Caged Killer Read online

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2016 Erin M. Leaf

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-893-5

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For the guy who follows me into the darkness.

  CAGED KILLER

  Erin M. Leaf

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter One

  He’s a sharp fucker, Knox Calvin thought, frowning beneath his binoculars. He’d been following the guy for three days, and every single time he thought he’d got the drop on him, the sneaky bastard spotted the tail. He pursed his lips as Mick Lannon looked up, staring right the fuck at him despite the distance. Knox held his breath. Maybe he hadn’t been seen… Nope. The thief tipped an imaginary hat before climbing into his car and driving off.

  “Motherfucker,” Knox muttered, sitting up. No sense hiding behind the concrete railing any more. He ran a hand over his face, then took apart his rifle. He stowed the pieces in his duffel’s specially sewn compartments and fastened the pockets. He couldn’t decide if he hated the man or admired him. Either way, this job was screwed, and that irritated him beyond belief. He rarely backed out of a contract, but snatching this joker wasn’t worth the aggravation, and he didn’t need the money right now. Hell, he didn’t need money at all anymore. He could retire whenever he wanted, and maybe now was the right time. Knox nodded. He’d call his broker and tell him he was out. Let someone else grab Lannon and extract the information they wanted. He was done. He didn’t like torture jobs, anyway. He assassinated targets. He didn’t play with them.

  Knox sighed as he zipped up his bag. He liked killing. He liked it more than he should and he always had, so he tried to follow a code of sorts: only take out those who’d done something terrible. Something unforgivable. Lannon didn’t quite fit the code, but his contact had begged him to take the job, and Knox owed the man one. And since it wasn’t a kill job, no harm no foul, right?

  Wrong. I made a dumb move thinking I could catch this guy. And Knox wasn’t going to do it anymore. Lannon wasn’t a saint, far from it, but he didn’t seem the type to murder an innocent. An enemy? Sure. Rumor had it that Lannon hadn’t had a problem carving up a few bodies during the years he’d been stealing shit from rich assholes. Knox didn’t give a damn. Most of the man’s targets were drug dealers and terrorists. Bad guys. Whatever. He was done. No more following the guy around and watching him make fools of idiots. Knox ignored the weird roll in his gut and headed down into the building. He didn’t like anything about this fucking job. He sure as hell didn’t like Mick Lannon with his pretty blue eyes. Slippery damned thief.

  John can go fuck himself, Knox decided. And he’d be damned if he would let a minor debt rule his decision making process anymore. He’d straight up pay John back in cash if he had to. He needed to get the hell out of this shithole little town and take on a real contract. Something clean and quick and satisfying. Something to improve his mood before he retired to that island he’d been eyeing up for the past few years.

  ****

  Three hours later…

  Knox banged on the metal door. It’d started to drizzle just as he’d pulled off the interstate, and he was damp, tired, and pissed off. “Open the fucking door, Julio!” He banged again, then wiped the wet off his face. The sun had set an hour ago, and he wanted to go the fuck home and crash. He raised his fist again, but abruptly the door swung in. “Julio, you bastard.” Knox scowled.

  Julio glared at him. “You’re late.”

  “I’m not late. I don’t have a fucking appointment.” Knox pushed past the heavily-muscled door guard. Julio might scare the newbies, but Knox had been doing this shit for a living since before the guy had figured out how to piss standing up. Nothing much scared him anymore. “Where’s John?”

  “He’s waiting to hear the details. Green room.” Julio shut the door and bolted it.

  Too fucking bad John isn’t going to like the details. Knox grunted and made his way down the dim hallway. The old apartment building didn’t look much better than it had when John had first acquired it a decade ago: cement walls, metal doors, and the faint stench of old piss greeted him. One of the lights near the stairwell was burned out. John was a cheap asshole, and it showed. “Least he could’ve done was slap some paint on the walls,” he muttered, heading for the second floor. “What a shitty landlord.” Knox took the stairs. The elevator hadn’t worked in years.

