Read Sam Crescent Epup.pub Killer of Kings

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Copyright© 2022 Sam Crescent and Stacey Espino

ISBN: 978-1-77339-818-i

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Karyn White

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WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No office of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the instance of cursory quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

EL DIABLO

Killer of Kings, 6

Sam Crescent and Stacey Espino

Copyright © 2018

Affiliate 1

Xavier slid the patio door closed behind him, careful not to make a audio. The rich scent of java wafted in the air. Most people loved the smell. He fucking hated it. He pushed away babyhood memories of picking coffee beans in his bare feet for twelve grueling hours a day. Right now, he needed to stay focused.

He was there to kill a man.

The oceanfront paradise belonged to a dirty trader. He'd pissed off the wrong people, spreading rumors and creating false market values. The men who'd lost millions because of him had hired Killer of Kings for some swift justice.

Xavier had been working for the notorious group of hitmen for over x months at present. He'd done his training with Bondage and Killian, and he'd been fulfilling contracts for a few months. The work paid well, and so he couldn't complain.

Lazy footsteps shuffled down the hallway. He twisted a silencer onto the end of his Glock, not liking the leather gloves Boss insisted he wear. Mr. Strogonov wasn't expecting him this morn. Nobody wanted a visit from El Diablo.

He watched as the human lifted the carafe from the coffeemaker and poured himself a drink. He wore a costly navy bathrobe and matching slippers, humming a carefree tune as he puttered around the kitchen. Strogonov was forty-three, only a few years older than Xavier himself. The bastard had some city miles, probably from the stress of ripping off his associates. When he turned effectually and noticed Xavier sitting at his dining table, he dropped the mug, the ceramic pieces scattering on the marble flooring.

"Who are you?" His voice trembled, his lower lip quivering.

"Who do you retrieve I am?"

The man looked from side to side, then reached for his neck.

"Your personal warning won't work. I've already deactivated it. You didn't think they'd hire an apprentice, did you?"

"W-who hired you?"

Xavier smirked. "You have more one enemy? Yous've been busy." He waved an arm in the air. "Stealing certainly pays well, doesn't it?"

"I never stole anything."

He set up his gun on the glass tabletop with care, then stood up, slowly pushing the chair back into place. He rolled out his shoulders. "You're far from innocent, Mr. Strogonov."

"I can pay you lot. Whatever they're giving you, I'll do amend. Name your cost."

In that location was no reason for him to talk to this guy. Strogonov could beg and cry and offer him the world. Information technology wouldn't do whatever good in one case Killer of Kings was contracted. This was more than money; information technology was about reputation, respect, and getting the chore done. He'd spent a lot of time with Boss and his men over the past year, and for the first time in his life, he felt continued. Being on top, ruling with an atomic number 26 fist in some of the most ruthless gangs and cartels never fulfilled him. It just added to the loneliness, the disconnect he'd always felt. Chains and the other players at Killer of Kings were his equals, and the level playing field was surprisingly satisfying.

"I demand y'all to write a confession letter. Proceed, grab a paper and pen. I'll await."

"What for?"

He took a deep jiff and exhaled. "Don't make me ask y'all twice."

The man scrambled around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. Sweat beaded on his forehead, highlighting his receding hairline.

"The top drawer beside the sink," he said. "And bring a drinking glass of water back with you." Xavier had already scoped out this place, and taken all the steps to ensure the contract went smooth and make clean. He had something to prove to Boss. One time the human being had the pad, pen, and water, he continued, "At present, you're going to apologize and spell out exactly what you did to alter the market."

Once he had the suicide note, he could finish this hit. His gun was only a precaution.

"I can't do that. They'll lock me away for the rest of my life."

He shook his caput. Jail was the last affair this bounder should exist worried most. "Do y'all know what they called me back in Colombia?" Xavier massaged one of the human being's shoulders, making him flinch. "El Diablo. If you don't know, that means The Devil. Some said I was a sociopath, that I lacked empathy. Others were more edgeless, calling me a monster. Mayhap they were right. Merely monsters aren't born—they're fabricated." He could accept gone on, talking well-nigh his bullshit babyhood, being sold to the barrio gang to pay a debt his mother owed. Nearly the piffling sister torn from his arms. Sometimes he unloaded it all, knowing whoever he told was nigh to meet their maker. Information technology was his therapy, a confession of his sins. He shoved Strogonov downwardly into a chair. The man whimpered. "You don't want to piss me off." The trip down retentiveness lane plus a wicked example of blue balls had put him in a less than stellar mood.

One time everything had been written out, Xavier neatly folded the paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of Mr. Strogonov's robe. "Very good," he said. "At present have these with the h2o." He set up ii pills on the table beside the glass.

"What are they?"

"Don't worry almost it. Take the damn pills." He picked up his gun to punctuate this sentence.

Within minutes of swallowing the lethal drugs, Strogonov slumped over the glass table, the h2o spilling.

Baste, drip, drip off the edge onto the marble floors.

This job was too easy. Xavier liked to apply his gun or knives, something challenging where he could let off steam. But Boss wanted a textbook suicide, so he delivered.

