Page 28 of Insatiable

I hate her with a fucking unrelenting passion.

I grab my packet of smokes and light one up, rereading the message I received in the studio. Safe to say my cock has gone soft.

Bernadette: You were warned not to make a mess. You had a contract to eliminate the owner, so why were eight bodies found at the casino?

Me: They shot at me first. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Bernadette: Watch your tone. Do something for me.

An annoyed huff lets out, and I inhale as much smoke as possible to burn my lungs.

Me: What?

Bernadette: Come see me tonight.

I sigh, quickly firing back a response and hoping she leaves me alone.

Me: Can’t. Busy.

Bernadette: I wasn’t asking,Kade.

“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, flicking my cigarette out the window.

Me: I fly to America in the morning. Have your husband fuck you instead.

As usual, her response is immediate.

Bernadette: You have an hour to get here, or there will be no visitation rights for your father for the next year.

I roll my eyes at her go-to threat, toss my phone on the passenger seat and head to her address while I play music. It’s loud enough to drown everything out.

Bernadette is nearly forty, married with a kid nearly the same age as me. She can literally do whatever and whoever she wants, and her repulsive husband allows it. She approached me when I was nineteen, told me a bunch of lies about being able to help with my dad’s case and I’ve been trapped with her ever since.

I wanted to get the fuck away from her the first night I woke up after being drugged, but after everything she’s made me do – all the people I’ve killed for money – it’s not something I can walk away from, especially with clean hands.

When I buzz her gate, I try to form excuses that might keep her away from me, but I know there’s not a chance of that happening.

I open my glovebox for my safety net, tucking a gun she doesn’t know about into the back of my shorts, then pulling on my hat and flipping it backwards.

I quickly shoot a text to my assistant Barry, telling him that plans are still going ahead in America, to set up a meeting point and that I’ll be out of reach for the rest of the night.

I hide the messenger app I created for me and my team in a secured file, so Bernie won’t find it if she decides to go through my phone.

It started when I tried to kill Barry in England, only to find out he was innocent. He was my age and had a ten-grand bounty on his head. I helped him fake his death, and he became loyal, offered to work with me to help others like him. Over time, we created our own group to try rescue people trapped in the firm grip of the underworld.

All of them are free to leave my company, but none of them will. Not only do I pay them well, but they also get to travel, experience the adrenaline rush of fighting and saving, and they’re part of the family I somehow created. A group of ghosts – dead to the underworld but very much alive.

And I’m their leader.

A huff, a shake of my head and I head in.

Standing in the foyer, I watch Bernadette strut towards me with a glass of wine, her dyed-red hair bouncing, fake tits nearly falling out of her tight black dress. Her heels click on the white marble, and the sound vibrates through my body, nearly enough to make me visibly shiver. It aggravates so much that I can’t look her in the eye.

The woman is a blackmailing monster. Probably the worst kind I’ve had the displeasure of meeting. Bernadette’s nails drag along my chest as she passes by me, and I follow her into the office.

She pulls out a folder and slams it down on her desk between us.

“Bryan Tiernan,” she says, flipping it open to an image of his broken face, “filed two charges against you this morning. Assault and arson. I had to pay him off and tell him not to speak a word of it again. Care to explain why you’re attacking random people in their homes then setting it alight?”

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