2. Andrew
TWO
Andrew
O ur last name is different this time, but our aliases are always similar. Beth is Christine Mayhew, the beautiful wife of international financier, William Mayhew. A young, handsome, and most importantly wealthy couple that nobody knows too much about.
She’ll be ogled by degenerate creeps once we step inside, and we’ll both pretend to enjoy it. William Mayhew is the type to share his toys.
Andrew Pratt is definitely not. That’s not who I am right now, but by the end of this foray, I’ll be back in his mind… with Lyle’s brain is spilling out of his head. I’ve waited for this night for a very long time. Nothing will stop me.
Not a blown cover, not an overzealous bodyguard. Nothing.
Maclain is responsible for the death of my baby sister, a fact only The Agency is aware of. It’s been four years. It feels as fresh as the day I received the news.
Tonight, I deliver Franny’s vengeance.
Beth may want the kill, but this one is mine. She can be as angry about it as she’d like; I couldn’t care less. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a kill from her. It’s why she hates me so much, after all. The little bitch stole my money as payback. A lot of my money.
A lifetime worth for some, several lifetimes worth for others. Soon, she’ll be paying me back. I look forward to it. Almost as much as I look forward to watching Lyle bleed out at my feet.
The mansion is sleek, modern architecture. The house sits high on the hills overlooking the city below. Prime real estate full of clean lines and lavish furnishings—expense wasn’t spared in its construction.
Sex trafficking, sex slavery , pays quite lucratively.
Maclain has gotten away with his crimes for so long he likely believes he’s above consequences. If I had my way, I’d kill every sick fuck in attendance tonight.
One by one. Lyle is the ringleader; we start with him and then methodically take out anyone stupid enough to try and replace him.
“Enjoy your evening, sir,” Jensen says to me once inside, ignoring Beth. Women are only here to be seen and fucked. Even the paid staff treats them as such. It rattles every nerve in my body. This is how Franny was treated, before they did much worse to her.
Tension knots in the crook of my neck.
“Baby, I need a drink,” Beth purrs, placing her hand on my shoulder and sliding it soothingly to that spot. I don’t know how she’s so intuitive, but I’ve noticed it before. Nothing gets past her; she reads people with an ease I’ve never seen.
It’s no wonder The Agency wanted her.
I want her for my own, in between all the time I want to strangle her. Which I want to do more than not. I’d have had her after our night in Paris if I hadn’t fucked her over on her very next job. The Agency is partially to blame. That assignment should have been mine, only they didn’t trust me to keep emotion out of it. They know better now, thank fuck, otherwise I wouldn’t be the man Beth is draping herself over tonight.
“I like it when you’re needy,” I say and guide her further into the house. There is the scent of sex weighing down the whole place. Almost as if you must push it out of the way to take a step.
We’re not that late, but apparently this party has been active for a while.
I had expected tighter security. Other than a few men standing around the perimeters of each room, there is a shocking lack of muscle. Nobody even patted us down upon entry. Beth’s dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but I know she has a weapon strapped to her thigh. She favors her knives; messy but quiet.
Getting close enough to Lyle to take him out has been difficult. He is rarely seen outside. However, the arrogance of letting a near stranger walk into his home, armed no less, is baffling.
We weave around bodies in various states of undress to get to the other side of the large living space where a bartender is busy preparing cocktails. I step up to the bar, next to a silver-haired man in a suit of the same color. His shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, and he reeks of stale perspiration and fresh whiskey.
The bartender passes him a drink before asking what I’d like.
“Two bourbons,” I say as Beth runs her hands around, settling them low on my abdomen and resting her chin on my back. It does something to me every time she touches me. I see flashes of our time in Paris, remembering how she sounded when she came for me, how she tasted, how she smelled. How her perfect cunt held onto my cock as if it caused her pain to be without it.
I had her as many times as my body could stand that night… yet it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to get her body out of my system. Maybe I never can.
I spin to face her, wrapping my arms around her, too.
“Who do we have here?” Silver Hair asks. Beth looks at him but doesn’t answer. That’s my job.
“William Mayhew,” I offer him. “This is my wife, Christine.”
“Wife, huh? That’s unfortunate,” he grumbles, causing Beth to grin at him.
“We wouldn’t be here if Willy didn’t like to share,” she coos at the geriatric fucker.
“Is that so?” he asks her, eyes alight with excitement.
“Yes, but that’s not up to her.” My sternness makes his eyes dart to me. I pinch her chin, rubbing her lower lip with my thumb. “Be patient, minx. You’ll get to play with someone tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” Beth lowers her head, obediently. As if she could ever fucking be. She deserves a damn Oscar award for how well she performs shy and demure. The sex appeal is all her, though, she oozes that naturally.
“Let’s find our host,” I tell Beth, handing her the drink the bartender just slid across the bar and nodding at the stranger whose eyes won’t leave my wife .
“Maybe I’ll see you later.” He leers.
Not a fucking chance in hell, asshole.
Scanning the crowd, I look for Lyle without looking too closely at the women around. I don’t want to see Franny’s face on every one of them. Focusing on Lyle is a must.
I’ve killed every one of his henchmen who helped to lure my sister into his web. The man who picked her up at the bar she waitressed at, the driver who laid in wait for them to exit. Lyle’s three top ‘salesmen’ who sold her to various clients. All those clients are dead. A few others, as well. The ones I’ve been able to track down on my own. I won’t stop until all his connections are no longer breathing.
Franny deserves nothing less. Along with all the other women who’ve been stolen, raped, and murdered by this lot over the years. These people are vile, and I’ll see them all burn if it’s the last thing I do in this life.
Finally spotting the man himself, I casually lead Beth to the corner of the dimly lit room. Her fingers on my bicep tense ever so slightly and I know it’s because of the scene in front of Lyle.
