Storm's Nightmare (Amelia Storm FBI Mystery Series Book 8) by Mary Stone

Author:Mary Stone [Stone, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-19T16:00:00+00:00

14

I paused just outside the door of the RV, patting the pocket of my jeans to ensure I’d remembered my keys. I doubted I had to worry about anyone breaking into the camper out here in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin, but I knew I had the eyes of the family on me after the incident at the junkyard, so I couldn’t be too careful. After double-checking the silenced nine-mil holstered at my back, I turned and started toward Brock Dominguez’s luxurious RV. At only eight in the evening, I wasn’t surprised by the light glowing through the windows.

Though I could have waited for the middle of the night, I figured I’d have an easier time getting into the RV if Brock was conscious. Sure, I could’ve picked the lock, but he might have rigged up an alarm system. I’d much rather deal with him than a screaming siren announcing my presence.

Over the past few hours, as I’d waited for the sun to sink behind the horizon, I’d had plenty of time to come up with excuses to knock on his door. I’d entertained some wild stories, but the tall tales were primarily to keep my mind from wandering back to the kid at the fast-food restaurant.

Cody.

A combination of anger and unease crawled up my spine at the name, and I gritted my teeth.

I’m dealing with Dominguez. Killing him will take care of this…need I can’t seem to shake.

Not only that, but I’d make a few bucks in the process, and I’d get my old man off my case. Hell, maybe he’d even be proud of his son for once in his life.

Working at the chop shop, I’d done plenty of useful work for the family. However, like my father was keen to remind me, our surname entitled us to far more than physical labor.

This was it. Dominguez was it—the start of a real future for me in this fucked up world of organized crime.

I straightened my spine as I started toward my target’s RV, rolling my shoulders. Perhaps I should have been overcome with anxiety as I walked toward my first solo murder for hire, or maybe I should have been excited like the killers portrayed in popular media.

To my dismay, I felt neither excitement nor nervousness. If I was honest with myself, closing in on the location of a man I was slated to kill wasn’t much different than another day of work at the chop shop.

I silenced the emotions and rapped my knuckles on the door of the RV. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I painted a look of trepidation on my face as I waited for Dominguez. The blinds in one window parted briefly as the man peeked at his visitor.

I knew what he’d see and how he’d view me. A young man, a wholesome bumpkin, some random idiot. I’d taken the extra care to change into clothes that screamed rural kid out camping. I had removed any hint of mafia from my appearance.

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