  “John. Open up.” Knox rapped his knuckles on the only clean piece of metal in the place. John had painted his door blood red, as some sort of statement. Knox despised obvious egotistical bullshit like that and he wasn’t too fond of the color red, either, so the whole thing just pissed him off even more. He rapped again. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, going from irritated to angry. Just as he closed his fist over the knob to force it, the door opened. Knox glared into John’s pockmarked face. “About time.”

  John pursed his lips. “Is it done?” He didn’t move his skinny ass away from the door, forcing Knox to linger in the hall. “You’ve got him? Where?” He looked around as if Knox was going to bring the mark here.

  Stupid fuck. “He’s not here. I’m breaking the contract.” Knox put a hand on the doorjamb, looming over the smaller man. John hated it when he did that. Knox had always been bigger and meaner, and he wasn’t afraid to twist John’s fear to his advantage.

  “What? No. No, no, fucking hell no.” John glared, brown eyes going flat with anger. “That’s unacceptable. Since when do you cop out of a job?”

  Knox lifted an eyebrow. Since when did John get all up in his face? He slid his hand down the doorframe, watching John’s gaze involuntarily snap to the side and fixate on the heavy biceps muscle hovering just over his forehead. Knox flexed his arm, making the snake tattoo wrapped around his elbow seem to hiss. “I don’t have to do a goddamn thing I don’t want to do, John,” he said casually.

  John clenched his fists, eyes going dull. “You owe me.”

  Knox grabbed John by the shirt and lifted him up and into the room. He kicked the door shut behind him and shoved the slimy little asshole up against the metal. “I’ll buy you a fucking kilo or two and that will settle things. I know how much you like to fly.”

  John kicked at him. “Bastard.”

  Knox growled and banged him against the door, not in the mood for an idiotic pissing contest. “You’ll take what I offer and you’ll be fucking grateful.”

  “I don’t do that shit. Not anymore.” John’s face turned red. “I’m clean.”

  “Clean? Yeah, right.” Knox eased him down, letting the shithead breathe again. “The Lannon job was bullshit and you know it.”

  John slumped against the door. “I need the info he’s got in his head. You’re the only one I can trust to tell me the truth.”

  Knox frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The weasel looked like he was about to stroke out and Knox hadn’t squeezed him that hard.

  John looked away.

  Knox shook him again, frustrated. “Spill. Or I might as well pop your head off right now and walk away.” He bit the words out. “Might kill you anyway, just for wasting my fucking time.”

  John swallowed. “Mick Lannon stole Tony DiLorenzo’s entire ha
ul last Thursday night.”

  “So?” Knox watched John’s skin go pasty. Interesting. “That ain’t my problem. Or yours.”

  “Wrong. It is my problem because I’m working for Tony now.”

  Knox blinked. “Wait, what? You’re working for Tony? Jesus. I knew you were dumb, but I didn’t think you were that stupid.” He let go and stepped back, barely resisting the urge to knock John’s idiot skull into the wall and cave it in. “Are you a fucking moron?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Of course you are.” He turned and kicked over the table next to the door. “You are a clueless piece of shit, John.”

  “I had no choice!” John edged away.

  “You had a good thing going here.” Knox glanced around the room, taking in the new table set up in the kitchen. Short squares of plastic were lined up like stacks of kids’ blocks, but he knew the shit inside was a hell of a lot more potent than painted wood. “You had at least a dozen of us cutting you ten percent to broker our jobs, and you went all drug dealer on us.” Knox shook his head. “You disgust me.”

  John pushed off from the door. “Oh, please. Like you’re any better? You kill people for a living, Knox! So what if I sell a few kilos of ice now and then? People die just the same in the end.”

  Knox kicked over the end table near John’s ratty old sofa, enjoying the crunch of the lamp hitting the floor. “Yeah, but your way, they die messy. You fucktard.” He grabbed John’s precious laptop and threw it across the room. The screen shattered.

