Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Miss St. James,” he says in a thick accent as I discreetly turn my laptop away. “My name is Diego, and I will be happy to assist you with any of your needs during your stay. But first, may I interest you in a complimentary cocktail?”
“Diego, you are speaking right to my soul,” I tell him, sitting up a little higher. I mean, just because this is supposed to be a business trip doesn’t mean I can’t indulge in a little pleasure. “What options do you have?”
Diego lowers the tray to give me a better look. “We have a little of everything. Sangrias, mojitos, or strawberry daiquiris. Or if these aren’t doing it for you, I’d be more than happy to whip something together for our most beautiful guest.”
Well, shit. Diego is working for his tip today, and while I know this is just the type of luxury that comes along with booking the executive suite, I can’t help but let his compliments go right to my head. I could get used to this kind of hospitality. Raiden could learn a thing or two from Diego, though, truth be told, Raiden is a chronic flirt. If I actually accepted his advances, I’m sure he would have me in a constant state of delicious ruin.
Fuck. He really would ruin me.
Glancing over my cocktail options, I smile up at Diego. “Now, I don’t intend to be too forward, Diego, but I’m not really the kind of girl who can be locked down by just one option, you know what I mean?”
“Oh yes, you certainly are a cheeky one, Miss St. James,” he says with a wide smile as he places all three cocktails on the small table attached to the sunlounger, picking up exactly what I was putting down. “Shall I keep them coming?”
“Why not? Life is a party after all.”
Diego laughs to himself. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Something to eat? A towel, for if you’d like to take a dip in the ocean?”
“I’m okay for now,” I tell him, and with that, he offers me a curt nod before slipping away, and I waste no time lifting the strawberry daiquiri to my lips.
“Oh, God. That’s good.”
After drinking nearly half of it, I put it down and adjust my laptop on my thighs before finally diving deep into my research. My target is Javier Rodríguez, a prominent figure in Europe who’s generally seen cutting ribbons and hosting elaborate parties. He’s a wealthy businessman and a huge donor to the local children’s hospital. He does what he can to paint himself as the perfect saint, but behind closed doors, there’s nothing saintly about him.
Javier’s got his hands in all kinds of cookie jars. Ties to the mafia and cartel, with international arms deals, and more recently has been laundering money through offshore accounts. He’s worth hundreds of millions and is quickly becoming a threat, not just in Europe, but all over the world.
As for who ordered the hit? That’s none of my business. My personal thoughts on my targets and the way they do business is none of my business. I’m here to do a job, and the second I accept that contract, I will do whatever I need to do to get the job done. I don’t fail. I never have.
I have a short list of contracts that I will deny.
Minors. That’s a no-brainer, and while you might think it doesn’t happen, it comes across my screen far more than I care to admit.
Public settings. Again, this is obvious. I’m not looking at getting caught, and I also don’t like when something has the potential to get messy. I like clean hits that don’t involve witnesses or causing unnecessary trauma.
Suspiciously high payout figures. This right here is a bright red flag that you’re about to get screwed over. Only desperate or rookie assassins would fall for this shit, and I hate to admit that early on in my career, I was one of those suckers. I learned the hard way how to pick and choose my contracts, and I’ve stuck with that resolve ever since.
Convenient intel. This is a tricky one, and generally it’s something you discover after accepting a contract. When the intel is too convenient or comes too easily, it’s generally a set up. Maybe you’ve accidentally invaded someone else’s turf, or another agency wants you out of the way. This has only ever happened once, and the more intel I found on my target, the quicker my stomach began to sink with dread, and I got out of there as quickly as I could. I like aiming at targets, I don’t like being made one. I went off the radar for a while after that.
In my line of work, you only get to die of old age if you play the game smart. Greed and arrogance get us killed. Not doing your homework and being careless is as good as signing your own death certificate, and I’m not looking at leaving Spikezilla without a momma.