Hired Gun (Serial Novel Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copy right

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Hired Gun

  By

  A.J. Bennett

  Hired Gun

  Copyright 2014 A.J. Bennett Published by A.J. Bennett

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the Unit- ed States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author?s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Eden Crane Design

  Editing by Lizzy Ford

  To my PA Amy Chris. Thank you for everything you do!

  1

  Thorne Hollow, grandson of Theseus, opened the aluminum suitcase and removed a 9mm Ruger, along with a silencer. He locked the slide to the rear and checked to make sure the chamber was clear. It was.

  Safety first, he thought with a smirk.

  Using the palm of his hand, he slammed in the magazine, released the slide and chambered a bullet. Turning the gun to the left and to the right he observed the piece of art in admiration. Then he slid the gun into the concealed holster in the back of his pants. It was a shame really. The pistol would be a throwaway piece. But such was the nature of the job.

  He tucked the silencer into his side pocket before pulling out a piece of paper from the bottom of the case. Quickly, he scanned the cipher regarding his next target. On the surface, the gibberish made no sense, and he mentally swapped the letters around to read the hidden message. After memorizing the information, he moved into the kitchen, turned on the burner and watched as the paper turned into ash. Humans loved all this cloak and dagger shit.

  Back in his day, he was given the name of a target and killed them. Simple as that. None of this fancy bullshit. Granted he’d been around over two thousand years, and a lot had changed. But, whatever. His job kept him busy, and that was a good thing.

  If he knew one thing for certain, it was that immortality got old real quick. Running and gunning – as the boys liked to call it – made the passing time somewhat enjoyable. Hell, he was bred to bring on death and destruction; it was in his genetic makeup. It’s what got his juices flowing. That, and a willing woman to occupy his bed for a few hours, made the days passable. Every. Last. One of them. Some days it was like being on a merry-go-round. Round and round we go, where you stop no one knows. But for him there was no stopping. Just another slash mark on the calendar.

  He shouldn’t complain. For the most part life was good. But there was only so much nonsense a man unable to die could take.

  True, each century the living arrangements got more enjoyable. He was digging all the modern conveniences, but watching his friends and loved ones die wasn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. Well, maybe his worst…

  On his way back to the living room, Thorne caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Six foot five, two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle, coal black hair, and a chiseled jaw. Stormy gray eyes stared back at him. They were the eyes of his human mother, who died so long ago, it was hard for him to recall her face or the sound of her voice. His eyes were an ever-present reminder of a woman and a time long since gone. It was because of her that he’d been forsaken by the Gods, forced to remain on earth for eternity. Not only that, but the assholes made him sterile, so he couldn’t even have a family of his own.

  His crime? Defying the Gods to be by his mother’s side when she was on her deathbed.

  Fuck them.

  Given the chance, he’d do it again.

  Realizing his fists were clenched, Thorne slowly uncurled his fingers and ran his hands over the dark stubble on his jaw as he continued into the living room. Now was not the time to reminisce. He’d learned long ago to shut out emotions. Looking back at the past prevented one from moving forward.

  Today there was a scumbag that needed killing, and he was just the immortal for the job.

  His target was human. Some of the guys in The Sicarii wouldn’t touch a hit on a human with a ten-foot pole. Him? He didn’t discriminate. Which of course made his services all the more in demand. Fine by him.

  Thorne flicked his wrist to check his Panerai for the time. It was just a little after four, which meant he still had well over two hours to waste.

  What to do? What to do? He looked around the expansive apartment and realized he was bored out of his freaking mind.

  He might as well grab a cheeseburger at Apotheca. Maybe one of the boys would be around to shoot the shit. He grabbed his leather jacket, shrugged into it and strolled out the door of his penthouse. As he made his way down the hallway towards the elevator, he spotted one of the cleaning ladies heading his way. He shot her a wink. Instantly her face flushed red, and she looked down at the floor.

  He had that effect on the ladies. They loved him. And he loved them. Over and over again. So many over the years it was impossible to keep count.

  “Come on, Angie. You’ve been with me way too long to act all shy. I know you’re married. Just having a little fun. Make sure you tell Rogers how lucky he is to have you.”

  She nodded and hurried down the hallway. After only a few feet down the hall, she turned to get another glimpse. If her face was red before, it was scarlet when she realized he’d noticed. Thorne gave her a little wave and a crooked grin.

  The shy ones never really did it for him, although sometimes the reserved ones surprised him and were hellcats in the bedroom. And to be the one to break them out of their shell was quite satisfying.

  But for the most part, he left married women alone. Unless they came on to him. That was a whole different ball of wax. Their karma not his. At least, that’s how he justified it in his mind.

