Page 1 of Memphis

PROLOGUE

Judge Oliver Baxter, a distinguished looking, seventy-one-year-old Caucasian man known for his thick southern twang, had held his position on the bench for more than twenty years. He was a family man, husband to Gail, his wife of over forty years, and father to three adult sons—Oliver Jr., John-Francis, and Gregory. An avid supporter of such organizationsas The Alliance Defending Freedom and the American Family Association, Judge Baxter was a staunch conservative famous for his no-nonsense style of doling out justice. His supporters revered him and his contributions to both the judicial system and his community. His detractors? Well, they had a tiny problem with the Honorable Oliver Baxter.

He was a racist.

That alone would be bad enough, but he carried his racism and biases with him onto the bench. It was a matter of public record that he sentenced African Americans far more harshly than whites. Being that he ruled in juvenile matters, he was known to ruin many young Black lives before they truly began, handing down sentences widely regarded as overly punitive in relation to the accused’s crimes. Add to that, his penchant for patronizing, and subsequently, abusing Black sex workers, and one might begin to see him for what he truly was—a fucking monster. A monster who favored navy blue, off the rack suits and lunches at the country club with his judge cronies, where they laughed and boasted about the last “hard r” they managed to put away for the good of the community, especially their dear, sacred daughters and granddaughters.

Whoever paid three million dollars to have him eliminated obviously saw him as something less than human. They provided The Agency with all the needed information, some so secret and personal that it made me wonder who the client was. His wife? An assistant? It didn’t matter. All that mattered to me was that this one target was doubtlessly worthy of my services, maybe one of the worthiest. This elimination was going to be particularly satisfying for me.

Hidden by trees on a hill which overlooked his secret getaway cabin I’d been provided excellent directions to, I waited with my favorite long-range rifle at the ready. I glanced at my darkening surroundings. The woods spooked me, but I knew Jerryn, myright-hand man, had my back. While I watched the judge’s cabin, Jerryn watchedme.

Sighing, I glanced down at my watch. According to information from the anonymous client, when the judge went on these little trips, he always brought a companion, apaidcompanion, and at some point, he would step outside to call his wife and feed her some bullshit about how the fishing or hunting was going. I was waiting for him to make that call. I needed him outside and unsuspecting. This would be a clean kill. No evidence, no witnesses. No collateral damage.

I hated collateral damage.

But more than that, I hated the possibility of being arrested, so if his companion somehow caught a glimpse of me—although that was highly unlikely—she would have to be eliminated, too. I didn’t want to have to do that; I really didn’t. But I doubted she’d follow him outside. She’d probably welcome the break from being in his presence. The judge wasn’t exactly eye candy. As a matter of fact, he was the exact opposite of anything pleasing to the eye.

When I saw a door open, casting light into the darkness outside the cabin, I lifted my L115A3 and peered through the scope. There he was—the distinguished judge in his bright white t-shirt and tan slacks looking every bit the evil cretin he was as he lifted his cell to his right ear. With my finger on the trigger, adrenaline flooded my body. This? This rush? It never got old. There was something almost poetic about the moments that preceded ridding the planet of some confirmed scum. It was going to be a pleasure to eliminate this demon.

I was laser focused on my target when my vision blurred. Snatching my head back, I blinked fast, a frown creasing my brow. The fuck? With a racing heart, I quickly resumed watching the judge through the rifle’s sight. He hadn’t moved, his scantlips still working as he most probably lied to his dear embattled and unattractive wife.

“Raja!” Jerryn’s voice in my ear was urgent and too damn loud for that earpiece.

“I got it,” I murmured in response, my vision clear and hands steady as I aimed my A.R. and took the shot, damn near blasting my target’s head off his shoulders.

When the first drop of expected rain hit my arm, I took that as a cue to make my departure, navigating my way through trees and underbrush as the shower intensified. By the time I made it to my waiting vehicle, over a mile from the cabin, I was drenched and more than a little frustrated, but I got the job done.

Just like I always did.

1

He was cute. Young, but cute. He was sitting with a group of other men across the room from my perch at the bar, all of them wearing expensive bespoke suits. All were fit and handsome.

Businessmen.

Richbusinessman downing drinks and probably debating the current state of economics or politics, anything to avoid going home to their wives and children. I’d killed more than a few assholes like them, prototypes of what was wrong with the world. However, the cutie who’d just sent me a drink wasn’t wearing a wedding band. So, maybe...

When he locked eyes with me, I lifted my lemon drop and gave him a smile while mouthing, “Thank you.” He, of course, took that as a sign to leave his companions and navigate his way across The Royale’s plush lounge to me, sliding onto the barstool next to mine.

“Evan Weeks,” he said, proffering me his hand.

I took it, relishing his firm grip. “Dana Stimson,” I replied. Yeah, I was considering giving him some pussy, but I definitely wasn’t giving this man my real name.

Fuck that.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Stimson. Are you enjoying your drink?”

He had green eyes. I didn’t notice that earlier. Green eyes, curly hair, and khaki skin. Biracial, maybe?

“I am. Thank you again,” I replied.

“You’re welcome, beautiful. When I saw you sitting here looking like you’re looking? I just had to get your attention somehow. You’re gorgeous. Red looks good on you.”

I mean, he wasn’t lying. So, I smiled and said, “I appreciate your admiration. My parents did a great job on me, didn’t they?”

He laughed. “They did!”

I gave him a genuine smile. He seemed nice. I’d eat him alive if he wasn’t careful.

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