Happy middle of the week, guys. I thought I'd shake things up a bit and introduce you to the hero of my current WIP, The Killing Touch. Meet Quinton O'Malley, assassin extraordinaire, and the moment an unexpected complication drops into his life.....
This is an unedited first draft, so please excuse any mistakes :-)
This was almost too easy. Quinton O’Malley flipped the visor of his helmet up and observed his intended target for a few minutes. Disgust curled in his stomach like old milk, and he swallowed the bile back down.
Scum like Frederick Sampson reserved to suffer an agonizingly slow death, not the quick end he was ordered to inflict on the asshole. Still, his way meant no one would suspect anything amiss. The perfect assassination taking place in full daylight. Such a tragic end to a promising career. Quinton smirked and flexed his gloved fingers.
Surrounded by his fawning fans the up and coming footballer was in his element. His trade mark grin hid an evil soul, but Quin knew better. The images his contact had sent him, the halting, broken testimony of the boys this asshole had abused on one of his frequent stays in Thailand burned on his retina forever. A flick of Quinn’s gloved finger ended the deep rumble of his motorbike and he kicked the stand out, swung his leg over the tank and reached into his saddle bag for the packet he was due to deliver.
Good old courier delivery service. The perfect cover for what he had in mind. No one paid a courier too much attention these days, and sure enough the fucker’s body guards simply nodded at Quinton when he held up the parcel.
“Got a delivery here for Frederick Sampson. That him, right, gov?” Quinton pitched his voice much higher than his usual deep cadence and adopted an East end accent to further disguise his usual Irish lilt.
“What is it?” Suited muscle #1 asked, and Quin popped a bubble of chewing gum and shrugged.
“Not my beef. I just deliver the things. He needs to sign it here.” He waved the electronic pad in the guy’s face and hunched his shoulders to make himself appear smaller than he was.
“Frederick, you’re expecting a parcel?” Suited goon #2 asked and Quin’s target looked up briefly. His dismissive gaze rested briefly on the parcel in Quin’s hands.
“Can’t say I do, but who is it from?”
Quin made a big show of studying the return address before he answered.
“Dunno, guv, says with love from your secret admirer. It’s light, reckon clothes?”
Frederick’s eyes lit up and it took every ounce of self-control to not let his disgust show, when the weasel grinned.
“Well, in that case bring it here, boy.”
Yeah, too fucking easy.
Quin’s research had come up with the perfect opportunity to get close to his target. He’d only boasted last week, how women sent him their panties, and positively encouraged it. Sick bastard. Quin sauntered across to where the asshole was holding court and shoved the parcel at him.
He yanked his glove off, in a seeming effort to grasp hold of the stylus, and passed it to Sampson. Their fingers touched briefly as he did so, and Quin hid his grin.
The man dismissed him the instant he’d scrawled his signature, and Quin strolled away. He’d made it back to his bike before all hell broke loose in the Covent Garden restaurant. He didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. Mainly Sampson dropped to the floor, suffering a massive coronary he would not recover from. Quin allowed himself his laughter as he revved the engine and roared away from the curb.
Far too fucking easy, but oh so satisfying. Folks would call him a monster for enjoying ending someone’s life, and in truth, this strange ability he had was the stuff of nightmares. His previously good mood at a job well done evaporated as his mind meandered down the dark recesses of his brain into territory he didn’t like to dwell on. There was no point in dwelling on the past, after all. Quin gunned the engine and thus made it home much faster than he’d anticipated, only to scowl at the battered VW Beetle cluttering up the driveway of his home.
What the fuck was going on? No one should be able to breach his heavy security systems, let alone…
He switched off the engine and froze as a child’s carefree giggle reached his ears through the open windows. Windows which ought to be shut. Testing the front door gingerly confirmed what he already knew. It was unlocked, and with no sign of forced entry that could only mean one thing. Whoever drove that battered old car had to have been given the entry codes. He scowled into the interior of the thing and the business card heaped on the side of the dashboard announcing the prestigious cleaning firm he used. Belatedly he recalled an e-mail from them he’d received on his way out, but had chosen to ignore and he opened up the app on his phone.
Change of cleaner indeed. Since when was it acceptable to bring a child with her? Grinding his teeth in frustration he swung the door open and had barely made it into his hallway before a little child sized cannon careened into his legs.
“What the fu—?”
Quin swallowed his curse just in time. His hands went out automatically to steady the boy, who couldn’t be much older than six or seven and Quin blew out a breath of relief that he was still wearing his leather gloves. He sure as fuck didn’t need this child’s death on his conscience too. There’d been too many accidents like that in his distant past, before he’d realized how dangerous his touch was. Blue eyes the color of the deepest ocean stared up at him and the kid’s cupid bow mouth opened up in seeming awe as he stared up at him.
Why the hell wasn’t he afraid, and perhaps more importantly, why wasn’t he at school? And where was the kid’s mother?
The kid broke into a lop-sided smile, and against his better judgement Quin’s lips too curled into the semblance of a grin, as he studied the fresh, freckle faced picture of innocence in front of him.
“Hey there, I’m Quin, who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
A frown pulled the boy’s eyebrows together as he seemed to concentrate all his attention on the way Quin’s mouth moved, yet he didn’t respond. Just stared seemingly fixated on Quin’s lips. The kitchen door opened at the end of the hallway, and a feminine gasp reached Quin’s ears, seconds before the boy tore himself out of the loose grip he had on his frail shoulders. The mite charged across the polished floor boards with a squeak of his trainer clad shoe and threw himself into the arms of the woman who stared at Quin as though he was the intruder in his own house. Eyes the exact same color of her son’s connected briefly with his, before she crouched down and proceeded to talk to the boy in a flurry of complicated hand signals.
Sign language… of course. That explained the boy’s non-verbal reaction to him for sure, and Quin winced. He knew enough of it to understand that she was telling the boy off, though even without his basic knowledge her body language gave her away. With a look that only a mother could bring to the table, she sent the little guy to sit on the bottom step of the stairs, and then approached Quin warily.
“I’m so sorry. I was told you wouldn’t be back for at least another hour, and Scotty asked to play hide and seek, and well, I’m that is…” Her voice trailed off and Quinton allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction at seeing this pretty young thing all flustered in front of him. In another life she would have been just his type. Curvy as fuck, with glossy brown hair, strands of which had escaped the ponytail and drew a man’s gaze to the enticing rack even the drab pinafore emblazoned with the cleaning firm’s logo couldn’t hide. His fingers itched to tuck those wayward strands back behind her ears, and Quin scowled down on her.
With her sensible work shoes on she barely reached to his shoulder, and that part of him that hadn’t indulged in the delights to be found in the female from in longer than she chose to recall, woke up with a roar, and that made the red-hot poker of anger stab his insides. This right here, this far too appealing young woman and her child— a child for Christ’s sake—were a slap to the face. A reminder of all the things he could and would never have and a complication he didn’t need. There was a reason his usual cleaning lady was old, and not in the least bit tempting in any way. Not that he usually saw her either. He chose to stay out of the way when she was around.
No, this, this was simply unacceptable.
To say his life has just taken a turn he wasn't expecting would be the understatement of the year, lol. ;-)
Til next time, and do stay naughty, folks.