Jagger

 

 

“Hurts huh? That I’m gonna make … let me calculate it for you, $8 million dollars off of you, Mikayla. Oh, and a supercar. Not your ordinary vehicle, but one that less than .0000001% of the fucking universe will ever get a chance to touch, let alone own.” I have had it up to here with Mikayla Bryant. And I don’t even give a damn if she cries. “So, yeah, I’m no Robin Hood. I won’t kill a man just because he deserves it. Shit, most of the men I cross paths with do deserve it, but I murder for the sheer enjoyment of it.”

She sits in her chair, brown gaze sparkling with tears that have yet to fall.

“Fuck yeah, most of the time, I chose a mark because of the price tag, heck, I’ve declined a few proposals that would make me filthy fucking rich because I was too busy working on a Humvee. I like fixing shit, not humans. So stop looking at me like I’m nothing but a major disappointment. As if I should care what you think of me.”

“You’re not,” her tone is hardly above a whisper as she offers the lie.

“My father,” I say, sitting back in my seat, “he grew up in South Africa. Wealthy family owned businesses, a beachfront resort being the crown and jewel. Cancer claimed his mother, my grandfather shot himself. You know how rich people are, very high incidence of suicide when shit hits the fan. With both his parents deceased, my dad gave away the hotel, all his possessions. Side story, my house, it’s bigger than that fucking hotel now, and built on the same coast a few miles up, so I can look down at all those snooty motherfuckers.

Anyway, when his parents died, my father, Jace, he spent a few years in Tibet, centered himself. Found some sort of religion. He joined a group similar to the one I am in now. Those people, holy as ever, they murder for the greater good of humanity. Then he returned home. He met my mother, whose family also lived in the area, meager setting, though. Alisha’s family helped convert Christians. When he married her, all that rage, and hatred the religious murdering sect taught him was pacified, because of her love.”

“So Jace changed?” She blinks.

“He did, for a while. Years later, I felt this craving in my soul, Mikayla.” I place out my palms to her.

“Oh, your scars are healing,” she says in shocked disbelief.

“Take my hands, Mikayla.”

She does.

“These are the hands of a monster who loves being just that, a monster. So when you ask me, do I place any thought into murdering William Freedman, or the two hundred fucks who came before him, I have to say no.”

“What happened to your father, and mother? I can’t imagine that Alisha would’ve wanted you to be the man that you are,” Mikayla huffs.

My blood is boiling now. I nod in agreement. “She didn’t. They stopped talking to me, while I was having the blueprints of my house made.”

“Sounds like you haven’t talked to them in years,” she responds, not knowing how right she actually is.

“Ten to be exact. They died a few years later. The same religious sect of murderers who my father joined, had another mission for him to take. He declined it. Their home was set on fire.”

“Oh, no,” she gasps.

“And because I can see your thinking very hard, I’ll tell you, that I joined X Member organization because at least there’s compensation for doing what I love.”

***

Tonight, Harry has scheduled private transportation to the Caesar’s Palace again. It’s where William Freedman, and all other fucks like him, stay for $40,000 a night. He stays in the Octavius Villas, with a personal butler and seriously private elevator and pool. There’s no other place to catch him other than during one of his few token times at the gambling tables.

I chose that place for Mikayla and myself to shop at, in case William Freedman had a spotter who frequented places he planned to visit prior to his arrival just to feel things out.  The person could confirm my and Mikayla’s identities as Jace and Alisha Windhoek and help ease the two of us into the billionaire’s society. Rich men like Freedman are often anxious around strangers, unless pussy is being tossed around. Hence the X Member rule of not fucking your prey. We are a bad lot but mixing murder with sex is taboo for everyone.

I never thought I’d be in this situation until I saw Mikayla Bryant’s profile. Of course, I’d desire a taste of her.

I’m wearing one of the custom suits Trick modified and sitting on the chair in the living room. I glance at my palms where I held Trick’s sword. All the adrenaline in the world was rushing through my body, and my only thought was that that bastard had put Mikayla in danger.

The gashes run straight through the blood oath in my palms, making my shit look like shredded meat. They’ll heal fast enough. In fact, I squeeze my hands into fists as another forgotten emotion rolls over me. Anticipation. I cannot fucking wait to see Mikayla in the ball gown Trick also manipulated.

Feel like a teenage chump awaiting the arrival of my prom date.

Prom queen, more like it.

When I was a kid, we couldn’t afford much because most of the money went to the church my mother’s family assisted in running. I saw photos of my dad as a youth, of his parents as well. They never wanted for a thing and always wore formal attire.

I still feel uncomfortable in a suit and each one I wear is especially made for me.

Here she comes. I hear her heels clicking against the marble floor. My cognizance heightens as Mikayla stops just inside of the living room.

All of the air has disappeared from my lungs as I watch the vision of beauty standing across from me. The dress she’s wearing is like gold silk painted onto her curves. The neckline plunges down to her belly button, one sudden move and I’ll be gazing at her nipples.

My limbs don’t fail me as I get up. But my cock is once again ready to pounce. The closer I step to her, the more I’m enthralled by the saccharine scent she bathed with. It’s a sweet scent, really; has it masked the natural honey taste of her pussy?

“That’s not the dress you were told to wear tonight, Mikayla,” I find my voice, and it’s as hard as ever. I’m like a dope fiend who was given one shot of the good shit, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how ruthless I am, I can’t have another hit of the drug between her thighs. I want to escort her back into the bedroom, no other man is worthy of seeing her looking so damn beautiful. Fuck, I’m not worthy, either.

Mikayla tilts her head, the pulse of her neck is on display, begging me to softly nibble as she places on one of those chandelier earrings. “I picked this outfit myself, Jagger. We’re crossing paths with Mr. Freedman at the high roller tables, consider me your good luck charm, as I will not leave this suite in anything else.”

“You had two choices, this wasn’t one of them.” I grit out. “Do I need to remind you that the other dress options were improved to keep you save.”

She glances up at me from thick long eyelashes. “Isn’t that what I have you for?”

The doorbell chimes.

Mikayla starts for it, I grab her wrist and yank until she spins around and is pressed against my chest.

Mikayla scoffs. “No, need to be a bully, Jagger. Just compliment me, it’s how conversations normally progress when a female spends half the day getting prepared for her male.”

My jaw tenses. I’m a selfish man, yet something tells me she wasn’t spending so long getting dolled up for my benefit. The doorbell rings again. Harry has arrived promptly to escort us to our ride, which means that Mikayla stepped from the room right on time. This charade is for William Freedman.

There are a few times I could have set up a sniper rifle while he was coming from meetings and attending an event at the convention center. The profile that was provided outlined his entire schedule. But I want Mikayla at my side… maybe I can persuade her to my way of thinking.

Trick assumed I replaced Ava Sinclair for her, after all. The thought has wiggled its way into my mind a few times, yet looking at Mikayla, she’d be the perfect assassin.  Initially, Trick’s ideas, the ones he shared when she’d passed out, seemed far-fetched, crazy even. But just looking at Mikayla, I can’t see myself giving her up so easily. If I can persuade the princess to enjoy the taste of blood, during Freedman’s death, it might overshadow the deadly trouble, which will surely come my way.