Indulgence (3 page)

I didn’t look in the envelope straight away.

Instead, I sat in the corner booth at The Gambler's Inn and
watched Mercy Reid serve at the bar.

I watched her tits sway as she wiped down the counter. I
watched her lips move as she spoke to customers. I watched as she pulled beer
after beer. I watched as man after man hit on her and got nowhere.

What would it be like to fuck Mercy Reid? What would it feel
like to wrap my hands around her tits and squeeze? What would she taste like?
Would she beg me to choke her while I fucked her pussy?

My cock stirred in my jeans, pressing against the material
uncomfortably. Sticking my hand down the front, I rearranged myself, not giving
a shit if she saw me.

Weiss was right. I wanted to fuck her, contract or no
contract.

People came to The Gambler’s Inn for one reason and one
reason only. To get lost from the nastiest shit out there.

What, or
who
, was Mercy Reid and her perfect tits
hiding from? The devil inside me flared to life at the thought of someone
hurting her. Not that it was an indication that I cared; it was an opportunity
to shed some blood. Slice 'n' dice.

She glanced up every now and then, her gaze scanning the bar
and when she didn’t find whatever it was she was looking for, she’d turn to the
next customer, clearly disappointed. Who was she expecting to find in the dark
corners of this cesspool? Nothing fucking good, that was certain.

Leaning back into the shadows a little further, I took a
mouthful from the bottle of
Corona
Weiss had slid me on the way out of
his office. He’d given me a look, a raised eyebrow that said everything, but
nothing all at the same time. He knew I was jonesing over Mercy.

Sitting in a bar for three hours straight didn’t seem to be
the best way to use my time, but this was how I worked. Solving people was my
strong suit and I usually used it for another end, but Mercy? She was
different.

She glanced up again and this time, like she was looking for
me, our gazes caught. Her fingers slipped on the pint she was holding and the
glass crashed to the floor behind the bar. She cursed loudly, trying to wipe
beer from her soaked shirt with her bare hands.

My lip curled into a satisfied sneer and I downed the rest
of my beer as Mercy stalked into the back and disappeared.

Sliding out of the booth, I sauntered across the pub and
ducked behind the counter. Nobody gave me a second glance. They didn’t know who
I was, nobody did, but they knew I wasn’t anybody good. Peering through the
window on the door, Mercy had her back turned, wiping at her damp T-shirt. I
could step into her from behind and show her how hard I was…but that wasn’t the
way this game was going to be played.

As I pressed the door open with the flat of my palm, she
looked up at me with blue eyes that gave away two things. Her hair wasn’t
naturally black and by the way her pupils dilated, she was amped up. I was
interested in only one of these observations and by the way my cock began to
stir, there was no guessing which one was the money shot.

Mercy glared up at me, trying to cover her surprise at my
appearance.

“What the fuck do you want?” she spat, dabbing at her tiny
T-shirt with a rag. “You’re not allowed back here. Employees only.”

I stepped closer, not put off by her tone at all. I’d had
worse.

“I don’t give a shit,” I said.

She eyed me, her gaze raking from head to cock and back up
again.

I quirked an eyebrow, my lip curling in amusement.

“If you want something, just fucking say it,” she said with
an exasperated sigh. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”

“X.”

“X, what?” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Bitch
didn’t miss a trick.

“It’s my name.”

“X as in the letter x?” She rolled her eyes.

“Got a problem?” I asked, inching closer.

“Yeah.” She nodded at me. “You’re in a staff only area. You
might be all buddy buddy with Weiss, but I don’t know you from shit.”

“The mouth on you,” I breathed, totally turned on. I knew
she had bite in her, but fucking Jesus H Christ. The more she bit, the harder I
got. My gaze rested on her tits. Yeah, I was a tits man through and through and
hers...

“You think I’m going to let you fuck me?” she scoffed, her
bluntness doing nothing but turning me on even more.

My gaze snapped back to hers. “Who said I was going to fuck
you?”

She pressed her hips forward, her groin rubbing into mine.
“Your cock.”

