His Trick

Prologue

Many Years Ago…

People always thought violence made me cold.

They were wrong.

It was fucking touch.

All their grubby hands reaching into my pants and using me like I was theirs.

Touch made my skin crawl. Always had. Always would. A stray hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing past mine at a bar, hot breath on my neck from some halfwit trying to catcall…half the time.

I didn’t even feel anger—just a complete vacancy. Like something inside me shut down to survive it, but I did what was necessary to eliminate the target and get the job done.

I hated it.

Hated how my own fucking body betrayed me.

I was a glorified dildo. It didn’t matter how many times these bitches came on my skin…I always burned. My father’s targets were as ruthless as he was, leaving marks on my body and scars that never faded, even when the bruises had.

It was always the same.

From that very first night…

Margot Hale’s mansion greeted me the same way every rich house did, quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat, but empty enough to make you feel like you didn’t fucking belong.

I swallowed hard, adjusting the stuffy collar and tie I stole from my father.

The reflection in the warped glass looked like a stranger.

How the fuck am I supposed to do this? It’s a chick. A woman who probably screams louder than any man I went toe-to-toe with.

C’mon Harding. Move your stupid ass. Get this done.

Dad said I didn’t have to use brute strength, but I didn’t know what the fuck he meant. Apparently, getting her wasted with the wine bottle in my grip was the first step.

“Come in, darling. It’s open!”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed through the big ass door. I moved through the hallway, checking corners and mapping exits on habit. I never just walked through the doors.

I wasn’t a welcome companion.

I was a silent stranger.

The photos on the walls showed a man who looked like a cop holding a woman, and neither looked particularly interested in getting close to the other.

Breathe.

Find the target, present the gift. Get close, and eliminate. Simple. Controlled.

Control was how I kept my shit together.

Following rituals that made me feel like I could breathe again.

I started to feel a little less shaky until she appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase, her robe tied loose around her body, her salt and pepper hair glossy, and her eyes glittering like she’d been waiting for something.

“You’re late, handsome,” she purred, her robe falling off one of her shoulders.

My jaw tightened. “Sorry. I uh…brought you a gift. Wine.”

Why did she look like my sister’s moron cat that tried backing up on my leg every month?

“Everything here is for me, Doll. Why don’t you get a glass?”

She descended the stairs with a predator’s confidence that reminded me of my dad’s, but she looked like my mom. Her heels were tapping like a countdown to something I already fucking hated.

I stood still, awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot. I tried to focus on my breathing, but when she got closer, those damn straps fell further, showing skin.

Focus!

“Of course,” I said, setting the wine on the small table by the door.

She moved like gravity tilted her head toward me, and too quickly to track until she was in front of me. Before I could step back, her fingers were in my space.

She touched my chest, wispy fingers scratching beneath the stuffy white fabric, making my gut flinch.

I had to portray perfection for the task, but inside I burned.

My lungs stalled for a minute while she explored under my shirt, poking my abs and trailing those spiky nails over my nipples.

My mind glitched, the sensation making me nauseous.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of sensation of those damn nails dragging lightly over my skin, her breath warm in my face, mingling with her overwhelming perfume. It was all invasive. My instincts short-circuited, my hands going forward and locking her wrists of their own accord.

Move away.

Shove her.

Step back.

Do something.

But I couldn’t.

Every muscle locked to keep her from noticing how badly I wanted to recoil. My throat bobbed with a swallow I hoped she didn’t see. My voice when it finally scraped out of my damn throat was too soft, too compliant to her hissed words.

“Yes. What a nice package. I’ll be happy with this purchase. I can tell already.”

“Ma’am…don’t,” I tried, but she had me caged in the corner, using her mouth to lunge for me even with her arms locked behind her.

“None of that ma’am shit, boy. And no arresting me. My husband is a cop, I don’t need that prick popping in my mind.”

I released her wrists with an unsteady breath, eyeing her, unsure what she was going to do next.

She smiled like she’d won a game I didn’t know we were playing.

“There it is,” she whispered, sliding her hand to my collarbone and leaving a sloppy kiss there.

Her lipstick felt like wet chalk, stuck to my skin, and the burn intensified.

“That little freeze is so cute. Men like you always pretend they’re so innocent.

Is this the virgin act? Must be a premium because you are so good already, darling. ”

I should’ve pulled away from her.

Instead, my body leaned the smallest bit forward, her hands leading me like a puppet.

I was a fucking deer in headlights.

This was what my father meant by entertain her. I was a fucking whore.

I locked my jaw, spinning the bitch around to face the end table, and forced her to hold onto the table instead of me.

My reactions were awkward, automatic…shameful.

This was pure instinct to appease danger, so it didn’t bite me instead.

My palms went clammy on her skin as she yanked the robe off to reveal her aged body.

My spine went rigid. Seeing naked women wasn’t new for me. My mom’s saggy tits weren’t much different, and my sister was a younger version of this, without all the fake plastic injected to create the illusion of youth.

