Ripple Effect: Episode One (A Dark Hitman Erotic Romance #1) by Keri Lake

Author:Keri Lake [Lake, Keri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B06VTVR82V
Published: 2017-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

5

Ripley

Fuck. I hate complications.

Through the windshield, I watch the girl climb into the passenger seat of Frank Caruso’s car, probably lured by the unsuspecting silver and model of the vehicle that makes the asshole look like a legit tax accountant instead of one of the more dangerous men in the Marchetti syndicate.

His ride is far less intimidating than my Chevelle SS with black tinted windows, I guess. Although, from the looks of it, she almost considered me. Maybe she thought I was a drug dealer or some shit, instead of a killer on a mission.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Frank doesn’t spare me a glance. Asshole rarely gets out of his office, only sent on the occasional errand to collect debts owed. Nothing more than a bagman, but it’s his spreadsheet that makes him a threat. If a man’s name shows up in the red, the shithead will find himself swallowing a gun barrel by day’s end.

Bastard and his attraction to young girls.

Lou told me a while back that he liked to hang around schoolyards and once held a fourteen-year-old girl for two weeks, forcing Marchetti to pay off her family in order to protect his beloved cash handler. He pulls away from the curb and I wait, ticking off the seconds as I let him get a head start.

Down Kostner, I keep my distance, following about ten cars behind him. The Malibu swerves toward the curb, out of control, until it straightens itself back on the road. Girl must’ve gotten wise, probably just realizing she’s in deep shit. She hasn’t seen anything yet. When I get my hands on old Frank, my only objective will be silencing the bastard, and it isn’t going to be pretty.

It’s never pretty with my kills.

I glance down at my black duffel bag where all my tools are stored. A rush of excitement beats through me, imagining Frank’s face the moment he comes to realize it doesn’t matter what he tells me—that split second he comes to understand how much I truly enjoy my work.

Frank turns down a side street, nothing but industrial buildings lining either side of the road. I stop short of the entrance of what looks like a tool and die shop and flip my lights off, creeping behind him. When he turns into the parking lot, the street light flashes across the window at the same time the girl’s head hits the glass. Must’ve knocked her out.

I stay put, waiting for him to get cozy with her. Once his hands start roaming her, he’ll let his guard down. As much as I like the cat and mouse shit, I’ve grown bored of the madman front. Used to be I’d toy with them a bit, give them a thin glimmer of hope, make them think they’d gotten away, before striking out of nowhere. Now I leave the hope shit for the final cut—the moments just before I issue that deadly blow that ends the game.

Maybe I’m losing my touch. I cringe to think I’ve gotten lazy over the years.

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