It wasn’t often someone issued a kill on my boss but it happened from time to time. It was the hazards of living a life like this one, though it seemed the man had some kind of deal with death.
With ease and simple precision, Benjamin Thomas always managed to evade it.
Most men lacked the balls it took to issue any sort of threat to him, and the ones dumb enough to try received a round of bullets between their legs and a brutal trip to hell.
Maybe it was the way his eyes looked, damning and cruel, or maybe it was the way he absentmindedly twisted his wedding ring around his hardened skin. Either way, I knew this threat was different.
I couldn’t just pop a bullet between the eyes of a rogue rival and call it a Wednesday afternoon.
No.
This time he was worried, and that realization alone had my spine stiffening. “What do we know so far?”
“The threat came through on the dark web. It was posted on a message board consisting mostly of contract killers and desperate men looking to pay off their debts.”
The internet wasn’t a medium I had a lot of knowledge on, but Iwasan expert in murder. I’d been contract killer for two years before I’d started working under Ben and I was acutely familiar with the protocol of murder for hire.
As fucked up as it was, there were no shortage of men willing to kill for money. All it took was one person—a friend of a friend of a friend to get you the number of a man who cared more for money than he did for the preservation of his already damned soul.
“If this person is turning to the dark web, it means they're desperate.” I said. “Hiring a hitman in this town is like ordering fucking takeout.”
Ben’s jaw was rigid, and though he appeared still, I knew he was vibrating with rage. “Except there isn’t a hitman in this town that would come close to taking me out.”
“That, and no man with half a brain would dare try.”
Not again.
He’d only been shot once—a near miracle in this line of work. Bullets had come at him from all different directions, and only one scar was left on his body.
To an average hitman, he was untouchable.
Immortal.
“Any man who accepts that job either doesn’t have the slightest clue who you are or he possesses a death wish.” Elbows on my knees, I leaned forward. “I can take out anybody who comes for you, sir.”
He shook his head. “I can handle a dumbass with a gun, Kingston. I’ve got a fucking swat team of security living up my ass every second of every day. I’m not worried about a hitman.”
Huh.
“I didn’t bring you here to hunt down my aspiring murderer.” His expensive shoes clapped against the marble floor as he moved around his desk. Arms across his chest, he came to a stop directly in front of me. “I brought you here to take down the man who hired him.”
“It’d be my honor, sir.”
A dry laugh tumbled out of him. “Yeah, I figured as much. You’re loyal, Kingston, and you’ve got a helluva shot.”
I never missed.
Ever.
“I just need a name, sir.” Anticipation burned beneath my skin—my hand twitching and ready to unsheath my gun. “Would you like me to do it execution style or should I get creative?”
One clean shot to the brain was my speciality—it was the sniper in me. The challenge of hitting a man in that one inch space between the eyes made my dick hard but if Ben wanted me to drag out the assassination of the man who’d threatened him, I’d be more than happy to oblige.
“I love the enthusiasm, Kingston, but we’ve got a problem. A few, actually.”
I fell silent.
Ben popped the button of his suit jacket and tore the thing off. Flinging it across the room, I watched him roll up his shirt sleeves with deft fingers, his muscles growing more rigid by the second.