Rogue Agent Read online

  He motioned to David’s finger in front of him. “Still fresh. It was on ice while I was away.”

  With one eyebrow raised, Dawson gave it a cursory once-over. “Hang on; I need to scan it then you can go.” He turned to a machine beside him and scanned the finger over a credit-card-sized glass window. A monitor secured to the wall flashed David Bloom’s driver’s license.

  “Has the body been disposed of?” Dawson asked.

  Seth craned his neck to see the monitor. “No, I left him in an ammunitions factory. Animals will make a meal out of ‘im.”

  “Can you confirm he’s dead?”

  “Yes, Dawson. His brains are all over that factory. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  Dawson opened his mouth to respond when the intercom by the office door beeped. He flinched at the shrill noise and answered it, pressing a red button to speak into the device. “Morning, sir… Yes, sir, all kills have been entered… Seth is here… okay, sir.”

  Seth leaned in to eavesdrop. It was most likely Spencer Hack, the CEO of Haroun Agency. Everyone in the city was terrified of him. He was big, extremely wealthy, and relied on his black book of contacts to grow his expanding empire. No one else in New York could compete with him. One wrong move could send you to a watery grave in the Hudson River. Luckily for Seth, the man had a soft spot for him.

  “Seth, it’s for you.” Dawson’s voice had grown two decibels higher.

  Seth turned and cupped Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later, man. Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck,” Jack replied, patting his jacket pockets with a furrowed brow. “You’re not the one who left his target’s finger in Israel.”

  Chapter Two

  Seth entered Spencer’s foul-smelling office, held his breath, and counted to ten. Counting usually gave him time to adjust to the cigarette smoke, but it didn’t work today. He stifled a cough and closed the door behind him.

  Like a king perched on his throne, Spencer sat behind his gigantic mahogany desk, a cigarette smoldering in an ashtray. A holographic monitor flashed images across his face, throwing light onto his round, chipmunk cheeks. They were red, just like Jack’s.

  “Seth, please sit,” he ordered, pointing at a seat opposite him.

  Seth lowered into the chair and bit the inside of his cheek, the urge for a cigarette returning. Despite being the longest employed at Haroun, and having known Spencer personally for over twelve years, any time spent with the boss was nerve racking. The man’s presence was an intimidating force, like the extinct white rhino hide armchair his bulky frame consumed.

  Spencer pressed a button on the keyboard and with a whoosh, the holographic monitor vanished into a slot in the desk. He joined his fingers together and gazed at Seth, his bejeweled rings glistening in the shaft of light piercing the curtain.

  “I know you’re a busy man, Langdon, so I’ll keep this meeting brief.”

  “Sure, Spencer. How can I help?”

  He picked up a file from a tray and flicked it open. “You’re doing excellent work, Seth. I’m very impressed with your kill stats. They’re triple compared to other agents at this agency.”

  Seth swallowed a lump of excitement in his throat. “I enjoy my job.”

  “Do you know why we do what we do?”

  Seth lowered his gaze to the Haroun Agency logo embroidered on Spencer’s jacket. The stag head encircled by a snake was well known with underground agencies and elite government sectors. Spencer’s little black book was full of their numbers.

  “We cleanse society,” he replied. “Haroun is the best at eliminating the worst of the worst.”

  Spencer raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “I like to call it justifiable homicide. How many targets have you eliminated since you started working here?”

  Seth lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe five hundred.”

  Spencer glanced at the file again. “Stop being so modest. At last count, it was five thousand and four.”

  The number smacked Seth hard in the face. He knew the number was high, and he’d lost count after the first hundred kills. It didn’t matter how many cigarettes he smoked or how much Clandestine he injected, his victims would haunt his dreams. Nothing could stop that. “Wow, I’m very proud of that figure, sir.”

  “You should be,” Spencer said. “You’re the reason why we never release the identity of a target to anyone but the administrative officer. By doing so, both parties interact and contamination occurs. I don’t want my best men letting a target go because they feel sorry for them. That one target can start a war on this agency. I’ve seen it happen. Do you remember all that press about LA based Gatton agency a few years back?”