  He punched the button on the panel to the basement floor. When he stepped inside, he closed his eyes and used one of his many powers to turn off the annoying elevator music. That shit drove him batty. In all his years, it had never changed. Seriously, who the hell thought of finding the most annoying music in existence and blaring it in a contained space? Whoever that fucker was should have been strung up by his toes and forced to listen to the crap. Hey, now, that wasn’t a bad form of torture. Maybe he could use that today with the little weasel he was going to take out. Then again, the pencil neck wasn’t even worth the time or effort.

  The little prick was skimming money from very wealthy old women. It didn’t get much more spineless than that. If there was one thing he hated, it was a coward. There was far too many in the world.

  Maybe he would have a little fun at the bastard’s expense. Why not? He had nothing but time.

  2

  Thorne stepped out of the elevator and cast out his senses, scanning the area for any threats. No red flags went up, and he continued on his way. If humans only knew how many things went bump in the night, what kind of creatures might one day come calling, they’d never get any sleep. But hey, that’s what The Sicarii, a secret supernatural society, was there for: protection. It was the best day of his immortal life when he c
rossed paths with the society nearly a thousand years ago. Finally, he had a purpose and a brotherhood, even if most of his brothers didn’t live past the age of sixty.

  At least he had Benny Deuces. He was another sucker who’d been cast out by the Gods. Best friend he ever had.

  Grinning, Thorne stopped in front of his bike and slung one of his long legs over the Harley before securing his helmet. Not that he needed the damn thing. He was indestructible. But even immortals occasionally got traffic tickets.

  Thorne kicked the throttle and revved the engine before shooting out of the parking garage. It was a great day for a ride. The sun was shining and the breeze bordering on brisk.

  Gotta love New York City in the fall. He’d been all over the world, but he always returned to the city. There was something about it that beckoned him back. Watching it change over the centuries was a beautiful sight. The scenery changed, new buildings popped up, but the heart of the city remained the same. There was nothing quite like a true New Yorker.

  Now the fucking traffic, that was something he could live without. The clock was ticking, and he was hungry. He didn’t even try to obey the law as he weaved in and out of traffic, occasionally going onto the curb. What was another ticket? Someone had to pay for the new streets.

  Pedestrians cursed him left and right. Whatever. Those assholes didn’t appreciate what he did for them. If it wasn’t for people like him, the city would have been overrun by darkness long ago.

  Lady luck was on his side. He made the drive without seeing any blue lights.

  Thorne smiled when he saw the red blinking sign in the distance, Apotheca, the place that soothed his soul. He could practically taste the greasy cheeseburger and fries. Maybe he’d even throw in a chocolate milkshake, just for the hell of it.

  With his mouth watering, he clicked on the blinker and eased his Harley down the narrow side street. Parking his bike, he tossed off his helmet and strode towards the large, metal double doors. The old warehouse wasn’t much to look at from the outside. The side of the building was rusty, and trash littered the ground around it. But looks were often deceiving, a lesson he learned the hard way many times in his youth.

  A hulk of a man stood guard at the side door. He looked like he belonged to the Hell’s Angels with his scraggly beard, black shades and attire. Now those were some tough assholes. “What’s up, Victor?”

  The man barely lifted his shoulder and pulled open the door. In all the years he’d known the guy, he’d never heard him speak more than a handful of words. And even those were more like grunts. Thorne didn’t know his story and really didn’t give a shit.

  His shoulders relaxed as he strolled down the dimly lit hallway. He passed a couple snorting coke. The woman held up the tray, inviting him for a hit. There was no way in hell he’d touch that shit. Thorne didn’t even bother to respond. He’d seen too many lives lost over the years to illicit drugs, including that of the only woman he’d ever loved. Humans really needed to get their shit together. Unlike him, their time was limited.

  He eased through the double doors at the end of the hallway. The music hit him immediately, some kind of techno noise that was all the rage these days.

  Apotheca was known as a trendy underground club, but it was so much more than that.

  The humans on the crowded dance floor parted like the Red Sea to let him through. There had always been something in his aura that made people back away. Probably all the energy crackling through his veins. Or maybe it was just that he looked like a fucking bad ass and they valued their lives. Either way, he liked it.

  Black strobe lights flashed across the floor, giving the feel that it was later than it really was. As long as the booze was flowing, people and creatures partied anytime in the city. A couple of the women tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t have time for them. At least not right now. Later on tonight, well, that was another story.

  One of the bartenders yelled out to him, and he waved back. He loved this place. Apotheca was like a second home to him. No one cared that he didn’t age. Or maybe, they simply didn’t realize or remember. There was so much magick flying around this place, he wouldn’t be surprised if the humans forgot everything as soon as they walked out the door.

