Page 6 of Poisoned Pawn

Needing to focus on something else, I finish my beer, dumping the empty bottle in the bin, and grab another before heading off to my office to try and find out what’s going on with Lev.

Pressing my thumb to the biometric door lock, it flashes green, then the door slides open permitting me entry. Once inside, I drop down into the desk chair, flicking the mouse to wake up the computer.

It’s a small room, built and equipped like a safe room. CCTV camera screens monitor every inch of the property, and a state-of-the-art alarm system is in place to keep it secure. A locked metal cabinet houses my weapons, mostly knives—my favoured weapon—but there are also several different kinds of guns, including a sniper rifle, and a mixture of ligature wires and tools good for torture. I try to mix things up a little. Too much of the same thing gives you away. I know a few men like me who always leave a calling card. To me that’s a one-way ticket to a concrete room and being somebody’s bitch.

Ain’t no man sticking his dick anywhere near my arse unless I’m dead.

I like a lot of extracurricular activities but cock ain’t one.

Logging into Tor, I navigate to the news site. There are several, but this one is specific to my business. It was set up by a friend; one of only a few I have. People like me don’t have friends.

The first thing I see when the screen loads is the outside of Neon Flux and confirms that the shooting tonight wasn’t random but a paid hit.

I click on the forum where jobs are listed. It’s a hitman’s notice board where you can pick up a random job, or if you’re like me, you can add encrypted contact details allowing clients to hire you directly. Most of my hits are done this way. When I first started out, I used to take jobs from the board, but I gained a reputation that now affords me the luxury of picking and choosing which jobs I take on.

I see that I have a new request and click to open the message. Like always, names are disguised, and I’m careful not to do too many jobs for the same people.

This is a new user, and I click to open the attachment.

Details about the mark light up the screen, name, address, age, and just below that is a small image icon. This mark is a woman, not unusual, but more often than not it’s some husband wanting to off his wife for cheating, or he wants rid so he can take her fortune and marry his little twenty years younger side piece with her over inflated lips and silicone filled tits and who sucks cock like a pro.

I scan over the minimal details. Reading it twice more to make sure I read them correctly.

Is this guy fucking mental?

Ordering a hit on anyone is risky business, but ordering a hit of a Kavanagh is suicide. This one in particular. But it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve knocked off someone big in my world. So, I click the image and wait for the picture of my mark to appear on the screen.

And when it does, there is only one thing to say.

“Fuck!”

CHAPTERTHREE

STAR

Like I knew he would, Rick is here in a matter of minutes. I hear him before I see him as Toni and I sit at the back of an ambulance getting checked over.

“Star,” he calls, frantically searching the crowd before he spots me. A cop attempts to stop him passing the crime scene tape that has haphazardly been erected, but with no more than a couple of words and a look, he is permitted, ducking under the tape and making a beeline straight for me.

Rick Sullivan owns Triple R Security along with his two best friends, Ryder ‘Blue’ Hawkins and Seb Roberts. My sister Roxy’s best friend Jess is married to Rick, who has a son Max from his first marriage. I’m almost certain that’s the only reason her and Aidan—my brother for all intents and purposes— so readily agreed my move to Manchester. I didn’t know it then, but having made the move, reluctantly agreeing to the security detail Roxy and Aidan insisted on, Rick’s presence in my life became a constant. And even now when I no longer need a security detail, despite Aidan and Roxy’s protests, he is the first person I call when I’m in trouble.

“What the fuck happened?” His eyes scan me, checking I’m unhurt, then briefly look to Toni before coming back to me.

Rick’s question has me instantly looking to where a white sheet covers the body of Hannah, the girl who was shot, now lies.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “One minute we’re standing there laughing and the next…” My words trail off. I don’t voice the thought that has been probing the back of mind since it happened; the one that says that bullet was meant for someone else.

He rubs a hand over the scruff on his face as he continues to look at me. I’d be forgiven for thinking he’s thinking the exact same thing that I refuse to acknowledge.

“Have you called—”

“No, and I don’t plan to.” My tone conveys that he’s not to either.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Star. They need to know.”

The paramedic tells me I’m good to go, and I jump down from my perch on the tail gate of the ambulance.

“It was nothing. There is no need to worry them unnecessarily. I’m fine. Toni is fine. End of. I just want to go home and sleep.”

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