  “Jesus Christ, Knox.” John rushed over to the computer, now lying in pieces on the floor. “What the fuck? You know I keep my business on that computer!”

  Knox clenched his fists, reining himself in. “The contract for Lannon is no longer my problem.” He took a step back, fingers carefully away from the piece he kept holstered under his arm for emergencies. He might want to kill the little bastard right now, but he’d regret it tomorrow. He’d known John for fifteen years and he owed him the courtesy of ending their association professionally, even if he was a motherfucking piece of shit. “And neither are you. We’re done.” He opened the door and walked out, ignoring John’s increasingly hysterical obscenities.

  “Stupid fucker got himself into a mess and he can get himself back out again without my help,” Knox muttered under his breath as he took the stairs down, two at a time. He had more than enough money stashed away. Maybe instead of retiring, he’d take a vacation instead, because clearly he still had a lot of pent-up energy that needed to get out. If he stopped taking contracts altogether, fuck only knew what he’d end up doing when he got mad the next time.

  Maybe I’ll go on a cruise, like normal people do. He snorted as he headed for the exit, imagining himself on a boat in the Keys, drinking martinis like some fat old rich guy. He shook his head, banishing the image as he walked towards the door. John’s lackey, Julio, had prudently taken himself off somewhere, out of the line of fire. Knox had always admired Julio’s sense of self-preservation. He shifted his duffel higher on his shoulder and pushed out into the rain.

  “Knox Calvin, how nice to finally meet you face to face,” a man said.

  Knox whirled, hands already reaching out, but a prick at his neck took him down before he could do a damned thing. He flailed. Someone warm and strong grabbed his wrists. “Shit,” he croaked, eyes going blurry as his feet lost their grip on the wet pavement. The hands on his forearms squeezed painfully, lowering him down.

  Mick Lannon’s face blurred as he leaned down over him. “Hello, Mr. Stalker.” He grinned, teeth white against the dark behind him.

  Shit. I’m fucked, Knox thought, watching Lannon’s cold blue eyes stare into his goddamn soul until the rain and gloom washed him into oblivion.

  Chapter Two

  Knox woke up slow and groggy, and that was the first clue he had that his situation was seriously fucked to shit. The second was when he tried to move his hands and found out that both wrists had been shackled to the wall. He was on some sort of thin bed, barracks style. No pillow. No blanket. He swallowed against the nausea swimming in his throat and forced his eyes open. Focusing didn’t work so well.

  “Ah. You’re awake.”

  Knox squinted, willing the blur to subside. When it did, he pressed his lips together to keep himself from cursing. Motherfucking Mick Lannon. Shit.

  The thief sauntered over to the bed. He looked … clean. Very, very clean with his neatly combed hair and his stupid pressed slacks and white shirt. Lannon looked like a goddamn movie star compared to how Knox felt, which was filthy to the core. His mouth tasted like death warmed over.

  “Wha- fuck you give me?” he mumbled, frustrated with his body’s inability to function. He jerked his arms, testing the cuffs on his wrists. Chain rattled, but he didn’t get anywhere. The bastard had him trussed up tight, like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “Nothing that will kill you. Nothing that won’t wear off completely in a few more minutes,” Mick said, leaning over him. His blue eyes flicked from Knox’s face, to his throat, to his knees. He didn’t look happy.

  What the fuck is he staring at? Knox curled his fingers into fists. He wished he had enough slack in the chains to grab Mick around the neck. That would end this fucked up situation real quick. He wiggled his toes in his boots. They tingled unpleasantly. Maybe he could use his legs despite the drug if he concentrated… Come on. Lean closer, pretty boy.

  “So.” Mick stood up abruptly.

  Knox didn’t bother to speak. He’d seen a killer swimming in Mick’s gaze. Talking wouldn’t do a damn thing against that kind of messed up shit in a man’s head.

