2. Callahan
Chapter Two
CALLAHAN
Gemini
Your daily horoscope: New adventures await! But not everything that glitters is gold. Use your discernment to help assist you in navigating rough waters.
I was twelve years old when I first killed a man. And ever since, I’d become so adept at it that I might as well have been called a reaper.
The day I became a killer, happened when my mother’s latest crappy ass boyfriend, Phil, had come to our apartment, drunk as a skunk pushing his way through our locked door and swinging on my mom, accusing her of cheating.
He got in a few good punches, making her left eye swell and bottom lip bleed before I snapped, tackling him to the ground.
His head smashed into my mom’s ceramic statue of Artemis. The fall killed him instantly.
“What did you do, you little shit? What the fuck did you do?” My mother screamed, pulling me up by the back of my neck and shaking my shoulders.
I couldn’t move. I could only stare down at Phil, feeling numb as I watched blood seep out from his head, staining the cream-colored carpet a morbid shade of deep crimson.
A part of me knew I was broken then.
Killing a man should have made me feel something, but all I could muster was the relief that he was gone.
He couldn’t hurt us anymore. I thought my mother would understand.
That she would thank me for intervening.
For stopping him. Phil would have killed her if I hadn’t stepped in.
Of that I was damn sure. He had this look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. One that chilled me to the bone.
But my mom didn’t thank me. She called me a demon. A devil just like my dead father. And when the cops came to take me away to juvi, she turned her back on me. The last words she ever spoke to me were that I was no son of hers.
That was twenty years ago now. And my reputation as a cold-blooded killer got the notice of the Underwoods. The family that basically owned and operated the city of Starfell like it was their own personal playground.
They found me incarcerated, surviving by sheer luck and pure wit with only a few bruises to speak of, which was a fucking miracle with how frequently the boys on my row ended up in a brawl.
They only spared me because I’d made them laugh on my first day there, making a joke about the warden and how he resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy with his pasty complexion, round face, and lack of facial expression.
I swore if I were to poke him in the stomach, he would let out a “Woohoo” sound.
The Underwoods offered me a deal that, at the time, sounded perfect to my still developing twelve-year-old mind.
Since my mother didn’t want anything to do with me, and I’d been sentenced to a five-year stint, taking the deal didn’t sound so bad.
Honestly, I probably should have stuck it out in juvi.
For the last twenty years of my life, I’d been their personal lap dog.
Following orders and dishing out punishments that they dictated.
Five of those years were spent hunting down enemies abroad for the Underwoods, following the whispers and laying traps until I followed the thread back to this decrepit, destitute place.
The thread that took me directly to this room, seducing my prey.
Josephine Angola thought we were here to fuck. In reality, I was here to make her death look like an accident.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked, long manicured fingers clasped around the neck of a wine bottle. The expensive kind. I could tell by the label, but let’s be real. Everything Josephine Angola did was a way to flaunt her obscene wealth. Her condo looked like Liberace threw up all over it.
“Why not?” I responded lazily with a well-practiced grin pulling at my lips.
Her chest heaved as she drank me in, undressing me with her greedy eyes like I was one of her possessions.
I let her think she had a chance with me.
Let her imagine that she could do whatever it was she was imagining in her head.
I knew her tastes and I fit the qualifications perfectly.
She might have been a married woman, but that had never stopped her before.
She poured two generous glasses of the dark red wine, the scent of the sweet alcohol permeating the air. The night sky glittered outside the window of her penthouse suit. It was a stunning view that stretched from floor to ceiling, but I didn’t have time to admire it. I was here for work.
She handed me the glass with a seductive smile playing on her pink lips.
I took it from her, dragging my eyes down her frame, mirroring her interest at every turn.
It was easy for me to match her energy. Catching the hints in her demeanor, her expressions, and tone.
I’d been studying her for more than a month and finally made my move.
She took the bait, just like I knew she would.
Soft classical music floated in through hidden speakers as she took a seat next to me on the plush green velvet couch. Her hand found my thigh as she took a long sip of her wine. The scent of her expensive perfume enveloped me and I cleared my throat, watching her over the rim of my heavy glass.
Josephine was an attractive woman in her early fifties with enough money to fill her face with every cosmetic treatment available to make her appear half her age.
Her long blonde hair had been styled in gentle waves that cascaded down her back, covering the low dip in her nearly sheer dress that hugged her thin body. The fabric sparkled in the low lighting with every move she made.
“You know, I didn’t think you were going to come tonight,” she said, her voice low and husky.
I swirled the wine in my glass, the long stem fitting neatly between my fingers. “Are you glad I did?”
“Immensely,” she purred, her hand trailing higher on my thigh.
Her long nails scraped against my dark gray cotton pants, thinking that she was tempting me.
Truthfully, I was repulsed by her, but I kept those feelings locked up tight.
I knew the type of woman she was and the harm she had done without a second thought.
Josephine might have been attractive on the outside, but inside she was fucking rotten.
Not that I had much room to judge. I was a contracted killer after all.
But Josephine’s list of sins made mine look tame.
In my deep dive on her life, I found numerous mines in war torn countries owned by various corporations all leading back to her.
Though she did a decent job covering her tracks, I could still find that thin tether tying it all together.
Each of those mines were known for their dangerous, unsanitary conditions, frequent attacks, and the exploitation of child labor.
The blood on her hands ranged from two years old to ninety.
She didn’t care how many people died working for her, just as long as the end result was money in her bloated bank account.
One I had hacked into and emptied without her knowledge.
She would find out soon enough though, and by then, she’d be headed straight for a morgue.
Her hand cupped my cock, stroking my length through my pants.
“Tell me what you want,” she demanded, nibbling on my ear.
My eyebrows rose and I set the glass down on the table next to the couch, letting her get me hard.
Or as hard as I could manage so she thought I was into this.
Her breath was hot on my neck as she tongued my lobe making it wet and slimy.
It took everything in me not to rip myself away from her right then and there, but I had to time this perfectly or all my hard work would be for nothing.
“I want you,” I growled, cupping her ass with my hands. It made her let out a high-pitched squeal that could awaken the dead. My smile stayed in place though.
Running my free hand along her jawline, I tilted her head towards me, careful not to let her lips near mine.
“Good, because I want you.”
“Are you wet for me?” I asked like I actually cared.
She nodded enthusiastically. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip and her eyes fluttered as slid her hand over my cock. “You are a big boy, aren’t you? I knew you would be.”
I spread my legs wider, cock straining. Friction was friction, and my cock responded to it out of habit. Her eyes were glued to my size, and I could tell by the look on her face she was wondering how good it could make her feel. She would never have the pleasure of finding out.
“Let me see you,” I said, stopping her from planting a kiss on me. My fingers trailed the thin strap of her dress, and I noted the way her skin pimpled at my touch. The seduction was working as planned.
“Alright,” she swayed with a smirk. She went to take one more drink of the wine, emptying its contents in one long gulp, before setting it next to mine.
Her body brushed against me with the motion, and her floral scent clogged up my nose.
She giggled, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol swimming in her veins.
She would be so much easier to kill all inebriated and drugged like she was.
Josephine was too full of herself to realize how close to danger she was.
She thought herself untouchable. Believing that her padded pockets kept her safe from the kind of harm she so willingly caused others.
She’d even let her bodyguards go for the night, worried they might tell her husband what she was up to in the night.
Stupid.
Her hubris would be her downfall.