be in this bar.” She would be right about that.

  “Business,” I mumble next to the rim of the glass before knocking the burning liquid back to my throat. Liquor is an acquired taste I have to force myself to get used to on assignment. As are the women. This one tonight just might be the perfect cover for this job. Her tits spilling out of her shirt aren’t half bad either.

  “Well, if you find yourself looking for pleasure, I get off in about an hour.” She winks and struts back down to the other end of the crowded bar.

  The place is packed, every badge-holding mother fucker in a twenty-nine mile radius is in this bar. As is my target. He sits at a table with three other FBI agents laughing about something. I guess Doyle forgot to mention that I had to kill an FBI prick. It doesn’t matter though, I’ll do it, no qualms or questions. I finally find myself doing a job alone, a first-time lone kill with no escort. This one is me, all fucking me. So, I’m doing it my way. And my way involves the bartender’s lips wrapped around my cock in an hour and my knife deep in Kinkaid’s throat in two.