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Now, apparently, Hank had another task lined up.
The stench of inevitable conflict filled my nostrils, bringing a wolfish grin to my face. I was ready for a damned good fight.
Pissed off and ready to raise hell, I was practically begging for a fight. The Dust Devils in the compound gave me a wide berth, their nerves fraying as I strutted past.
My every move screamed dominance, my glare sharp enough to drill holes.
I made my way confidently toward Hank’s private quarters, immediately coming face-to-face with a duo of burly bodyguards. Their icy glares and clenched fists were clearly designed to intimidate, but I felt anything but fear. Instead, a rush of adrenaline mixed with sheer bravado coursed through me. My grin was rapacious.
Breaking the silence, my voice held a growl of impatience. “Where’s Hank?” The guards visibly tensed at my confrontational tone, fully aware of the whirlwind I could cause. My overall demeanor, coupled with a gaze as cold as winter itself, was a clear warning sign.
“He’s inside. Been waiting for you,” one of the guards managed to say, barely concealing the nervousness in his voice. I simply nodded, ready to face whatever Hank had in store for me.
As I pushed my way through the grand doors into Hank’s private den, my heart pounded a fierce rhythm. There he was, the man himself, reclining on his worn seat of power. He looked like the devil bathed in a haze of smoke.
His smirk broadened into a grin as he spoke. “A toast to your initiation,” he chuckled, his voice as rough as gravel. “You handled that bull like a seasoned cowboy.” Hank theatrically blew a kiss toward me, his predatory gaze challenging me to look away. The room was alive with a palpable tension.
I could take him out, along with everyone else in this damned place.
But I had a part to play.
“Been riding since I was a boy,” I replied, layering my words with an enticing blend of venom and charm.
“Good,” responded Hank, his self-satisfied grin transitioning into something genuine. “Means you can handle yourself in a fight. Just the kind of enforcer I need right now.” He settled back into his chair, deeply inhaling from his cigar, all the while maintaining eye contact.
“I’m not an enforcer. I’m a hired killer. My contract with you has an end date.”
Hank smirked at my confident words. “We’ll see.”
I paused for a moment, scanning the room for vulnerabilities. The place was like a pressure cooker, the air heavy with cigar smoke and the musky scent of perspiration. I continued. “Why the need for the bull-riding initiation?”
Hank let out a bitter laugh. “It’s all about the ride. Tells us everything. Who’s trustworthy, who’s cunning, who’s got the nerve. It’s our method of separating the men from the boys. You’re on my payroll. That makes you a Devil,” he retorted, his tone asserting ownership.
I clenched my jaw. The thought of being owned didn’t sit well with me, but I had a role to fulfill. Hank’s enemies weren’t the only rats I intended to eradicate.
“I’m my own man, Hank,” I responded, a devil-may-care smile playing on my lips. He was stepping onto my turf now, and he knew it. I was the man skilled enough, capable enough to kill. I was the one with the connections. The qualifications. The only leverage he had was information, and if he double-crossed me, I’d rip the information from his veins.
Though I preferred this easier method. “I’ve done your little initiation. Don’t mistake why I’m here.”
“Understood,” Hank grudgingly admitted, though his gaze remained unyielding.
He signaled his henchmen, who promptly exited the room. The door shut heavily behind them, leaving us in solitude.
“So what’s the job?” I demanded, my determination unwavering.
“I like your direct approach.” Hank leaned forward. “I’ve got a situation that requires your particular set of skills. You come highly recommended. Efficient, discreet, professional.”
“I deliver results,” I confirmed.
“I want to witness it for myself. People talk all the time, but I need action, Declan.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you propose?”
“Bring me a trophy,” he proposed with a wicked grin. “A head. Kill someone in this sorry ass town. Show me you can handle the dirty work. Make it clean. Make it secret. Then the job’s yours. Along with your information.”
I moved closer, confronting his challenge. “I’ve already proven myself.”
His eyes narrowed, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “You’re impressive, no doubt,” he admitted, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “But proving your worth doesn’t necessarily mean you’re the killer I need for this particular job.”
