Tales of Darkness & Sin - Pepper Winters Page 0,86

to ask the most notorious Bratva assassin with the telling name “Killer” to end the man I hated, when the Russians had been the reason for my family’s fall from grace in the first place.

Fear and nervous excitement fought a relentless battle in my body as the plane finally landed in Miami, the place where life could change for the better or the worse.

Would Killer be my salvation…or my doom?

Killer

Some called me a psychopath. Some said I was a heartless monster. I had been called many things in my life, and all of them were true.

Psychopath. Monster. Evil. Inhuman. Cruel. A brutal savage… I was all of that. I was people’s worst nightmare. They said if I called your name thrice… it meant I was coming for you. For your life and… your soul.

The Grim Reaper was one of my many names. Angel of Death, they’d call me. But I always preferred… KILLER. My given name and the direct meaning of who I was… and what I did.

I killed for sport; I killed for hobby… and I killed for my job.

My hands were tainted with blood and countless deaths. The cage was my home and the screams of my victim? Fucking music to my ears. A goddamn lullaby.

My phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. I paused mid-rep as I hung upside down using the pull-up bar. My muscles strained as I closed my eyes and ignored the ringtone, focusing on finishing my workout. Sweat trickled down the side of my temples as I gripped the bar tighter. I continued with my pull-ups, feeling my muscles burn and tighten with each movement.

The blood rushed to my head as I finished my second rep. The phone kept ringing and I bit back a curse. With a low growl, I released the bar and brought my legs down, landing on my feet without stumbling. I stalked toward the table and grabbed my phone, accepting the call without looking at who was calling me.

I already knew who it was.

“Took you long enough,” a nasally, annoying voice said.

“Text me the information,” I snapped. He was starting to piss me off with that attitude. I was neither his buddy nor his fucking slave.

He let out a sigh. “This job is important.”

Aren’t they all?

“They are paying good money,” he continued.

“Name. Address. Picture,” I growled into the phone. He was wasting my time and I didn’t have time for little talks with a pest like him.

He released a small chuckle, but there was a hint of nervousness in it. He was scared of me. Good. He should be.

I hung up before he could say anything else. Two seconds later, my phone pinged with a message.

My lips twitched.

My veins throbbed with fierce adrenaline.

The hunt begins…

CHAPTER ONE

Talia

From the moment I set foot in Miami yesterday, for the first time in my life outside of Italian mob territory, an almost intoxicating sense of freedom overwhelmed me. Maybe this was enemy’s land, but it felt like I’d escaped my golden cage and could take my very first flight.

I bought new clothes, way more revealing than anything I’d ever been allowed to wear at home, and set out to the bar Kazan in Wynwood, north of downtown Miami. The Kazan was situated in one of the many converted warehouses of the area. If anyone didn’t know it was Bratva owned, the majestic mural of a snarling wolf above the steel-door would have clued them in.

Nerves twisted my belly in an unrelenting grip as I entered the bar. The smell of old smoke and spilled beer hung heavily in the air. My heels clacked on the dark stone floor. Graffiti of snarling wolves, flames and Kalashnikovs adorned the walls— martial images that raised goosebumps along my skin. The bar would open in an hour, but as one of the new waitresses, I needed to be early. The attractive Russian bartender dipped his head in greeting and raised his thumb. “Better for tips.”

I flushed and gave him a small smile, realizing he was referring to my clothes. When I’d applied for the job yesterday, I’d been in my usual attire: a modest dress and flats, minimal makeup and a no-nonsense ponytail. Nothing that would fly in a bar like this. Today in my four-inch heels, mini-leather skirt and leopard-print top I fit right in. My brown hair fell in curls down my back, almost reaching my butt, and my skin felt sticky with the amount of makeup I’d plastered on my face. It