Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Manta

Present Day

I groaned as my phone rang again. Digging it out of my pocket, I eyeballed the number then answered. "I can't do my job if you keep bothering me, Randal."

The guy was clingier than a needy ex-boyfriend.

"It's been a month, Manta. We're not paying you to sit on your ass-"

"You've only paid me half," I reminded him, my eyes following the two men as they stood up from the table and walked over to the taco truck. "I told you. I'm doing this my way."

"My clients have expectations-"

"And yet no one has managed to meet those expectations, have they Randal?" I purred into the phone. It wasn't for Randal's sake, but because the two men ordering lunch were fucking sexy. Dark hair, tattoos, boots, jeans, and most importantly, leather cuts with a Viking head on the back.

I'd found the man they called Butcher only a few days after my meeting with Randal. But I hadn't made my move yet. Instead, I was following him. Learning Butcher's habits. Biding my time. True to his word Randal had sent more of my colleagues after him in the month I'd been following Butcher around, and he'd killed them as easily as all the others. I wasn't worried that the competition would get to him first. In fact, I was enjoying the show.

He was impressive. Even I had to admit it. And his friend that was his constant shadow, Toxic, wasn't half bad either. Though, my heart only sped up when I looked at Butcher. I was pretty sure that was some kind of medical condition. But I didn't trust doctors, so I'd just have to deal with it on my own. Killing him would be a good place to start. I was finally ready. Such a shame I could only do this once.

Randal was finished sputtering into the phone so I continued, "Let me do this my way and your clients will get what they want. Stop bothering me." I hung up on his reply.

Butcher and Toxic brought their meals over to the table they'd been sitting at before. Each of them was carrying two plates per hand, piled high with an impressive amount of food.

Butcher looked up suddenly, and I ducked my head, bringing my burrito up to my mouth and taking a large bite. I moaned because damn it was just that good. I'd only gotten the thing in case I drew his attention. The guy was extremely observant and had nearly caught me stalking him multiple times. He was putting all my skills to the test. The thing that stung my ego was he didn't even know he was doing it. I was sure of that.

He must have finally told his motorcycle club that something was going on because for the last couple weeks the two of them rarely rode alone anywhere. I frowned, looking around. That fact sunk in. They rarely went anywhere alone anymore. Yet, here they were today. In public. Just the two of them. Gorging on tacos, burritos, and I was pretty sure that was an enchilada.

Why? Lifting my burrito again, I took a bite and chewed as I thought it over. This was a trap. Had to be. These two were the muscles of the operation, not the brains. No, Lockout was the head of the MC—I'd done my research—and there was no way he was going to let these two go out for a lunch date together after they'd locked everything down for the past two weeks.

When Randal had sent the majority of the assassins after Butcher, and they'd failed, he'd finally brought me in. He had only given me about a week before he resumed sending other assassins after Butcher again. They'd been dropping like flies thanks to the skills of the men in this club.

I hadn't wasted any time once they all started pitching in to help with offing my competition. I now needed to know all of them and what they were capable of. Between them, they had an impressive resume. Butcher was the main target for now. After he was gone they'd kill off the rest of his CIA team, including Toxic. But they'd made the mistake of killing two of his teammates while Butcher was still alive and jeez did he make that guy pay.

If I wasn't so emotionless I would have felt bad for the assassin who'd taken out Cliff Green and Ralph Flores. Butcher had literally ripped him to shreds once he found him, and it hadn't taken long for Butcher to track him down.

But, being an assassin meant you had to put any feelings and empathy you might have on ice. Otherwise you'd start to care and you'd burn out before you even really began. I was a professional at burying emotions. Plenty had called me a cold-hearted bitch and really they weren't wrong.

Focusing back on the scene in front of me, I wondered if any of Randal's other ‘employees' were going to fuck up today. I hoped so. It was fun watching these men work. Especially the one with the diamond tattooed on his face.

Someone would have to pour a vat of acid over my head to get me to admit that I stayed up late at night studying Butcher's folder. I explained it away as needing to know my enemy, but deep down I was woman enough to admit that the man was gorgeous. For some reason I was drawn to him. It was the reason I knew where every one of his visible tattoos were. I couldn't wait to find out if he had more.

Sighing, I shoved those thoughts aside. His life was going to be short lived and it wasn't smart to hook up with a man who had an expiration date stamped in a file. That just led to disappointment. I'd learned that the hard way when one asshole assassin had used my mark's distraction—as he was eating me out—to shoot him from behind. He could have at least waited until I was finished.

From that point on, I made it an official rule of mine not to get involved with the men I had to kill. Or the women, but I didn't swing that way so it wasn't really a worry.

Here we go.

I watched as a man snaked between the tables, getting closer to Butcher and Toxic. He was coming in behind Butcher, his knife clasped in his hand along his thigh, but it didn't take a genius to realize Toxic had already spotted him and was watching. Waiting.

"Idiot," I muttered as the man kept going. Turning my head, I searched for the guy I knew would be ready to kill any of the cameras on the buildings surrounding the area where the food truck was parked.

"There you are," I said with a grin.

Riptide was sitting on a park bench a few feet away from where the tables had been set up for the lunch rush. He had his laptop out and was hacking away at the keys with a speed that nearly made my eyes cross.

"The question is, are you going to take care of him yourself? Or with help?" I wondered out loud. I wasn't speaking loudly. The last thing I needed was for any of these men to realize I was following them. That would be a mess I didn't want to deal with.

They answered my question not long after the words escaped my lips. A man practically materialized behind the assassin. "They missed their calling," I whispered as I watched Hush wrap the assassin up in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his side.

Then again, no they hadn't, I realized. Each of them was a highly trained veteran of the military, most in special forces. They were all trained killers, just like me, even though I'd never joined the military. I wasn't much for organized sports. And that was what killing was for me. Sport. And I preferred to work alone. Just like the man they were currently dragging into a white van parked on the street.

Butcher took another bite of his taco before he stood, went to the food truck, and paid the wide eyed workers a fat stack of cash to keep their mouths shut about what just happened. As for the other patrons sitting around, all it took was a sweeping glare to get them to turn away and pretend like nothing had happened.

Uh oh.

Scorching hazel eyes met mine and paused. He frowned as he studied me, his body turning just slightly as he started my way.

Fuck.

"Let's go!" Lock called out from the street.

Like a good little trained dog, Butcher frowned over at him and course corrected. He loped over to where his motorcycle was sitting.

Don't do it. Don't do it.

I did it. Turning my head, I looked over my shoulder and met his intense gaze. Being the troublemaker I was, there was only one thing I really could do. I gave him a huge shit-eating smile.

See you later, Big Boy.