  “Yeah, an assassin bonded with his target and released him. They told their friends and the entire agency was attacked. It wasn’t a pretty sight.” Seth curled his lip, recalling the harrowing news footage splashed across his TV screen. Images of blood smeared walls, oceans of bullet casings, and the sickening mountain of broken bodies at the headquarters had forced him to take extra precaution. Now, he feared he may have unearthed something with David Bloom.

  “What we do is necessary, Seth,” Spencer continued, plucking his cigarette from the ashtray. “We rely on our dispatch team to ensure the correct target is sent to the right assassin, one that matches the skill set of that agent. Why send a target with the strength of a bull to an agent with a soft personality?”

  “We don’t hire agents with soft personalities.”

  “Exactly.”

  Seth cleared his throat, his ass becoming more noticeably numb. “Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

  Spencer took a drag on his cigarette and coughed violently as the smoke caught in his throat. “I’ve been speaking to my superiors and we believe your skills might be better used in another division of Haroun.”

  An ember of hope bloomed inside Seth. “Where might that be, sir?”

  “I see the great potential in you. You’re our greatest assassin and one who will never compromise this company. I want you in the Expult Division.”

  The embers turned into a raging fire in the pit of Seth’s belly. The Expults were Haroun’s most respected and highly paid agents. They sought and eliminated sensitive targets, troublemakers of the deceased. Seth had only heard about the “black list” through rumors, a sealed document kept in Spencer’s safe. It included the names of vengeful sons, complaining wives, nosy senators, suspicious police officers, or the humble homeless man who simply saw too much.

  “The targets in this division are cunning and dangerous,” Spencer said. “These people jeopardize this company and I cannot risk running into trouble. I believe you’ll be a natural in this role.”

  Any apprehension inside Seth dissipated. He’d been waiting his entire career for this opportunity. “When do I start?”

  “I’m currently looking for your mentor and I have a man in mind for you. If he accepts, he’ll train you for a week and then put you straight into the field. You’ll report to him from the moment you meet.”

  “Why is the training period so short?”

  Spencer let out a belly laugh, one that made the desk tremble. “Seth, being one of our best means you’re more experienced than the rest of my agents. You’re ready for it, trust me.”

  “Does this promotion include a pay raise?”

  Wordlessly, Spencer opened a drawer in his desk and threw a wad of credits across the table. “Consider it a bonus. This figure also includes pay for your last target.”

  “Great, I was wondering about that.”

  “Will you accept my offer?”

  Seth reached for the bound credit notes and tested the weight in his hand. It must be close to thirty thousand credits. He could buy a new Rolex with it or an upgraded engine for the Manu.

  “Yes, I’ll gladly accept.”

  ***

  A chill bit into Seth’s cheeks as he exited the lift and wandered into the expansive basement car park. T
he credit bonus sat in his pocket like a brick. The job offer was a chance for him to move on to better things, to witness a part of Haroun Agency no one got to see. For ten years, he’d been chipping away on a shit wage as a cookie-cutter hit man, killing to appease the superiors and meet his quotas. The promotion would give him the recognition, freedom, and respect he deserved. Seth Langdon, Expult agent. He couldn’t wait to tell Trix.

  He located his cherry red Phoenix Manu parked in the corner, tucked away from other vehicles. The low ceiling lights captured her delectable curves, phantom black rims, and crisp showroom paint job. She was looking beautiful tonight.

  Seth pressed his thumb into a fingerprint scanner on the door handle and waited for a click. He slipped into the buttercream leather seats and shut the door behind him.

  “Hello, Seth,” the car’s automated voice welcomed him.

  “Hello.” He dug around for the keys in his back pocket and pulled out the wad of credit notes instead. He stared at it for a moment, breathing in its rich aroma of wealth. “After tonight, things are going to change.”

