The Sweetest Kill (Morales' Cartel #1)

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Equilibrium. Stillness. Composure. These were what an assassin needed Any unevenness in the emotion ruined the kills. Passion missed the target. Frigidity razed the plan. A kill was made with the head, not the hand. You make your best hit when you are in the most serene mood. He wasn't a trained killer, they were the few lessons he taught himself in the past eight years. He wasn't really good at holding his raw emotions but what he had right now did the job anyway. Hit and trial. Ironically, for him, emotions were the basis to learn the strategy of taking a life.

Unlocking the window with a pin he waited for his target to make the appearance in the room and take his last breath. The poor guy had refused to reside in any property 'The Morales' had bought. He was cooperating so far but the unexpected honesty to not conspire with the cartel had infuriated Morales. Bribe or kill. They didn't like to get their hands dirty when they could have a dog. And, Hunter was their dog.

He didn't let his heart change the rhythm when the target entered the room. Come closer. A little more. Perfect. The range between him and the mark was short and M16 with the silencer did the perfect job. Hunter pulled the trigger at the centre of his forehead and he fell on the floor. Dead.

Jumping from the balcony he sat in the truck and started driving. He didn't regret what he did. Regret meant he didn't mean to do it. It meant, he didn't want to kill that man or the man three days ago. It meant he wouldn't do it again. But the truth was if it meant protecting Isobel's innocence - something he couldn't do for himself - he would do it again. Again. And again. Because of his stupidity, it was enough that she was a stripper now. He wouldn't allow it to become something more.

He would become a dog if that's what they want him to be, a smuggler, a monster, he would become anything any time if it meant saving Isobel one more day. He would fuck anything they asked him to fuck. Or, kill anyone they asked him to kill.

But deep inside he was falling into a pit. It was dark, cold, and numb. Each kill was the bullet in his chest and the throbbing pain kept swelling, he waited for the blood to come out and release from his suffering but the strength to save a life would throw him in a hole, the depth was endless and cruel. There was no feeling in that icy chasm and yet it was the most painful feeling.

Just a few more days - four to be precise. Then, he wouldn't have to meet Isobel once a week - as per the rules set by 'The Morales' cartel. They would run away from this hell, he was sure, this time they would.

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Taking a shower, he drove to Morales' mansion, where the party was held in the name of a peace treaty. Hunter knew Mateo Morales, that scum wasn't known to make peace. And, with the Salazar cartel, Hunter could bet on his ass that Mateo would rather dig his grave than give a white flag to Salazar. The two had a dark history, one which involved blood, money, and revenge.

Hunter could sniff the treachery Mateo must be planning in his loathsome head in the name of truce. The son of a bitch only knew how to make money, it didn't matter when it comes from. If whoring out his mother's body would bring money, then he would, without a second thought. Ask him the meaning of peace and he would shoot you for costing him a second for that useless question.

He checked the time on his phone. 11 pm. He could hear the faded, distant sound of a female singing, glasses clinking, and echoes of ranged laughter and chattering. Searching for any sign of danger he moved towards the backyard which was dimly lit. He could barely see anything, he was about to go back when he heard a faint moan. Caution splurged within and he stealthy moved forward.

The barley glowed surrounding proved enough that it was a female. Holding his breath, he strode silently until he was behind her. Taking out his gun he quickly shoved her on the wall. With one arm he took both of her hands and clamped around her back and thrust the pistol on her temples.

Pressing himself on her body, he growled, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Leave me, you idiot. You are hurting me." Her voice was soft and silvery. She wriggled to get out of the hold but Hunter plastered his legs on either side of her thighs and pressed his hips. She was trapped.

Leaning towards her ears, he breathed, "I asked who the fuck are you. Wrong answer, and you will be asking your mom to pick up your bloody body."

"How about you look into my face and I will give you three seconds to apologise." She sounded annoyed. For the first time, Hunter felt her body plastered against him. She was small, petite, and shapely - judging from the feel of her ass.

"I have got low patience for smart mouths." He snapped, the faint smell of lemon from her hair engulfed his senses and he felt irritated. No to mention, the silky strands which were caressing an old day stubble, boiled his blood.

"That happens when you have an understanding level of a five-year-old kid," she hissed, Hunter was about to give her the piece of his mind, when she added, "I am Mrs Salazar. Now, are you letting me go or should I call my husband?"

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~ S M I L E