  Thorne pushed through the black door that read Employees Only. Now this was where the real action was. He scanned the area for any unsavory characters. Apotheca had an open door policy. Anything with unusual gifts was allowed through the door as long as they followed the rule. And the rule was simple: fuck up and wind up dead. Of course, that rule didn’t really apply to Thorne, but it got the point across.

  In one of the back corners sat a couple of Chimeras deep in conversation. He didn’t trust those creatures. They appeared human, but when they were in their true forms, they were freaky as hell. There was something unnatural about a lion being able to breathe fire and having the hooves of a goat. He shuddered at the thought.

  He stopped and chatted with a few normal shifters of the wolf variety, before he sauntered up to the counter to place his order.

  Leaning against the bar, Thorne turned so he had eyes on his surroundings. The bartender placed a shot of whiskey on the counter. Thorne swirled the caramel liquid in the glass and tilted his head to the side. “Hey there, Ginger. Looking smoking hot as usual.”

  He tossed the whiskey back, savoring the smoky taste. The beautiful redheaded vamp flashed her teeth and moved in closer.

  Been there, done that. He had the teeth marks to prove it. Ginger was always his go-to girl if he was in the need of a little kink. “Benny around?”

  “Haven’t seen him. But I’m free, if you’d like to play.” She ran one of her razor sharp nails down his chest. The chick was a freaking nymphomaniac. If he asked her to drop to her knees right there, she would do it without blinking an eye. No shame in her game.

  “Now, now, Ginger it’s not even dark out yet and it’s what, barely a crescent moon? I’m not sure you could handle me right now.” The old myth that vampires couldn’t go out in the sun was not exactly true. When the sun was out, their powers were severely limited. They gained their power by the moonlight. The smart ones stayed in during a new moon, the time when their powers were so low, they were easy to kill. Even a car crash could do them in.

  Thorne turned into Ginger and ran his fingers up her cool, bare thigh. The minuscule skirt she wore gave him complete access—if he wanted it. He wasn’t surprised to find she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Slowly, he parted her plump lips before driving two of his fingers into her hot, wet slit. And they said vampires were cold blooded …

  She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. “Like that’s stopped us before.”

  Losing interest, he pulled back his hand and licked his fingers as his eyes traveled around the bar. “Sorry, sweets. I got a gig tonight. Maybe next time.”

  She attempted to push him back, but she might as well have been trying to push a two ton boulder.

  “You’ll have to pay for that next time you’re mine.”

  Her green eyes widened, and her pupils dilated in desire. He wasn’t really into the whole master-slave shit. Took too much effort. What he really liked to do was fuck. Ever since that damn book Fifty Shades of Grey, even the most demure women were begging to get spanked, tied up and calling someone master. It got his cock hard just thinking about it, but those fools didn’t understand the true meaning of a sex slave. It was not glamorous in the least. If they knew the real tortures he’d seen over the centuries, how much sex slaves had suffered, they’d be singing a different tune. But hey, to each their own and all that jazz.

  And Ginger was a nice girl and all, but she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Sharp as a razor was how he liked his women.

  Such women were not easy to find these days. Seriously, it seemed as if it was too much to ask to find someone to have a meaningful conversation with. All the women wanted to do was bitch and moan, or talk about their weight. It was ridiculous. Like he gave a fuck if a woman
had a few extra pounds on her. Gods, he’d take curves over a stick any day.

  That’s what was wrong with this century. The women were too busy trying to be perfect that they didn’t even enjoy the gifts they were born with. Show a man a pair of tits and ass, and he was interested. It didn’t matter if she weighed ninety pounds or three hundred. Four hundred years later, he still salivated thinking about the women who knew what sex appeal was all about. Renaissance women. A smirk broke across his face at the memories. Oh yeah, those were the good ole days.

  Oh, well. It wasn’t like he was looking. Long ago, he’d given up on the chance of having a real relationship. He’d let himself fall in love once. Never again. Losing Laurie had been like losing an arm. Hell, almost a hundred years had passed since then, and he still woke up every morning expecting her to be by his side. Her death left him numb.

  That’s what he got for falling in love with a mortal. When it was her turn to go, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. Maybe if she’d stayed away from the drugs and booze he would’ve had her a little longer, but not much. Christ, it was his fault she turned to drugs. She couldn’t handle the fact that she was aging, and he was not. She also never forgave him for his inability to give her an heir.

  C’est la vie. He shook his head to banish the thoughts.

  He placed his food order at the bar, gave Ginger a swift pat on the ass and then found a table in the back corner. His back to the wall, of course. Even with the club rules, he didn’t trust anyone.

  3

  The place was already hopping, and it wasn’t even five in the afternoon. Vamps, demons, witches, demigods, succubae and every other supernatural creature under the sky filled the seats and the dance floor, laughing and talking, going about their days. It was nice to see. Never in a million years would he have guessed they’d all be gathered together under one roof. But time had a way of changing things.