  Seth opened the glove box and dropped the credits inside, reminding himself to lock it in the safe when he got home. He started the car and drove to East of Eden, one of New York’s best strip clubs and the workplace of his girlfriend Trix.

  It was after seven o’clock when Seth pulled up outside the club. A line of horny, hungry men snaked around the corner, eager to get inside, throwing insults at the bouncer by the door. Located off the main drag, Eden was cloaked in darkness, a little hole in the wall, ideal for a man’s perversions. It was buried so deep between two apartment buildings that the neon lights from Times Square couldn’t reach it.

  Seth slipped out of the bucket seats and inhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke, car fumes, and trash. It was the kind of stench that infused your clothes and held on, though Trix always came home smelling like roses.

  He locked the car and strode to the entrance, feeling the heat of a hundred gazes. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to park out the front. The Manu was a favorite among car thieves. He pocketed the keys and approached the bouncer. The man dipped his head in greeting and a sly smile appeared on his lips.

  “Good to see you again, Langdon,” he drawled.

  “You know me—I can’t stay away. Hey, you’ve been working out, Frank? Looking good.”

  “Five times a week, man. Got a real good trainer if you’re interested.”

  “Maybe next time. Has the club been busy tonight?”

  Frank glanced at the growing line of men shouting obscenities at him. One had his dick out, waving it around like a windmill.

  “Tryin’ to keep the animals at bay, you know. They’ve been particularly wild tonight. The girls have been having a hard time inside.”

  As if on cue, a dancer exited the club, shadowed by a cohort of eager fans. She peeled off her green feather mask and threw Frank a wink. He stepped into action right away, pushing Seth aside with silent grace.

  “Come on, fellas,” he said coolly. “Back off, okay? Give the lady some space.”

  “Fuck off, man,” spat one of the men. “I can do whatever I want.”

  The shade of Frank’s face changed from pink to the same color of Seth's Manu. He picked the troublemaker up by the scruff of his neck and tossed him effortlessly into a line of trash cans. His friends dispersed like frightened mice. The dancer planted a kiss on Frank’s cheek and slipped into an awaiting taxi.

  “My hero,” Seth quipped.

  “Get inside before I change my mind,” Frank ordered with a sly smile. “I’m busy.”

  “Catch ya later, man.” Seth waved goodbye and entered the club, welcomed by the intense stench of cheap perfume, body odor, and cigarettes. Waitresses dressed in skimpy lingerie walked by on teetering pumps, their hair adorned with ostrich and peacock feathers.

  He meandered through a maze of miniature square stages. A dancer straddled a pole on each, and men circled like ravenous wolves. Strobe lights blinded him from the ceiling, bathing everyone in shades of yellow, green, and blue light.

  He spotted Trix dancing on the main stage, her slim body swathed in leather and chains. Her firm breasts bounced beneath a black lace bra. He ran his eyes up and down her body and felt a twitch below his belt. She saw him, waved, and said something he couldn’t hear over the loud music. Unable to respond, he waved back and found a seat at a nearby table.

  A waitress materialized by his left shoulder, reeking of alcohol and male sweat. “Can I get you anything, hon?”

  Seth turned face first into a pair of double D breasts pouring over a white tank top. “Ah, a scotch on the rocks, thanks.”

  “You’re Trix’s man, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “She talks about you all the friggin’ time,” the waitress said with a flick of her hand. “Nice to put a name to face. Anyway, I’ll be right back with your drink.”

  She left in a cloud of cigarette smoke, and Seth admired her round, delectable ass. Was the devil collecting souls for curvaceous women tonight?

  Trix joined him ten minutes later, carrying a bowl of crisps and a bottle of perspiring beer. Her leather lingerie set had been replaced by a t-shirt and a pale denim skirt.

  “Oh, baby, you read my mind.” Seth reached for the beer and got his hand slapped away. “Hey, what was that for?”

  Trix smacked a kiss on his lips, pressing her fine breasts against him. “I wanted a kiss. I haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

  “Yeah, work was murder. Can I have my beer now?”

