Chapter 1
ONE
THORNE
“It’s done,” I say, toeing over the body until he’s lying on his back. Glassy eyes stare at the ceiling, mouth still agape in surprise.
“I need a confirmation pic,” Bensotti says in his usual bored voice.
Rolling my eyes since I know he can’t see, I pull out my burner phone and snap a picture. I send it off quickly then say, “Happy now?”
“Never happy, Thorne. We’re birds of a feather, you and me.”
He’s right about that. The last time I felt genuine happiness was when I murdered the men that killed my sister. Now, I’m just going through the motions until I die.
Scoffing, I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and bend down, removing the wallet from my marks pocket. Opening it, I find a wad of cash, which I take. This fucker has no need for it.
I leave the credit cards and identification, not wanting to leave a paper trail. Bensotti will disappear all this and it’ll be like it never happened.
He sighs roughly into the phone. “Thanks for doing this last minute job. I know it was out of the way. I’ll get you another flight.”
I was supposed to move into my new place today, a small apartment off campus, since the semester starts in a few days, but Bensotti said he needed me urgently.
He rarely gives us jobs without advance warning.
But apparently, dead guy planned to move to Scotland in two days, where he’d be out of reach.
It would cost hella money to track him down, kill him, get cleaners that were willing to do work in another country and hide our trail.
My landlord said he’d hold my keys until I arrived.
“Yeah, whatever. Ain’t like I was doing anything besides unpacking. That won’t take long. Want me to come up before I head back to school?”
“That’s okay, kid. I got Knox here checkin’ on me. You two are worse than my own children.”
“You don’t have children, Bensotti,” I remark as I use my foot to push the body onto the plastic wrap.
“Yeah, and you two show me every day why I don’t.”
A slight smile tips up my lips, making my piercing pull slightly, but it dies almost immediately. Bensotti has been as close to a father that I’ve had in about ten years, but he can’t replace the real deal.
He knows that too, so he doesn’t try to parent me.
After getting the man on the plastic, I wrap him up, dropping my used gloves on top of the pile.
“Cleaners will be there in fifteen,” Bensotti says.
I hum and hang up, stuffing my phone in my pocket.
I look around the room, noting how much the cleaners have to do. There’s blood everywhere, from the floor to the ceiling, the windows to the fucking walls.
The man I killed was part of an underground ring that trafficked women, selling them to the highest bidder. Some didn’t make it out alive and those that did were changed forever.
Bensotti is cracking the ring, but only low-level henchmen were arrested. Now, Bensotti has me and three other men he trained hunting the ring down to wipe them off the face of the earth.
So far, I’ve caught three, Knox two, and the others one apiece. All of the fuckers that Bensotti was able to find will end up in body bags.
They’re all low- to mid-level. I want the higher ups, the ones that think they’re untouchable.
This kill was bloody. Rich people never expect to pay for their crimes, like their money gives them carte blanche to do whatever they want.
Not while I’m alive, it won’t.
He tried to run, pleading with me not to kill him. He even offered me one of the girls that he said is locked in his basement. With that admission, I made sure it hurt as much as possible before he met the devil.
“Fuck,” I curse, remembering there are witnesses. If I free them, they’ll catalog my face and tell the police about me. Bensotti could cover for me in our home state of New York, but not here in California.
I call him back, letting him know my dilemma.
He’s quiet for a bit while I pace, sliding a hand through my hair. I’m usually more careful than this, but the idea that this fucker had women here, doing fuck knows what to them had me seeing red.
Finally, Bensotti says, “I’ll have the cleaners just wipe down fingerprints and get rid of the plastic. Take your gloves and get rid of them. Once cleaners are done, I’ll put in an anonymous call to the police. Do you know where the captives are?”
“He just said basement.”
“Find an exact location and let me know. I’ll need to give as much information as I can. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Hanging up, I hurry over to the plastic sheeting and collect my used gloves and put them in my pocket. Then I hurry around, wiping down everywhere I’ve touched. Even though gloves made sure I didn’t leave prints, I won’t take any chances.
Once done, I find the basement and tiptoe down the stairs. There’s a door directly across from the bottom landing, made of thick steel and armed with a keypad. This must be it.
I snap a pic and send it to Bensotti, then hurry upstairs and look at myself in the mirror by the door. My black hair is disheveled from how many times I’ve run my fingers through it, and there’s blood on my face.
I wipe it off quickly, not missing the excited glint in my dark brown eyes. I love killing, love it more than I ever thought, especially when I’m killing people that fucking deserve it. Every single body I’ve caught deserved to be put in the dirt.
It’s almost like I’m doing society a favor.
My eyes flick over my reflection, taking in the nose ring, dark eyeliner, lip ring, and eyebrow piercing. I look every bit of the killer I am and that makes me happy. Makes it so people don’t fuck with me or talk to me if I don’t speak to them first.
Once I clean all the blood from my face, I wipe down the hall table I leaned on, then leave the house.
Fuck, a kill has never been this hard, not even my first where I had no training.
Hopefully Bensotti figures out how to report the captive women without involving me or finds a way for me to disappear.
I won’t go to prison for killing some rich asshole.