THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS

Chapter One - The Hitman?

DAMIEN RAPHAËL POV

"Please..." He begged, desperation dripping from his voice. "I'll give you five million dollars if you spare my life." He panted, bound tightly to the chair.

I calmly slid a full magazine into the barrel of my pistol. "Ten." I suggested, circling his chair and clicking the safety off.

"Deal, but you have to tell me who sent you." He hesitated.

"Where's the check?" I ignored his pitiful inquiry. He pointed shakily to the main drawer of his desk.

I pulled out the drawer, retrieved the checkbook and a pen and placed them before him. Then I loosened the ropes around his hands.

He picked up the pen with trembling fingers and scribbled the amount on the check, adding his signature. I took the check, tucked it inside my jacket. He sighed in relief as I turned toward the door.

Then I paused by the lifeless bodies of his guards on the floor, the corpses filled with bullet wounds.

"I already got fifteen million on a contract for your death." I mentioned, nonchalantly, turning back to him. "And I don't recall agreeing to your deal, but, since you're clearly out of your depth in this world of business, I'll do you a favor and end your suffering."

"No..." He started, but I cut him off. 

The bullet pierced his forehead with a sharp crack, a small, neat entry wound forming instantly. His eyes widened in shock, then glazed over as life drained from them. Blood trickled down his face, pooling beneath him as his body went limp, slumping in the chair. 

I clicked the safety back on my gun and slid it into my double shoulder holster inside my black leather jacket. Pausing the stopwatch on my wrist, I noted the time: nineteen minutes and twenty-five seconds. 

Then I remembered. "Angel."

I exited the building, pulling my car keys from my pocket. 

Seconds later, I was opening the car door and slipping into the driver's seat of my black Ferrari. 

I peeled off my gloves and tossed them into the back seat as the door quietly closed behind me.

I started the engine, drifting smoothly through the open gates. Sliding on my black aviators, I accelerated onto the road, the engine rumbling. 

"Daddy's coming, princess." I murmured to myself. Minutes later, my wireless earbud buzzed with an incoming call. 

"Job done?" The billionaire's voice came through. 

Keeping one hand on the wheel and my eyes on the road, I responded, "Was there ever a doubt?"

He had contracted me to eliminate his brother, clearing the path for him to inherit the family legacy. It was a straightforward job, part of my line of work as a contract killer.

Before taking on a client, I always conduct thorough research. Understanding their motives and potential reactions is crucial. 

My reputation for completing jobs with precision has fostered a certain level of cooperation, despite the fear I naturally inspire.

"I've heard a lot about you, Raphaël. You're among the FBI's most wanted in Las Vegas, yet you walk around freely." He continued, clearly having done his homework.

How could I be on the feds' radar when there's no solid evidence against me? 

I almost laughed, curious to hear his side of intelligence, to compare it with what I already knew from my other clients. "And what exactly have you heard?"