My hand shot up and grasped the hair at the nape of her
neck. With a sharp tug, her head fell to the side, leaving her neck exposed. If
I was an asshole, I’d just take her now, but I wasn’t…fuck that. I
was
an asshole. Asshole was too safe a word to describe the kind of man I was.

“No,” I said, running my gaze down her pale neck and over
her tits. “No, I’m not going to fuck you, Mercy.” She gave me a look that
screamed ‘offended' and it only made me grin wider. “Not here. When I fuck you,
I’m not going to share your screams with anyone.”

Her entire body shivered and I knew I had her. Next time,
she would come to me.

Letting her go, I let her hair run between my fingers and it
took her a beat too long to step back and separate our bodies.

Giving her one last appreciative look, I turned on my heel
and exited the ‘employee only’ room. I could wait. My cock strained against my
jeans in protest, but this was one desire I was playing out and savoring.

I strode across the bar and pushed out of the door,
rearranging myself.

I could wait.

*****

I didn’t have to look in the envelope to make my decision.

I wanted out. I wanted to get out of Royal Blood. I wasn’t
done killing, but I was done killing for them. If I had to do a hit for the
Necromancers to make that happen, then I'd stoop.

My face would no longer be a secret to the so called enemy,
but I could set up shop anywhere in the world. Graduate from motorcycle clubs
to something a little darker and a whole lotta fucked up. There were means
available to feed my compulsions and I would need it to keep on surviving.
There was no place in the real world for a man like me. The real world didn’t
even exist.

I glanced at the text on my phone and at the building in
front of me. One word to Weiss and I had a meeting with the notorious leader of
the Necromancers Motorcycle Club. I lingered at the corner, watching various
men come and go. Some in leathers, some in suits and some in plain clothes.
Sykes had set up shop in plain sight. He had huge motherfucking balls, I’d give
him that, but to ask me to walk in the front door? That was a stroke of genius.

Pissed me off, but I would’ve done the same thing had I been
in his position.

Flipping up the collar of my jacket, I pushed off the wall
and crossed the street, dodging traffic. I’d left the leather at that shithole
I called home for now, opting for a suit jacket and open collared shirt.
Walking into Necromancers HQ dressed in Royal Blood colors? That was asking for
a bullet in my head.

Pushing through the door, I was greeted by a guy at a table
wearing a leather biker jacket. He was an ugly son of a bitch with a dirty
handlebar moustache and greasy hair that hung around his shoulders. He stared
up at me as I walked in, like I was some kind of problem already. He had no
idea.

“I’m here for Sykes,” I said. “He’s expecting me.”

“And who are you?”

“Xavier Blood.”

Handlebars leaned forward, his leather jacket creaking at
the elbows. “Blood?”

Staring at him blandly, I sighed. “Like I said, I’m here for
Sykes.”

Grunting, he picked up the receiver of a phone that was
hanging on the wall and pressed a button.

“You expecting an Xavier Blood?” he asked after a beat.

He eyed me up as he listened to whatever was being said to
him through the receiver, his expression turning darker. At the mention of the
name Blood, the name I took when I was forced into this shithole of an
organization, trouble was a given. Hate ran deep in these parts, even though
nobody knew who started what.

I had a revolver shoved down the back of my trousers, but I
didn’t need that to make the guy behind the table deader than dead. His throat
would be slit before he even had a chance to call out for help. It would bubble
out of his torn trachea, muffled by all the blood gushing from his severed
arteries.

Handlebars hung up the phone, slamming the receiver back
into the cradle with a loud bang. The chair scraped back on the tiled floor and
he stood to his full height.

“I’m gunna have to ask you to leave your weapons with me,”
he said stepping around the table. “If you don’t wanna give, then I’m gunna take.”

I raised my eyebrows and reached behind me. The man went to
lunge at the movement and I said, “Relax, chief.” Pulling out the revolver, I
curled my fingers around the muzzle and handed it to him butt first.

Best they think that they’re safe. People were fucking
idiots like that. Just because a man is unarmed doesn’t mean he won’t fuck you
up the moment you let your guard down.

