Page 1 of One Kill

Chapter One

J

There’ssomethingtobesaid about having a talented tongue fucking your cunt minutes before putting a bullet through the traitor’s skull. Some might say it’s fucked up for me to play with my food—metaphorically speaking—but, those people can swivel on a rusty knife for all I care. To be honest, I’d probably get off on it…

It’s a shame I had to kill him, really. Tino was a handsome man with just the right amount of stubble on his chin, a jawline that could cut a bitch, and a body anyone with a pulse would stare at in awe. And that tongue… fuck! It wasn’t exactly an arduous task, having to get close to him at the not-a-request of the New York mafia don.

However, once that final order to take care of business came through from Marco Mancini, the aforementioned don, it didn’t matter that Tino was eating me out. He had to die. Brain matter is now splattered all over the floor of Tino’s office and there’s a little on my thigh, which I wipe off before picking up my black overalls and pulling them on.

Knowing I only have a few hours before any of his coworkers start rolling up here for work, I pull out my phone and send our usual coded text to my crew group chat.

Me:Hotdog’s ready.

Someone should be here in the next ten minutes with a van and all the supplies to get this place cleaned up before morning. When any of us are working a job—even if that job is great at giving head—I make sure there is always some form of backup close by because it never hurts to be prepared.

Being a capo of The Reapers is something I never believed could happen when I began working for Marco—the leaders of the different factions of the mafia are typically men—but the skills I possess are second to none, I’m confident in my own abilities, and when the old capo died, I stepped up. Marco didn’t even think twice about it, easily accepting me as the new leader of his cleanup crew after just six years of service. I’m now in my seventh year as The Reapers’ capo, and at twenty-nine years old, I’m aware of my unique position as the only female capo to exist.

That’s just one of the reasons I’m known as The Shadow.

Some people think I don’t really exist, that I’m just a tale told to scare them into submission. To the outside world, I’m just another member of The Reapers.

Gotta say, though, I’m a little relieved this month-long job is now over; I may know my way around motorcycles, but cars aren’t my forte. Tino’s head mechanic was beginning to get suspicious of my “qualifications” to be here, and I was beginning to get pissed off at his snarky attitude.

“The cavalry has arrived! Where do you—niiiice. Clean through the skull.” Shoo takes up all the space in the doorway as he stands and admires my handiwork. “Tab’s bringing the body bag out of the van.”

“Move your ass, Shoo. You’re a fucking mountain, you can’t stand in doorways like that.” Tab, who is almost as mountainous as Shoo, pushes through the door, covered head to toe in what can only be described as protection. He looks like someone on the hunt for aliens with the hooded coveralls protecting almost every inch of him, plastic booties over his shoes, thick blue rubber gloves on his meaty hands, and goggles that don’t fit his face.

I’d laugh, except all of this is necessary to prevent leaving any evidence of them having ever been here.

“I’ll help you get the body out, then you boys can do the cleanup. You’ve got about three hours before anyone’s due to arrive for work.” They don’t argue with me.

“Sounds good to us.” Tab unzips the body bag, bending down to begin rolling Tino’s limp body inside.

Usually, the cleaning up part is something I enjoy. The monotonous scrubbing, the strong chemical odors, the checking every detail to make sure nothing is left behind, they’re all things that help calm my frantic mind. Apparently, watching your whole family being slaughtered at the age of sixteen can really fuck a person up. It may have happened thirteen years ago, but that kinda shit sticks to you like glue.

“He’s a heavy fucker. It’d be so much more convenient if he could get up and walk himself to the van.” Shoo grunts as he lifts Tino’s feet into the bag and begins zipping it closed.

“Yeah, Shoo. Just ask the dead man to walk himself outside, blood spilling everywhere and giving us more to clean.” Tab’s serious face makes me chuckle, his brows raised as if he actually has a point.

“So the part about a dead man walking himself outside doesn’t bother you, but him bleeding everywhere and making more of a mess does?” Shoo and I laugh as Tab realizes what he said then rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you both.” He flips us the bird, using both hands, before bending to pick up the now-full body bag. I pick up the other end while Shoo pulls the door open for us, checking that all is clear for us to continue outside to the waiting black van.

The engine is running, the driver-side window open, and Fizz is behind the wheel, ready to help the guys make a quick getaway if needed. She’s been a Reaper since inception, she’s tough as fuck and her driving skills are like no other, but just like any one of us, she has her weaknesses and a helluva past. Mothering us all is her favorite thing to do, but occasionally—like tonight—she likes to go for a late-night drive.

“Hey, Fizz. I’m leaving the boys to it. Need to shower. You got this?” I know she does, but I like to be considerate occasionally.

“Of course. Go. Get yourself gone, Cap.” Her hazel eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles, shooing me away at the same time.

“I’m gone. See ya later, guys!”

Shoo and Tab wave before heading back inside the building to finish the cleanup and I move straight to my baby. My blood-red Harley. I shove my leather jacket on and wrap my black scarf around my neck before sliding on my matte-black helmet and straddling my bike. The engine rumbles between my thighs as I turn the key and she comes to life beneath me. Having a man there is the only other fun alternative to this.

Riding along the Henry Hudson Parkway in the early hours of the morning is something I’ll never tire of. To be so close yet so far from the next state over brings me comfort and pain all at the same time—something I make sure to never forget. Especially at this time of year.

For most people, February is the month for love; valentines, Cupid and his stupid fucking arrows. For me, February marks the time I lost everything.

As soon as I get home to my apartment by Bronx Park, I remove my mechanic overalls, stripping down to nothing, and jump in my shower. There were no expenses spared with my bathroom. It’s now twice the size it started out as and I don’t regret a cent of the upgrade. All totally worth it for the powerful shower and modern fixtures. Scrubbing my body clean, paying special attention to my bloody thighs, I begin to feel lighter. There’s something about the scent of lavender that soothes my soul.

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