was a predator—that Marcus understood; it was what Tuturo did to his prey that provoked Marcus’s sense of right and wrong. The last girl he’d seduced from this club had ended up floating in Lake Michigan, naked, violated and mutilated, cut up like bait. Jaimito had picked the wrong girl that night. The heat had been turned on. And Jaime’s eldest brother Chava had had enough. Tuturo senior’sinstructions had been simple:
“Make it look like he had it coming. Make it public. Make it permanent.”
Hell, even if Chava hadn’t contracted him to take out his little brother, Marcus would have done this job pro bono. As it was, Chava had already paid him a fat down payment, and once the job was complete he’d swing by the downtown gym he’d joined last week and walk out with the two-hundred large Chava would deliver to his locker there.
Marcus scanned the dance floor again, watching, making mental notes. Through the gyrating haze of bodies, his focus narrowed on a short, fat, sweaty gangbanger dressed in a thousand-dollar suit. He could be wearing custom Versace and Jaime Tuturo would still smell like the turd he was. Marcus shook his head. The slick threads were working. Jaime was swaying on the dance floor with a chubby, innocent-looking blonde. She smiled adoringly up at him, her triumph of finally being noticed as transparent as Jaime’s sweaty leer. Marcus could see it in Jaime’s face, the way he licked his thick lips. He probably had a boner already and was visualizing all the ways he was going to hurt that girl. Anger pricked Marcus’s gut. He never had liked bullies.
Marcus planned something special for Jaimito. He’d given his death careful consideration and settled on a garrote. Quick but excruciating. While he was slicing Tuturo’s neck from front to back, he’d tell little brother it was big brother who’d hired him, and why. If he couldn’t get him alone, he’d single out one of the types Tuturo liked to prey on, give her a whirl on the dance floor, get close to Jaime, and puncture his heart with one precise jab of his custom ice pick switchblade. He’d disappearbefore his mark fell dead to the floor. Neither the crowd nor Tuturo’s friends worried Marcus. The adrenaline junkie in him liked a little public display of affection once in a while. But only if he had no other choice. He hadn’t survived as long as he had by being arrogant. He was cautious. Always.
Tonight he would blend in. When the cops showed up, no one would be able to describe the person standing next to them, much less Marcus, who, though taller than most men, had dressed to bore.
“Excuse me,” a deep, sultry voice said from behind him. Instantly Marcus’s acute senses went on alert, and his focus went from his mark to his dick. The full swell of breasts pressed against his back and a soft hand trailed across his shoulders. He stiffened, fighting the primal reaction to the voice, the tits and her musky perfume. She smelled exciting. Like a wild roller-coaster ride. He turned as she passed to his left, and looked down into two liquid, dark-chocolate-colored eyes. Full red lips smiled, showing straight, pearly white teeth. She moved past him toward the bar and his gaze followed. His cock thickened. She was one long drink of water. Her languid gait called to him to follow, and he automatically took another step forward.
He caught himself after two steps.
What the hell was he doing?
He was here to do a job, not get laid. Still, as he watched the slow roll of her hips and the way tendrils of thick crimson-colored hair slipped from her topknot to tease the back of her neck, he imagined coming up behind her, slipping his hands around her hips to her belly and losing himself in her heat.
And she was hot, from her shiny red hair, to the short, fiery-as-hell red dress that hugged her J-Lo ass, to her shapely legs accentuated by strappy stilettos. He’d give his right arm to have those heels digging into his back.
As if
“Make it look like he had it coming. Make it public. Make it permanent.”
Hell, even if Chava hadn’t contracted him to take out his little brother, Marcus would have done this job pro bono. As it was, Chava had already paid him a fat down payment, and once the job was complete he’d swing by the downtown gym he’d joined last week and walk out with the two-hundred large Chava would deliver to his locker there.
Marcus scanned the dance floor again, watching, making mental notes. Through the gyrating haze of bodies, his focus narrowed on a short, fat, sweaty gangbanger dressed in a thousand-dollar suit. He could be wearing custom Versace and Jaime Tuturo would still smell like the turd he was. Marcus shook his head. The slick threads were working. Jaime was swaying on the dance floor with a chubby, innocent-looking blonde. She smiled adoringly up at him, her triumph of finally being noticed as transparent as Jaime’s sweaty leer. Marcus could see it in Jaime’s face, the way he licked his thick lips. He probably had a boner already and was visualizing all the ways he was going to hurt that girl. Anger pricked Marcus’s gut. He never had liked bullies.
Marcus planned something special for Jaimito. He’d given his death careful consideration and settled on a garrote. Quick but excruciating. While he was slicing Tuturo’s neck from front to back, he’d tell little brother it was big brother who’d hired him, and why. If he couldn’t get him alone, he’d single out one of the types Tuturo liked to prey on, give her a whirl on the dance floor, get close to Jaime, and puncture his heart with one precise jab of his custom ice pick switchblade. He’d disappearbefore his mark fell dead to the floor. Neither the crowd nor Tuturo’s friends worried Marcus. The adrenaline junkie in him liked a little public display of affection once in a while. But only if he had no other choice. He hadn’t survived as long as he had by being arrogant. He was cautious. Always.
Tonight he would blend in. When the cops showed up, no one would be able to describe the person standing next to them, much less Marcus, who, though taller than most men, had dressed to bore.
“Excuse me,” a deep, sultry voice said from behind him. Instantly Marcus’s acute senses went on alert, and his focus went from his mark to his dick. The full swell of breasts pressed against his back and a soft hand trailed across his shoulders. He stiffened, fighting the primal reaction to the voice, the tits and her musky perfume. She smelled exciting. Like a wild roller-coaster ride. He turned as she passed to his left, and looked down into two liquid, dark-chocolate-colored eyes. Full red lips smiled, showing straight, pearly white teeth. She moved past him toward the bar and his gaze followed. His cock thickened. She was one long drink of water. Her languid gait called to him to follow, and he automatically took another step forward.
He caught himself after two steps.
What the hell was he doing?
He was here to do a job, not get laid. Still, as he watched the slow roll of her hips and the way tendrils of thick crimson-colored hair slipped from her topknot to tease the back of her neck, he imagined coming up behind her, slipping his hands around her hips to her belly and losing himself in her heat.
And she was hot, from her shiny red hair, to the short, fiery-as-hell red dress that hugged her J-Lo ass, to her shapely legs accentuated by strappy stilettos. He’d give his right arm to have those heels digging into his back.
As if
Similar Books
