For the Sake of Flags (Flagging Romance #1)

Prologue

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True hate, like true love, can make you do crazy, crazy things…

Azalea

A dark yet pitifully less-than-stormy night

“We’d like you, Azalea Pastella, to help us kill Malcolm Swallow.”

Before me, three disturbingly large men in dark suits blend into the evening shadows as they create a wall between me and my car.

Adjusting my pristine white purse on my shoulder, I take half a step back toward the skyscraper of my employment and eye them all with wary caution. “I’m not sure I understand,” I lie.

Because, if I’m honest, I understand perfectly.

Specifically what I understand is: the desire to kill Malcolm Swallow.

Malcolm Swallow is the elder of the two Swallow brothers and the billionaire in charge of all external relations that concern the Swallow Medical Group. On the surface, he’s attractive, tall, broad, confident, and charming. Beneath that surface, though, he is an unequivocal monster.

Unfortunately—alongside his far-more-tolerable brother, Iverson, who handles all internal relations—that monster has been my boss for the past two years.

To say I hate him would be an understatement; I rather quite regularly picture ways to murder him.

However, I had no idea my fantasies might find themselves nudged gently into sweet reality on this random Wednesday night in April.

I’m somewhat inclined to believe it’s a hallucination prompted by the relief of tax season finally being over until the man in the middle says, “We’re willing to pay you handsomely for your efforts. ”

Ha. Pay.

I would do it for free.

In a heartbeat.

Not just for my sake, either. I’d do it for the sake of anyone who might find themselves unlucky enough to cross paths with the demon.

Malcolm’s polished front conceals genuine evil.

He makes grown men cry and smiles as he crushes dreams. Due to my regrettable character, disposition, and “quirks,” I’ve met my fair share of cruel people growing up, but not a single one of them could hold the dying flicker of a birthday candle to Malcolm.

The world would so thoroughly be better off without him.

Which begs the question.

Why am I being recruited to this noble task? This job feels like the sort that would highly benefit from the loving touch of a professional.

Cautious, I scan the men and say, “Why me?”

The same man in the middle narrows his eyes.

“You work closely with him. You’ll have opportunities to get him with his guard down.

Thus far, everyone we’ve hired has failed to manage that feat.

You’re our next best option. So, after some careful recon, we’ve concluded that potentially our interests align. ”

First of all, recon? They’ve been watching me? That’s mad creepy.

Second of all, this isn’t their first attempt? I’ve missed people trying to assassinate Malcolm?

That’s the worst thing I’ve heard all day, and Malcolm’s spent the past four hours keeping me late with just one more quick task after another.

But, anyway, how hard is it to kill a man?

It should be as painless as a daily dose of poison in his jet-black coffee until he’s too sick to stand.

Or planting a toxic needle on his car door handle.

Perhaps even cornering him in an alley, wrapping a rope around his neck, and strangling him until the light leaves his infuriating cold gray eyes.

I can perfectly picture it. But I wouldn’t use a rope.

I’d shove him down…press my gloved fingers into his windpipe…and listen to him sputter as he struggles for breath.

In response to my silence, the man on the left in the back steps forward, opening a briefcase to show me stacks and stacks of cash. Like we’re in some kind of cliche spy movie. I didn’t know briefcases full of cash existed in the real world. But there it is. A whole big bundle of immaculate germs.

“Agree tonight,” his gruff voice rises above the chlamydia, “and you’ll walk away with this.”

Well, if they were trying to convince me not to…

I say, “How would my protection be guaranteed?”

Leftie nods at the germs. “We have the means to secure your future.”

My hands go clammy within the pure white cotton of my quarter-length gloves. “And what if I can’t kill him?”

“Try.” The man in the middle rolls his shoulders back. “That’s the best we can ask for right now, after a streak of—” He mutters a curse. “—pitiful failures.”

“I’m not trained to murder, and I’m certainly not trained to get away with it.”

“You’re a smart girl, and we’ll do everything in our power to support you.”

Support me, huh? How quaint. My eyes narrow on the slits of his. “Why me?” I ask again.

“You hate him, don’t you?” the big guy purrs, frees a low, disconcerting chuckle, and steps forward. “Just like us.” He reaches toward my chin with his bare disgusting hand.

A shudder works its way down my back as I narrowly dodge the advance and hiss, “Don’t touch me.”

Pausing, he scans me from my white dress to my white gloves to my white purse, which possesses several Zip-locs full of Lysol wipes.

His brow rises. “Maybe we’re asking the wrong person.

” Pulling back, he dusts off his suit jacket, half turning away from me.

“You never saw us. If you forget that, you’ll have worse things to worry about than a rotten boss. ”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask. “Because, last I heard, you people suck at assassinations.”

The man stops, and his neck cracks as he sends his beady gaze back toward me.

His small eyes glint in the streetlights, and he grumbles, “What did you just say, little girl?”

“I believe you heard me.”

He faces me squarely, imposing. “Playing with fire, aren’t you?”

“Am I or am I not negotiating someone’s murder? I think fire is the true least of my worries.”

The whites of all three men’s eyes widen.

“First things first,” I say, “I want a check. I’m not handling all that dirty money.”

Gruff, Leftie grunts, “Checks are a paper trail, little miss.”

Folding my arms, I regard them. “You mean to imply that organized crime syndicates haven’t figured out how to transfer digital cash yet? Don’t lie to me.”

“We’re not organized crime. We’re just an organization…that has a bone to pick with that—” The guy in the middle swears. “—boss of yours. Now,” he grits, “are you accepting the job, or not?”

“Of course I’m accepting it.” Adjusting my purse once more, I fold my hands against the flowing white skirt of my dress and lower my head. “I’ll be relying on your experience and resources. May we do our best to rid the world of the heinous evil that is Malcolm Sedgewick Swallow.”

Leftie puffs a sardonic laugh and extends the briefcase. “Smart girl. In that case, you gonna take what we’re offering, the way we’re offering it?”

With a smile, I rise, touch my gloved fingers to my breast, and say, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll do it for free.”