He walked to the kitchen window. The view in a higher place the sink was breathtaking, clouds tinted with pinkish and orangish reflected on the ocean's surface. Information technology was style too fucking early to exist awake.

Xavier tucked his Glock into his shoulder harness and left the style he came. Strogonov had an ex-wife and no children. Even if he'd had a family, information technology wouldn't have changed the upshot. Xavier was fucked up in the head, always had been. He never felt guilt or regret when killing. Maybe he was numb to the bloodshed … or he actually was a monster.

One time he got to his car, settling back against the soft leather, he called Boss.

"Job's washed."

"You're on a roll," said Boss. "I have another contract for tomorrow. You lot'll love this one."

He scrubbed his manus over the stubble on his jaw. "Oh?"

"You'll have to get your hands dirty. I'll electronic mail y'all the details." The line went expressionless.

Dominate never was ane for pocket-size talk. If you did your job well, y'all got more than work, and he left you lonely. If yous fucked up, he'd ride your ass. He demanded perfection and rarely gave second chances. The man had a reputation for a reason.

The only reason Xavier started this task was in substitution for information about his sis. Boss had given him a few leads, only nothing that panned out. He kept promising more, merely later a twelvemonth of waiting, Xavier was starting to wonder.

The highway drive was commonly a bumper to bumper nightmare, but

this early in the morning, it was relatively clear. He hitting the gas and headed home. Over the past few months, he'd made more than money than most men earned in a lifetime. Hitmen with good track records made a very lucrative living. Simply chasing the omnipotent dollar was a route leading to nowhere. He knew that well, but it didn't cease him either. He had cipher to lose.

Forty minutes later, he collection along his winding driveway. His dwelling was a modern marvel, set on a vast acreage. He valued his privacy and security. By now he knew money couldn't purchase happiness, but he ever had something to prove. As if owning the best was the measure of a human, or could erase the memories of living in the slums of Commune 4 of Soacha.

The only thing that marred the perfect landscape was the little xanthous Kia with rust effectually the fenders. It belonged to the alive-in housekeeper he'd hired a few months agone. Once his training was over, he had no time for annihilation on the domicile front. She had her own living expanse on the far east wing of the mansion. Ms. Alesha Sanders knew not to enter his role, the basement, or to exit her live-in suite after hours. Keeping a civilian on his payroll wasn't recommended, but sometimes information technology was nice to play normal and get away from all the bullshit.

He'd interviewed over a dozen potential housekeepers. Xavier had no time for anything simply his contracts. He needed a adult female to melt, make clean, and keep his domestic affairs in order. The interviews were on a downwards screw until Alesha sat across from his desk.

She was young and curvy with freckles across her olfactory organ. Her lips were full and pouty, and he doubted she knew how tempting she was. She wore a evidently cotton dress with a white cardigan. He wasn't certain what it was well-nigh her, just he knew she was the i for the chore.

Of course, he had Maurice practice a full work up on her. She'd been living on her ain since she was eighteen. No criminal record. No dependents. Ms. Alesha was a twenty-7-year-old waitress turned housekeeper. Her references were impeccable, but he'd already decided to hire her earlier doing the groundwork check.

Some days he regretted his decision to hire her because he hadn't been able to bring women home knowing she was under the same roof. He wasn't certain why she kept messing with his head. Alesha was a housekeeper, not his fucking wife.

So far, she'd kept her distance and followed the rules. Information technology would be a shame if he had to kill her.

****

Keeping her dominate happy was Alesha'due south number ane priority. Getting this task had been no less than winning the lottery. She had her ain suite, something and then cute she almost cried when he gave her the tour. The pay was incredible. Her boss was hardly abode, and never bothered her. Alesha had her fair share of nightmarish encounters with men when she'd waitressed at a few local bars. It didn't take long for her to change careers. She couldn't stand strange men touching her or constantly propositioning her. Her coworkers may have enjoyed the attending, but information technology only made her ill. There weren't too many options without a secondary education, and fancy diplomas weren't made for people barely able to pay the rent, never mind tuition and books.

She'd been doing well as a cleaner for the last viii years, but it wasn't until being hired past Xavier Moreno that things really started looking upward. Her state of affairs seemed as well perfect, to the point that she constantly worried he'd lay her off or fire her for screwing something up.

He'd gone out much earlier than normal today, and then she decided to ready a special dinner, something that required more prep time than usual. His tastes could be demanding, and she tried hard to make things he'd enjoy every bit she learned his likes and dislikes. By now, she knew he detested java and didn't like onions in his eggs. Every day was a learning experience.

Every bit she peeled some carrots past the sink, the security alarm dinged, signaling someone had entered through the forepart door.

He was home.

Her heart began to race. Yes, he was her boss, only she'd be lying if she said she only had platonic feelings for him. The human being was an enigma, rarely talking to her, coming and going at the strangest hours. She still had no clue what he did for a living, and didn't dare enquire and run a risk pissing him off. He was very private, and fabricated it crystal clear when he'd hired her.

