Chapter One

“Son of a bitch,” Ronin muttered, staring at the fucked-up body pinned to the green slatted chain-link fence. The entire lower half of the man was covered in blood, where his pants had been yanked down and his dick hacked off. At least, he thought that’s what happened. Wasn’t like he was going to check it out.

He didn’t want to linger but he had to verify that this man was the one he’d been contracted to eliminate. Stepping closer, he pulled on nitrile gloves to lift the asshole’s arm. A broken skull tattoo rested on the inside forearm, with a scythe sticking out of the top. The mark of a Deathman, and this one had been named Jerome Compton. In all honesty, he wasn’t surprised someone had killed this bastard. All the Deathmen had long lists of depravity attached to their names, but Jerome’s special brand of cruelty had been sodomizing his victims, and it didn’t matter if they were male or female, the very young or the very old.

Something in Compton’s mouth caught Ronin’s attention, and he pulled down on the man’s jaw. A piece of fleshy blob fell onto the street with a sick plop, and he would hazard a guess this was the missing dick.

“Ouch,” he muttered. “You really pissed someone off, didn’t you?”

Backing up, he took a photo and then turned and walked away, pulling off the gloves and sticking them into his pocket. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Mr. Emasculation as quickly as possible. Keeping to the darkness, he made his way swiftly to where he had parked.

The downtown area of the city was full of deviants, the hopeless, and those who took advantage of it all. Not many decent people ventured these streets, especially at night when all sorts of monsters walked with the shadows, and that included himself.

When he arrived at his private loft, he sat down in his office chair and uploaded the picture to his encrypted server. He sent it through an overlay network where it scattered across thousands of relays, making it impossible to be traced back to him. Ronin took all sorts of precautions so that his identity would remain unknown. For obvious reasons.

He opened a file and read the two other names on his list: Dishon Peterson and Adder Seker, two more Deathmen. Controlled by a man named Davorin, who ran this part of the city with an iron fist. Ronin had half a million riding on eliminating three men. Three scummy, contemptible men who no doubt deserved to go to hell with their dicks in their mouth.

And someone had beat him to the punchline.

Goddamnit .

He was going to have to refund a third of the money. Whoever ended Compton cost him his bounty and it pissed him the hell off. Deciding to sleep in his loft instead of going back to the clubhouse, he took a hot shower, brushed his teeth, and fell naked into bed.

The next morning, he rolled onto his back and stretched. He had work to do, so he rose and dressed, heading out a half-hour later. His first step was grabbing some coffee, needing the jolt of caffeine to fully wake up his mind. Then he headed to the apartment complex of Dishon Peterson. This was a surveillance mission and nothing more. Each time he accepted an assignment, he took his time to learn everything about his prey. Where they ate. Where they shopped. Who they were with. Their favorite pastimes. Compton had loved the fucking dive bar he’d been killed at, and often went alone after he finished whatever task his boss gave him. His watering hole of choice made him an easy target, so the question was, who lured him to his death?

Every instinct told him it had been a woman. Only pussy could make a man do something stupid like getting a fuck in a dank, smelly alley. If it had been a man, there would be signs of a struggle. Which begged the question, was this a targeted hit? Or did he happen to tangle with an ordinary woman who knew how to handle herself?

Almost as quickly as he thought of it, he dismissed that idea. He was pinned to a chain-link fence with knives. That took skill and precision, something most ordinary women didn’t know. Or stomach. Killing a person processed in a different atmosphere of the brain. Emotion had to be turned off, and that included the gag response. Hacking off a man’s dick and then stuffing it in his mouth alluded to a cool, calm, and collected individual. Not to mention, super pissed off.

He spent the rest of the day gathering pictures and making plans. As twilight fell, he got himself something to eat and went back to his loft where he printed the photos and put them up on the bulletin board link chart. With a black felt pen, he placed an X over Compton’s picture. Ronin stepped back and studied the data he had collected. Men were creatures of habit, and that was especially true with the Deathmen. They liked destruction, drinking, snorting, and fucking. Peterson frequented the underground gambling dens. Seker chose to pay for the services of very young girls. He was a greater evil, so Ronin decided Seker was going to be his next target.

Gearing up for the plan of attack, Ronin dressed all in black, placing a knife on the inside of each boot where a specially designed sheath waited. He pulled on a holster that rested under his armpit and slid his Glock in it after checking the magazine. Then he slid another gun into the holster at the back of his pants. In a duffel bag he tossed more loaded magazines, duct tape, zip ties, chains, and various other items he might need. An hour before midnight, he went hunting.

He parked several streets away from the whorehouse Seker liked to use and waited across the street. Seker would leave at midnight to finish the rounds he was supposed to be making, collecting money and shaking down the pimps. Ronin checked his watch. Twelve. Twelve ten. Quarter after.

Something was wrong. Ronin carefully and stealthily made his way to the side of the building, keeping to the darkness, and came to an abrupt halt as he saw a man lying on the ground. Making sure no one was around, he eased into the murky black to conceal himself to study the body. No doubt about it, this was Adder Seker. Exactly like Compton, his pants were around his ankle and the lower half of his body was covered in blood. When he inspected the mouth, sure enough, the man’s severed dick was stuffed in it.

Ronin stood, took a picture, and backed away, anger burning through him. His gut instinct told him this wasn’t a sanctioned hit. This was a vendetta. And whoever the fuck did this, cost him more money.

Time to stick like glue to Peterson so he could catch the asshole.