  “A little birdie told me that you had your heart set on putting a slug inside my skull, and at a very high velocity, too.” Mick dragged a metal chair next to the bed and sat down. “How extremely unsporting of you.” He tapped his fingers on the chair’s arms thoughtfully. “You’re supposed to give your prey a chance to run.”

  Knox rolled his eyes. Mick knew the score, and he was talking bullshit.

  “Nothing to say? Well. That’s refreshing. Most of the people I encounter babble their damn fool heads off the moment they see my teeth.” Mick smiled.

  You’re not that scary, Knox thought. He wished he could scratch the itch under his left shoulder blade, but oh well.

  Unexpectedly, Mick leaned in and pressed the flat side of a blade to Knox’s neck. “I don’t usually kill them, you know.”

  Knox snorted before he could stop himself. Whatever. Like I care. He was more interested in the way the thief let himself get close enough for Knox to take him down. All I have to do is twist a little and my thighs will be around your broken neck. Knox didn’t move. He wanted to see what Mick would do next. And, too, his legs still weren’t working right yet.

  The thief scowled. “You don’t believe me.” He turned the tip of the knife into Knox’s skin. “That could be a problem.”

  Knox ignored the interesting sting of the metal. He ignored the itch of blood trickling down into the crook of his shoulder. Mick hadn’t hurt him yet, not really. He licked his lips, trying to ignore the heat the man gave off, and failing. And what the fuck is that smell? Coffee? No… Chocolate. Fuck. He’s been eating chocolate. What the hell? The weirdness of a knife poking at his neck alongside the sweet scent of a Valentine’s Day display was what finally set his nerves on edge.

  “So what idiot contracted you to kill me, Knox? Hmm?” Mick slid the knife down, gently pricking until it met Knox’s clavicle. “I’d say that I don’t really want to mark up this delicious smooth skin if you tell me what I want to know, but that would be a lie.” Mick smiled, showing a row of even white teeth. “I want the info. I also want to mark you up, for completely different reasons.” He sank the knife down, pushing until the slender tip hit bone.

  Knox shuddered, suddenly and inexplicably turned on. The pain from the wound was … yeah. Not that bad. More arresting than awful. His erect cock pressed against his jeans annoyingly. He growled. “Fuck off. Wasn’t a kill c
ontract.” When the words slipped out, he could’ve punched himself in the head. What happened to keeping your fucking trap shut?

  Mick leaned back, taking his blade with him. “Not a kill? Well. That’s weird.”

  Knox scowled and yanked on his chains. The shackles bit into his skin. He concentrated on twisting his hands, using the cold steel at his wrists to convince his throbbing prick that it didn’t have any interest in this situation. He’d never been particularly sexual, so this inexplicable arousal just pissed him off more. He didn’t get off on bondage. He didn’t get off on much of anything, actually. Plus, his legs had begun to tingle more, so the last of the shit Mick had given him had to be wearing off. He rattled the chains again as he flexed his toes—distraction for what he hoped to do with his unbound legs.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Mick set the flat of the blade on Knox’s cheek. “Stop twisting your arms. I need to think about your astonishing statement without you getting ahead of yourself.”

  “Fuck you, Lannon.” Knox figured he could probably knock the bastard to the floor, if only the thief moved in a bit closer. His legs were fully awake now. He snarled, pressing his face up against the knife. “Cut me. Go ahead. I don’t give a shit.”

  “But I do.” Mick smiled as he dragged the knife down Knox’s cheek. He didn’t press hard enough to wound. “I don’t want you ruining my canvas, Knox.”

  “I’m not a goddamn piece of paper.” Knox jerked the chains again. Maybe he could just yank them out of the wall.

  Lannon laughed. “Feisty. I like it. You know the chains are bolted to the stud in the wall, right? I’m not a sloppy criminal. I like to do things in order. I’ve got a process.”

  What is this, how to be a thief one-oh-one? Knox thought sardonically. He shook the chains again, just to see what Mick would do.