Boss (Killer of Kings #7) - Sam Crescent Page 0,3

was open so she’d still get paid. His men should have been faster.

She found being a female assassin to be an advantage, plus she didn’t have the same strict code of ethics like Killer of Kings. Graciella would have taken Robert Hayleigh’s offer of more money but she had a sore spot for assholes calling her a bitch. She would have pulled the trigger for free.

Before she stepped out into the hallway, she tugged the wavy blonde wig free and shook out her long black hair. She tucked it into her oversized purse and made her way to the elevators. The mirrored doors reflected the perfect image. That was all she was because beauty was only skin deep. She used her assets to get what she wanted, to make money, and to keep her independence. Sex was a tool in her arsenal. It meant nothing. She’d closed herself off to emotion since she was five years old. It was the last time she’d cried—the end of her innocence. For over three decades, she couldn’t remember having a good night’s sleep. Nightmares, real and remembered, made sure she’d never know peace. One thing she’d never sacrifice again was her freedom—she’d never allow herself to be a slave to any man.

They called her Widow Maker and she supposed the name fit her well. Killing paid well, and she was very, very good at it.

She blended into the evening crowd on the sidewalk as soon as she left the hotel. Graciella pulled out her cell phone and messaged her contact that the job was done. The money would be transferred into her account. She enjoyed collecting cash because it equaled security.

Once as she got her food and returned to her condo, she’d start a new contract. She needed to keep busy to avoid life. To avoid reflection.

It was only another block to La Cocina. She’d parked her car behind the business. Everything had been planned out in detail beforehand. No mistakes.

“Hey, gorgeous!” A few guys in their twenties stood in front of a club. She winked at them and kept walking. There was something about the night that made her feel free. The day belonged to the good girls, families, everyone without skeletons in their closets. Graciella existed on the fringe.

She passed a baby store, so she stopped and looked in the window of the closed store. Xavier, her brother, was going to have a baby in a couple of months. He’d found happiness, and that knowledge brought her a deep-seated sense of peace. She didn’t blame him for what happened when they were kids.

Graciella should blame her mother. Instead, she focused her anger on all the male scum that had ripped her life to shreds. A family wasn’t in the cards for her. Even a baby of her own would only ever be a fantasy, the result of a child ravaged by grown men in the most brutal way—over and over until she finally escaped as a teenager.

She pushed away the constant dark thoughts and traced a finger along the glass as she imagined the cute little outfits on her niece or nephew. Graciella had never visited Xavier since they first reconnected months ago and had no plans to. She needed to forget the past. The Graciella Moreno he knew was dead. Now she was a new woman, an assassin for hire.

By the time she got to La Cocina, her feet ached from the four-inch heels. This area was more remote, off the main street. The little family-operated take-out restaurant had become one of her favorites. Graciella loved tacos.

She picked up her order, gave a generous tip, and headed around back to her car. There were no lights in the rear, just an old dumpster and a couple of wrecked cars for parts. The food smelled delicious, and all she wanted to do was get home, shower, and eat. She set the bag and her purse in the backseat of her black Mustang Shelby, then closed the door.

A rustling caught her attention, then a knife was pressed to her throat, a beefy arm secured around her torso. “If you want to live, don’t fucking scream.”

She nodded and kept quiet.

He led her away from her car, shuffling her across the parking lot toward the dumpster. The man twirled her around, pressing her back against the cold metal. He held the knife against her with one hand as he fiddled with his belt with the other.

Not for one second did she feel fear.

“You don’t