Page 1 of A Killer's Heart

Prologue

Smith

Though you’d never expect it by looking at him, Ernest Donald is a mastermind, one that cooks different drugs to sell and ship worldwide. His clients range from small gangs to big time players. It doesn’t take but a moment to realize the eight guards nearby are scared of me. Clearly my reputation proceeds me, though not as much as it should if he thinks I won’t take them on and win.

As if on cue, Ernest opens his office door and enters before sitting behind his desk. Without dismissing the others, he greets me, not bothering to shake my hand. Either he was told I hate doing that shit or he doesn’t want to get too close. "Mr. Smith."

"Ernest," I respond, intentionally using his first name as I give him a stern glare. "You know I don't like to be kept waiting." He quickly apologizes, explaining he was confirming the details with his son, not wanting to give me the wrong information.

"That would be problematic," I assure him, watching as he shifts under my gaze. Ready to be done with this, I ask, "Who's the target?"

He clears his throat as if he’s nervous, then tells me, "Poppy Lane. She's twenty-three." I hide my surprise at her age, wondering how a kid found herself on this family’s hit list.

"She was here in France, though I've gotten word now she took a job in South Africa."

"Timeline?"

"As soon as possible,” he answers. “She threatens the hierarchy of our business." That is a serious accusation considering how long his family has been at this. Underground royalty the Donald family is.

"Wire me the fee," I command before rising and adjusting my leather jacket. He states that it’s already been done as he gets to his feet and gives me a nod. As I leave his compound, I light up a cigarette. As always, I never ask more than the necessary questions of the person hiring me. I prefer to do my own research. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t killed a female before. Just as with men, there are some horrible women in the world and they deserve what they get. However, who I take out is my choice. I’m not sure what Poppy Lane did, but one way or another, her life as she knew it is over.

Chapter 1

Poppy

In preparation for tonight, I walk through the museum to double-check the displays. Wealthy businessmen, socialites, and the locals deemed royalty are expected to attend. I’ve worked so hard on this collection and I hope to sell each painting. Even though I’m exhausted, this job couldn't have come at a better time. I have no one to blame but myself for the fact my life was turned upside down. Art has always been my passion and I graduated top of my class from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I went on to work not only in the same city, but also New York, and D.C. With no reason to remain in the States since my parents were already gone, I jumped at the chance when I was offered a fantastic position in Paris.

Once I arrived, it was like a dream come true. I was living my best life professionally and personally when I met Max, a businessman. We went on a few dates, dinner, the theatre, etc. On the fourth, he took me to a wine tasting. Admittedly, I’d had too much to drink, but I should’ve still been safe. Instead, he turned aggressive, pressuring me, not listening when I told him no. Having only been with a guy once prior to that, a boyfriend in college, it was scary. I ended things the next day via text, not even wanting to talk to him after what he’d done. Within a week, I was asked to be the museum coordinator here in Cape Town and, seeing it as fresh start, I took it.

Then I discovered I was pregnant. Through my shock, I debated whether to tell Max, but the reminder of how he was that night stopped me. He’s dangerous, and terrified me. I refuse to have a man like that be a part of my child’s life. Just being near him would taint my son or daughter, so I decided to raise them alone to the best of my ability.

"Ms. Lane," Mr. Belton, the owner and the one who hired me, says as he joins me. "Everything looks great. You’re doing wonderful here. Artists are flocking to us, eager to have their work associated with us, knowing it will sell.” I smile at the sweet older man who reminds me of my grandfather, thanking him, then excuse myself to run home to change. “Don’t be late,” he warns with a teasing grin. “You’re the best at getting them sold.” I promise I won’t, then get in my car and drive the few short blocks to my place.

I could’ve walked, yet being four months pregnant, and wearing higher heels, would make it difficult. Thankfully, I haven’t had morning sickness and have been able to hide my baby bump so far.

I take a quick shower, then remove the dress I purchased last week from my closet. With this being a black-tie event, I chose accordingly with the color and fit. It’s a little tight as I’m currently growing a human, but the second layer of the skirt conceals me quite well. I gather my blonde hair into a bun, then apply my makeup, keeping it simple yet striking. Having chosen more appropriate attire for my feet, I decide to leave my car, knowing the exercise is good for both me and the baby. At least I have tomorrow off to recuperate.

Hours later of what is probably the longest night of my life, my feet hurt and my lower back aches. Mr. Belton, however, is very pleased as almost every piece has been purchased. I’d do anything for a cool beverage. Unfortunately, it’ll have to wait as a few guests are still here.

"Drink?" A deep, masculine voice asks, sending a shiver down my spine. As I turn to see the stranger, I immediately notice how handsome he is and the power that radiates from him hard looking body. I take a small step back, partly to get a better look at him, but also because there’s a dangerous air surrounding him. I take in the dark denim jeans, black leather jacket, and white shirt that barely contains his impressive chest. It isn’t unusual for billionaires to wear something like this, seeing as his clothing is clearly expensive. I’m a bit embarrassed by the impact he has on my pulse.

"No, thank you," I politely decline. He deposits the glass on the tray of a passing waiter, though his eyes never leave mine. He’s studying me, making me feel like I’m under a microscope. Snapping out of my trance, I paste on a fake smile and see if he’s enjoying the show. He shrugs, which isn’t really an answer, and questions if it’s going well. Deciding not to lie, sensing he’s a no bullshit type of guy, I inform him that we are. “The artists being featured are world renowned.”

"Which is why they cost so much," he grumbles, annoying me. He obviously knows nothing about art nor what it entails to create.

“You mean why they’re worth so much.” I correct him with some attitude. Once more, he watches me, and I take the opportunity to admire his features, then point out, “I didn’t catch your name.”

"That’s because I didn't give it." At first, I think he's joking, except he doesn't crack a smile. Tit for tat and all, I introduce myself, not wanting to be a rude as he is. “I know,” he replies.

When Mr. Belton gets my attention, I shift to see what he needs. When I pivot to the stranger again, he’s gone. I try, yet I can’t find him anywhere, so I chalk the whole interaction up to a strange experience and brush it off.

When it ends, all the items have been sold and it’s time to call it a night. A security guard lets me out and I begin my journey home. It isn’t long before I stop to remove my shoes, letting the blisters I can feel forming breathe. I should care that I’m now barefoot on a public sidewalk, but I don’t. The cool pavement feels good against my heated skin. Halfway to my destination, I feel an arm wrap around me, covering my mouth with a cloth. I don’t know what it was soaked with, just that it makes me feel dizzy a second before my eyes shut and the darkness takes me.

Chapter 2

Smith

From my chair, I watch Poppy. She’s stunning in that dress and I find it hard to tear my gaze away from her there on the bed. Usually when I’m this close to a client, it’s because I’m in the process of killing them. However, the second I saw her picture something inside me shifted. No, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning. My body demanded I get near hers, breathe the same fucking air as her. Having never experienced this or anything like it before, I tried to brush it off as a fluke, telling myself she wouldn’t affect me this way in person. Fuck was I wrong. Which means I have to admit, even if only to myself as those assholes would gloat, the Crime Kings were right about the impact meeting your one has on a man.

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