Rent a Hitman (Renting Love #1)

Chapter 1

TALON

“Hello, Paul Marshall.” I study the image on my screen of a man smiling widely, holding up a fish he caught. “I’m the man who’s going to kill you.”

I don’t know why somebody wants this guy dead.

I only know they do, and that’s enough for me.

It’s not my job to ask questions. I’m sure that’s a part of what keeps me up to my neck in clients—and targets.

My discretion. The fact that I can disconnect and simply do the job.

Not everybody’s capable of that. They only think they are until the time comes to pull the trigger.

Paul Marshall is in his late twenties and looks like a real smug prick who is used to getting everything he wants. The kind of guy who acts like a shitbag just because he can. What a fucking loser.

Scrolling through his Facebook profile, I find the usual sort of things.

Photos of nights out with his ‘bros’, which sometimes include desperate women draped over him.

Then there are some of his extended family during holidays, flaunting their wealth of course.

In one he is posing in front of a Cadillac, looking into the camera over his Ray Ban’s, while throwing up finger guns. Classy.

There are a few comments on that photo, one of which catches my attention immediately. Are you going to be at the wedding?

This photo was only taken a week ago, so chances are the wedding hasn’t yet taken place. Paul responded to the comment with a thumbs-up emoji. Now I know where I’ll be able to find him. I only need to find out when it’s taking place.

People are so lazy about protecting themselves. I’m sure he has no idea there’s any reason for him to do it, though. Those in his position are rarely aware, making my job that much easier.

I click on the profile of the woman who left the comment. She is late middle-aged—a mother—and she posted more info about the wedding. The bride had her shower recently, so there are all kinds of pictures of her, the extended family, and friends.

I click the bride’s profile next, and that’s when I hit pay dirt.

She’s planning the entire wedding on one of those bridal websites and has been posting updates for weeks, leaving the link on Facebook like she’s practically begging people to check it out.

“Thank you very much, Caroline,” I murmur, clicking the link and spending the next twenty minutes scrolling through the endless amount of information this girl has shared. Does she think people care this much?

Then again, what do I know? I’m not exactly what anybody would call a family man. Maybe this is how normal, regular people do things.

She even put the seating arrangement for the reception on here.

“To make sure everybody is okay with their placement,” I murmur, reading her words aloud.

True, even I know nothing is worse than getting seated next to somebody you can’t fucking stand and having to play nice.

I click on the chart and scan the layout, searching for my guy.

There he is at table five. I zoom in, studying the other names.

There’s one that catches my eye. Ainsley Marshall. What sets her apart is the empty space beside her chair with a question mark instead of a name. Does this mean Ainsley’s bringing a guest but doesn’t know who yet? Or that they’re keeping the space open in case she decides to?

Time to find out about Ainsley. It doesn’t take long to find her on Facebook, and the fact that she’s friends with Paul confirms I have the right girl.

Immediately, the difference between her profile and his jumps out. She’s a librarian who posts a lot of photos of her pets. There’s Klaus, a hairless cat. Bob, the turtle, and Marley, the parrot. Bob and Marley. Give me a break.

She’s single—no surprise—and there are no photos of her hanging out with friends.

She lives a quiet life, unlike the rest of her family.

According to a post she put up only half an hour ago, her big excitement today is needing a new cat tree for Klaus.

She posted a photo of what’s left. I’m actually impressed by how one cat can do that much damage.

Especially when that cat looks like a shaved ball sack.

It’s easy to find her address and to look up the nearest pet store to her apartment. I’m out the door within minutes, prepared to wait all day for her to show up if that’s what it takes.

It doesn’t take that long. In fact, when I arrive at the store, she approaches from the other direction on a bike, which she chains to a rack out front.

Immediately, I’m taken aback by her odd beauty.

Yes, odd. I’m not talking about the way the sun shines off her strawberry-blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

I’m talking about what she is wearing; it can only be described as an old lady dress with big flowers and pearl buttons, along with a light cardigan and a pair of Reeboks.

Completing the outfit is a clear backpack. Fuck me, she even brought the cat with her, and he doesn’t look too thrilled at being crammed into the damn thing and riding on her back.

Even crazier, she still somehow manages to look beautiful. There is this innocence surrounding her. Everything about her seems carefree and exciting. We couldn’t be more different.

“Now, you be a good boy when we’re in there.

” She’s even talking to the poor creature.

“We’re going to get you a new tree, but you’ve got to promise to be more careful with it this time.

Mommy doesn’t have endless amounts of cash, you know.

” She’s still muttering in a sweet, soft voice as she enters the store.

This is a strange girl, but she’s intriguing. Kind of cute in an offbeat way. Even if I wasn’t trailing her to find out more about her, I might still be tempted to follow her into the store.

As it is, I have no choice. I need to get close to my target, and Ainsley might be the perfect excuse. If I can score a seat next to her as her guest, my job’s as good as done.