Some of these men would die for their leader. They’d die for
their colors in an instant. That was something that never sat well with me. I
was a part of Royal Blood, but I never really belonged. Not when I was forced.
The only son of a bitch I’d die for was myself.

The ugly door bitch I’d dubbed Handlebars, nodded toward a
hall that ran off the cheery reception to Necromancers HQ.

“End of the hall,” he barked.

Without acknowledging him, I strode past and down the long
hallway. A few doors here and there broke the pattern of blandness, all of them
closed tight. At the far end, I stopped by the last door and turned the knob. I
owed nothing to these pricks, least of all the courtesy to knock. Shoving
inside, two pairs of eyes trained on me.

I’d never actually met Sykes in person. That was an honor
I’d yet to achieve in or out of my hitman guise, so when I laid eyes on him I
really wasn’t expecting to see a man about my age, late twenties, early
thirties sitting behind a desk, his feet kicked up on the surface like his shit
didn’t stink.

Ambition just ran deep in some people.

“Xavier Blood,” he drawled, sitting up straight.

“Sykes.” I nodded, straightening my suit jacket. He didn’t
look like a leader, at first glance he looked like any guy out on the street,
but looks could be deceiving. You never really knew what anyone did from one
glance at the surface. Their true nature came out in their little nuances…the
way they conducted themselves.

Doing a quick survey of the room, I noted that the
Necromancer’s leader liked to conduct business in a death trap. One exit, small
windows and low ventilation. A muscled boneheaded biker stood in one corner
like an ugly guard dog, but like that’d stop me if I really wanted to cause
some carnage. There was little chance of the normal everyday thug getting out
alive. Not with Handlebars out front blocking the exit.

“Greggor certainly holds his cards close,” Sykes said,
drawing my attention. “You’ve got quite the reputation.” He looked me over,
sizing me up, his expression giving nothing away. “Pretty boy killer,” he
drawled.

“I’m here for the contract,” I said, not breaking eye
contact. “Not to trade insults.”

Sykes snorted. “A killer who takes the moral high ground?
That’s a fucking new one.”

The Necromancer goon in the corner stifled a laugh. Sykes
had some balls on him, but that was part of the facade. I’d never met the man
face-to-face of course, but I had yet to work out if the reputation was only
skin deep or the fucker was rotten to the core and into his soul.

“You want someone dead. I’m here to do the job.”

“He’s cold, too,” Sykes said to the goon in the corner. They
laughed like I was the butt of some Necromancer Internet meme.

The dickwad out front had taken my gun but he was too
fucking dumb to check for other weapons. Shoving my hand into the waist band of
my trousers, I slid out a six inch switch blade and before it had even
registered on their stupid faces, I stepped forward with one long stride and
struck.

The knife imbedded deep into the desk, right in-between
Sykes’ nasty fingers. The goon in the corner pulled his gun and clicked the
safety, but he was much too late.

“Games,” I said, staring right into Sykes’ eyes. “Talk or
I’m out.”

“There is no out,” Sykes growled. “I’ve got eyes on you
now.”

“I don’t deal in empty threats or insults,” I snarled,
angling the blade so it began to press into the membrane between his fingers.
Cool steel pressed against the side of my head. “You really think that gun
against my head will stop me?”

Sykes stared at me, daring me to back down. There was a
problem with that. I never made a threat I couldn’t follow through with. If I
say I’m going to kill you and that’s exactly what I'll do. I had a reputation
for a reason. I
never
failed.

After a tense moment, Sykes lifted his hand away from the
blade and gestured to the goon to stand down.

“I know more than anyone that looks are deceiving,” I said.
“I’m here for the job, nothing more.”

Sykes regarded me for a moment, his cocky expression totally
gone and replaced with a calculated coolness. Looks were deceiving indeed.

Nodding toward an empty seat he leaned back in his own. “All
business then.”

“If you don’t mind.”

I folded my long body into the chair, my hand in reaching
distance of the knife. It was still imbedded in the surface like a warning.

“Six months ago,” Sykes started slowly, watching for my
reaction, “I was woken in the middle of the night with a gun pointing at my
head.”