She did find information technology odd that a man his historic period with both looks and money was living alone in such a large house. There were no family photos, no visits from relatives, and he'd never brought a woman habitation that she knew of. Even though he gave her every other weekend off with total pay, she rarely left her suite. Where would she fifty-fifty go? This was as close to habitation as she had. Fifty-fifty her ain mother had wiped the slate clean nine years ago when she married her new husband, and that included Alesha. They hadn't spoken since.

Of course, it secretly pleased her that Xavier never brought dwelling house dates. Information technology kept her fantasy alive, the i where he fell madly in honey with his maid. She giggled under her breath.

"Something funny?"

She dropped her peeler into the sink with a clang and whirled around, wiping her hands on her frock. "Goose egg, sir. I didn't hear yous come up in."

"Don't call me sir. Information technology makes me feel old." He tossed his keys on the counter with a jangle and shrugged off his jacket. Her eyes darted to the gun strapped to his body, and she froze in identify. He noticed her staring and looked downwards. "Relax, it's registered. A human being can't be too safe these days." He winked at her.

Of form. A man like Xavier Moreno would be a target for criminals. She'd simply never seen a gun in real life. "I'm sorry, sir."

He frowned and crossed his arms. "Alesha…"

"I'm sorry … Mr. Moreno."

"You can telephone call me Xavier. I won't bite."

Xavier. Just hearing him say his own name with his slight accent made her moisture. He was pure masculinity, confident, and drool-worthy. This was probably the about time she'd spent with him since being hired. He was ordinarily gone earlier she started working in the kitchen, she wasn't allowed in the principal house later on nine at night, and he ever came home late.

He dropped down in one of the dining chairs and loosened his collar. He had intricate tattoos that climbed up his neck, and she had to finish herself from staring. "You were up early this morning," she said, trying to start some pocket-sized talk.

"I had a business concern meeting with a new customer. Way too early for my liking. I retrieve I'll go back to bed for a couple hours."

"You did go to slumber late last dark." She bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could take back her words. Xavier loved his privacy, and she sounded like a stalker.

"Yous're observant."

He stood up, cracking his neck to each side.

"Sorry, the walls are sparse and I'm a light sleeper."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. Xavier started walking abroad.

Alesha wanted to tell him to stay, to talk to her, to tell her more about himself. She loved the subtle scent of his cologne since he'd entered the kitchen. Her entire body took notice of everything Xavier, from his commanding presence to the intensity in his dark eyes. But she kept quiet and picked up her peeler. You lot're such a chicken shit, Alesha.

Merely before he left the kitchen, she summoned upwardly enough courage. "Could y'all do me a favor before y'all leave?"

"What is it?"

She held out a glass jar. "Can you open this?"

He eyed her skeptically.

Every bit he approached, she realized only how tall and buff he was, his shoulders and biceps straining confronting the fabric of his shirt. She couldn't assist only stare at the gun now that it was inside arm's length. It unnerved her. Xavier took the jar and twisted information technology open with ease, then set it on the counter. He didn't move away.

When she looked upwardly to gauge his expression, he pulled the gun from its holster. She gasped. "This scares yous?" he asked. He released the prune and checked the sleeping room, and then handed it to her. "Have it."

Alesha shook her head. "No, I tin't."

"It'due south unloaded. You won't conquer your fears unless you lot face them." He reached down and grabbed her wrist, pressing the gun into her

palm. It was common cold and heavy against her skin. She wrapped her fingers around the handle, still agape even though information technology was rendered harmless. She wondered if Xavier was afraid of annihilation. "Expert daughter. At that place yous get."

He moved behind her until her back was pressed to his body. Xavier reached around her sides, enveloping her, bringing her arms straight out in forepart of her. Every move was slow and deliberate. Her body thrummed, her cheeks heating. He aptitude over enough so that his confront was next to hers. She even felt a cursory castor of his stubble on her skin.

"Just like that," he whispered close to her ear. "Wait through the sights and aim at your target. Never hesitate. Accept a breath and pull." He placed his finger over hers and pulled the trigger. The gun made a precipitous click, and she jumped. "It's okay, I've got you lot."

She wanted to melt into his artillery. The rut of his torso warmed her bare skin, simply she still broke out into gooseflesh. "I call back information technology'due south safer in your easily," she said, returning the pistol to him.

He grabbed the clip and then returned the gun to his holster as if he'd done information technology a grand times. "You're a natural, Alesha. I'll have to requite you lessons."

Her proper noun sounded perfect on his lips. "That sounds similar fun." No, information technology didn't. Guns terrified her, but she wanted another run a risk to exist shut to Xavier. A one on 1 lesson sounded intimate, even though she was certain he was just being a nice guy.

"You're jumpy. I simply desire you to know you lot never have to worry while living here. No one will e'er hurt you."

It was an odd thing to say, merely she liked the confidence in his vocalism. He made her experience safe. Alesha hoped she hadn't crossed any boundaries. Maybe the lesson was a bad idea. The terminal thing she needed was for things to go awkward between them and for her to lose her job every bit a result.

"I'm very happy working here," she said for good measure.

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