It would be erotic and tantalizing, if the woman looked sober and enthusiastic. Instead, she looks drugged and incoherent. Bile rushes through every one of my veins.
“Mayhew,” Lyle calls to me as we approach.
Beth plays the quiet pet partially behind me.
“Mr. Maclain, I appreciate the invite. This”—I nod toward the disgusting scene next to me—“is exactly what I’d hoped for.”
“Lucky for you, you met the requirements,” he says, meaning my financials were pleasing to him and the astronomical entrance fee was fully paid two weeks ago. “Your wife is even more appealing in person.”
“She is,” I say. “And available tonight, if we have a deal.”
“You like them younger, if I recall.”
Not even a little bit, but that’s what got William Mayhew in the door. Not minors. For as disgusting as this man is, he hasn’t stooped that low. Yet. There’s money to be made there, so I’m sure it wouldn’t be much longer. If he were going to live past tonight.
Since that isn’t happening, I won’t worry about that.
He does, however, procure many barely eighteen-year-olds. Picking them up when they’re fresh out of school and just trying to find their footing in the world. They’re easier targets at that age, less jaded and street wise.
As far as Maclain knows, William Mayhew is a connoisseur of what he deems ‘exotic young women’ and wants the equivalent of a passport stamp to every country in the world. Lyle likes Mayhew’s game and was happy to oblige by offering up several countries in one easy stop.
“Your memory serves,” I confirm.
Lyle stands, taking the few steps toward us. Reaching out, he trails one bloated finger slowly up Beth’s arm.
“Look, honey,” she says softly, a wide grin blooming. “I have goosebumps.”
Lyle’s eyes alight with sick pleasure. She’s fucking perfect at this.
The deal was, if Maclain produced what I wanted, he would get Christine Mayhew in return. One night, whatever he wants to do with her. He thinks it’s leverage. I suppose in other marriages, real ones, that would hold true. He’d hold some semblance of power over the couple by fucking the wife in the most demeaning way and returning her to her husband broken and bruised.
Beth pretending this will be fun for her makes it even more enticing for him. He believes that means it will take more to shatter her.
He doesn’t know her like I do. He doesn’t know that the only way to pull a reaction out of her is to deny her a kill. Beth Miller is a selfish, greedy thing. She’d take whatever torture Maclain has planned for her tonight so long as he’s dead by the end of it.
We’re too alike in that way.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy whatever is in store,” I tell her. Beth’s eyes glitter, and I lean down to press a kiss to her lips. “Be good.”
“Jensen will show you to your purchase,” Lyle says to me.
The job really begins now. I follow Jensen down a long hallway, while Maclain leads Beth in the opposite direction. Not ideal, but jobs rarely are. Tonight has felt too easy until now.
“Slovakia, Namibia, Ukraine. I believe all were on your list, yes?” Jensen asks.
“Yes,” I answer as he opens a door at the end of the hall.
“Enjoy.” He lets me step through, closing the door with a soft click behind me.
The room is dimly lit by a few wall sconces, the windows all covered with electrical blinds. Very little furniture has been brought in. Only a large bed and a small sofa on which three women sit. Identically dressed in short ivory slip dresses, all have their heads downcast, hands folded in their laps.
Cameras can’t be seen, but I know they exist. Someone will be watching, listening. Recording.
Leverage.
You can’t hold anything over a ghost, though.
I move in front of the one closest to me. “Stand.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, her voice shaking as badly as her body. I bury a hand in her dark hair, pulling her head up to my lips.
“Play along and I’ll get all three of you out of here,” I whisper down her neck. “Is there another way out of this room?”
She nods, and I move the string of her slip down over her shoulder. Her eyes dart to a full-length mirror beside us. I move her to it, placing her hands on the glass so I can run my fingers along the edge, finding the latch that opens it. I don’t press it though, not yet.
Kicking her legs out wider, I instruct her to push her ass out and stay put with a swat. I follow a similar pattern with the second woman. She isn’t shaking like the first; there’s a resolve on her face that stabs me right in the gut.
“Are there guards behind the mirror?”
“Yes, sir.”
I move her to the wall next to the first woman, placing her in the same position. The third woman goes on the opposite side of her. Going slow enough to formulate a plan, but not so much that I look like I’m stalling.
I should do more, play up this act. My stomach, my fucking moral compass, doesn’t allow me to take further advantage of these girls. It’s why I’m an assassin and not a fucking spy. Deep cover isn’t for me.
I remove my jacket and toss it aside, then unbutton my shirt which allows me easier access to the small dagger at my hip. Unlike Beth, my preference is a gun. I prefer to snipe from a distance and vanish in a crowd. But I’m adaptable and lethal with any weapon, or my bare hands.
I take a deep breath, then click the mirror open.
“Move fast but stay behind me,” I say. Rushing through the opening, I spot the first guard right away. He’s taken by surprise and gives me just enough time to punch him in his throat and snap his neck. One of the women gasps behind me, but they all stay quiet otherwise. “At the end of the driveway is a limo driven by Francis. Find him and stay with him. Which way?”
The first one points to the left, and we move that way. The second guard is a little more work. Still, he goes down without much noise. I take his gun, though, weighing it in my hand and happy to see it has a silencer. Before moving further, I check the chamber and the magazine, knowing what I’m working with makes this easier.
Two more are shot before they see me coming and then we’re at a door that leads outside. The first and second girl run out without hesitation, but the third stops just inside the door.
“I won’t make you leave; you can stay if that’s your choice.”
“No,” she says. “If you came with a woman, she’ll be at the opposite end of the hall from where he brought you. You should hurry.”
“Thank you. Go, don’t look back,” I say, then grab the dead guy’s gun as well.
Now, it’s time to find my two greatest enemies—Lyle and Beth.