  She curled her lips into a smirk. “All right, you owe me a good bang later. I stole this from one of the bouncers.”

  Seth took a swig of beer and closed his eyes in ecstasy as the alcohol settled in his stomach. All he wanted now was a cigarette to make the moment complete.

  “How was work?”

  He opened one eye to see Trix pulling at a braid of blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. Her brown eyes were shadowed by dark circles. She’d been working long hours at the club to sustain her Clandestine habit, one he despised.

  “Eventful,” he replied at last. “I got a promotion.”

  The fatigue vanished from Trix’s face. “Really? How much are we talking?”

  Seth stabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Spencer gave me a bonus that’s currently sitting in my glove box. It should be enough to make a dent on your loan.”

  Her lips thinned into an almost transparent line. “I don’t want your money, Seth. I can handle this on my own. Keep it, you earned it.”

  He reached for her hands. “You and I are a partnership. I want to do this together. Your problems, my problems, remember?”

  “All right, but I don’t want to use your entire bonus. Spend some on your other girlfriend, the Manu.”

  “Oh, I plan to, baby.”

  Trix grabbed his beer, downed it, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So what’s this new promotion?”

  Seth cleared his throat. “The pest control joint I work at was looking for a senior to take someone’s place. They thought of me.”

  “Oh, that sounds interesting.” Trix scrunched up her nose. “Will it be dangerous? You’re breathing in all those fumes, you know.”

  “My job is always dangerous, babe.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the symphony of wolf whistles and inebriated shouts from a table opposite them. The group of five men was all dressed in expensive suits, chugging back fifty dollar beers and burying hundred dollar notes into the lingerie of passing waitresses. They swapped business cards and photos of their wives.

  Seth studied them with a bitter taste in his mouth. They were probably bankers from the financial district, celebrating another day of making thousands. Fresh out of college, he’d joined the hordes of starry eyed graduates looking for work on the glamorous Wall Street, only to be knocked back.

  Before he gave up and returned to Boston, Spencer had offered him a
job that was highly unorthodox, unpalatable, and missing from Forbes’ top job list. It was filthy and dangerous work, yet he loved every minute of it. So, for ten years, Seth channeled his rejection into eliminating men just like them.

  Trix reached underneath the table and squeezed his manhood. “Hey, wanna get out of here?”

  He drew his gaze from the bankers and reached for the beer, frowning when it was empty. “You don’t have to ask me twice. I need some fresh air anyway.”

  They dashed into the alleyway behind the club, finding a spot between two piles of trash. Seth pushed Trix against the brick wall so hard she yelped. He slipped his tongue between her teeth and plunged into the warmth of her mouth. She made a noise between a gasp and a moan and took his hand, slipping two of his fingers inside her. Her body was instantly ready for sex.

  “Fuck me,” she breathed in his ear.

  Obediently, he stripped Trix of her panties and denim skirt. He unzipped his trousers and entered her swiftly. Their lovemaking was quick, dirty, and far from romantic. Seth grunted as he thrust inside her, sweat bleeding into the back of his shirt. Trix’s screams echoed off the brick walls, frightening a flock of pigeons roosting nearby.

  When they were done, Seth zipped up his pants and took out a small pouch from his pocket. He handed her a syringe filled with Clandestine.

  “I didn’t think you had any more,” she said, slipping her panties on.

  “I keep a secret stash. There’s about fifteen milliliters in it. All I got.”

  She kissed him and leaned a foot against the building. She injected the drug into her forearm like an expert. The silver contents in the needle caught the light from the dull alley bulbs, glistening like a diamond.

  Her veins flashed electric blue and her eyes rolled back into her skull. Seth looked on silently, knowing he shouldn’t encourage her habit. The withdrawal process from Clandestine was nasty, and at times, deadly. He didn’t want to lose her so he continued feeding her habit.

  Trix’s body shuddered as the drug violently coursed through her veins. Her pupils enlarged to the size of dinner plates and a satisfied moan escaped her lips. “Oh, I needed that.”