I had never touched anyone, though. I didn’t want to. It all just felt too painful. Her hands gripped my dick through my suit pants, and I hissed from the overstimulation it caused.

“Let go,” I said, but the words were wrong, too gentle, not even close to a command. It sounded more like I’d asked a question.

She noticed my faltering words and laughed.

Of course, she fucking laughed.

“Aw, how cute, you are trying to pretend to be a big bad boy. Let’s see more of that, sweet cheeks, but get that thick dick out while you’re at it.”

“I…”

She continued to grope my flesh, my body hardening without my permission and making me sweat. All this foreign touch was too much. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t respond with anything but panted groans as she pulled me out of the zipper.

Her smile sharpened as she looked at me over her shoulder. “Good boy.”

Something inside me snapped at that word, at the praise that I had never heard, but it was not in the way I wanted.

Run!

Instead of anger, instead of a senseless fight, raging at her constant rug burn tugging…I felt myself tip deeper into compliance for her, my muscles folding into a mechanical motion while my mind screamed from somewhere far away to stop. It was like watching myself from a distance.

“That’s it,” she murmured, pushing my cock into her hole of saturated wetness. My reflection in the windows by the door was a ghost. Just a fucking robot, white as a sheet, pumping in and out of a monster.

“Just stay still. You know how to behave, don’t ya? Let me give you a reward…ah, so good.”

Heat crawled up my neck, mixing with sweat, shame, fury, and nausea until I couldn’t tell which hurt worse.

It all…burned.

I was on fire.

She smashed her ass into me, riding me like a sex machine. I couldn’t look away from the window, my face carried the look of unfiltered passion on it as if she were nothing more than a sweating hog under me.

The woman shrieked like she was in pain, and her body rippled onto my own, causing a warm feeling to shoot out of my dick. My balls rose until they felt like they were entering my stomach.

“Ahhhhhhh!” I bellowed, thrusting harder and faster into the woman.

She continued moaning, my dick getting wetter and wetter as I burned from the inside out.

I couldn’t stop.

Her hands shot out to the wall, knocking the wine bottle onto the ground and shattering the glass. Red liquid coated us, and the burn felt hotter.

I still couldn’t stop.

My hips were moving on their own accord, and tears were streaming down my face like bloody rain.

“Am I hurting you?” I said, my voice sounding like…my father’s.

She turned her head over her shoulder and raised a brow as if I’d amused her. “You won’t hurt me, doll, but you can’t fuck like that. I need hard and fast. I don’t want lovey, dovey soft shit. Fast or get the fuck away from me. Can you even do that, Virgin Darling?”

I matched my pace to her gyrations, and she got all squeaky again, my dick slipping out from the wetness of her. It was gross. So much stickiness clung to my stomach and legs, making my balls stick together.

Faster.

“Oh yes! That’s right, boy—right there…”

“Shut up,” I said, the sound of her shrill voice making my head hurt.

Burning.

“Or what?” she squawked. “You’ll turn into a noodle again? Or will you flinch again like a scared little virgin?”

I froze, my body slamming to a halt at her threat.

I was…a virgin.

No.

Not anymore.

She was appeased as I shrank.

Her hand slid lower, and my entire body tensed for impact, not desire, as she dragged it along my balls. My breath caught, and my pulse rattled in my ears.

I hated myself.

Every groan echoing around me made me sicker.

I wasn’t myself anymore, not strong and no longer unshakable.

“Margot,” I said, my voice cracking with restraint. “I don’t want this.”

“Why?” she whispered. “Don’t you wanna be a big man like your Daddy?”

I did.

Goddamn it, I did.

So, I did the only thing I could.

“No,” I said. “I’m nothing like my father. But you know what, Margot?”

Her face twitched with irritation. She wasn’t used to prey talking back. She wasn’t used to losing.

Neither was I.

“What?” she finally said with a laugh and cut me off when I tried to speak. “You’ll remember this, won’t ya, boy. You’ll remember me.”

I would.

I’d remember the way she made me burn.

Every hand that ever touched me without permission would live in my bones.

Hers started a collection I didn’t want to name.

“But you’ll remember me too.”

She laughed, and I fucked her with everything in me. I slammed into her so hard we fell to the glass-littered ground. She cried out from the biting shards, and I held her down harder.

“Remember my name, Whore Darling,” I grunted in her ear, using her pet name back at her.

She whimpered when blood started coating my dick, and I felt her hands reach back to try to scratch me, desperately trying to pull away from me.

“What’s wrong, Margot?” I moaned, reaching forward and snatching a glass shard from the ground. “I thought you wanted faster.”

She choked on a sob, and I watched the reflection in the mirror again. Her neck splitting open with the glass steady in my hand. Her body vibrated, convulsed, and fell completely. Even then, I didn’t stop. I had to keep going. I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t have anything without the burn. It kept me alive. Pain meant I was breathing even if it felt like fire.

But was I really alive?