Indie Aisle

Killer Liaison

(Book 1 of Danger Games)

Adelaide Cooper

Published by Caffeinated Owl Press

Edited by Katie Cramer

Cover Design by Adelaide Cooper

General License Notes

No part of this document may be reproduced, retransmitted or otherwise redistributed in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without explicit written permission of the author.

Disclaimer

This is an original work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, alive or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and unintentional. The material found herein contains graphical depictions of sexually explicit situations and is intended for mature audiences only.

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Killer Liaison

Adelaide Cooper

* * *

The French doors to the balcony were wide open, the chilled evening breeze blowing in then out, making the sheer drapes dance as the sound of men moaning seeped through in waves.

A large bed took up most of the elegantly decorated room, and on the bed were two bodies. A man, lean with a lightly tanned and well-toned body, was crouched over another, moaning as his head bobbed up and down, the fat, dark cock sliding between his lips easily.

“Yeah, that’s it. Make it good, boy.”

Boy?

It was a good thing that the recumbent man couldn’t see his face, because Michael couldn’t help rolling his eyes in disgust as he did his best to relax his gag-reflex. His rent boy cover wouldn’t be very convincing if he started gagging right now.

He loved cock as much as the next gay guy, don’t get him wrong, but his target, the one that was currently trying to get at his dark hair with ugly sausage fingers… let’s just say he could do a hell of a lot better.

If only he got to pick his targets.

And, thankfully, this was only a target.

Michael spared a look at the man he’d been servicing. The large black man, from the file he was given, was a warlord from one of the war-torn regions of Africa. The fat bastard tortured and killed god knows how many innocent people, and was into drug and human trafficking, gunrunning, blood diamonds, the whole shebang. Normally, no one would bat an eye at what these warlords did—that was, until they began working with the terrorists.

Of course, no one dared to touch the bastard out in the open, which was where Michael came in.

The target had an airtight security force that traveled with him at all times, and was never left alone. Ever. Many had tried, but no one had gotten close. Until now.

What most people didn’t know was that his target had a thing for men—particularly good-looking men from high-end escort businesses. He’d come to Monte Carlo two to three times a year, stay for a week at a time, and indulge in his dirty little secret.

Michael made a sound of protest when his target grabbed a hand full of his lustrous dark hair and pulled him off of the cock he’d been sucking.

“Up,” his target ordered with accented English before tossing him a tube of lube. “I want to watch you fuck yourself on your fingers.”

That’s it—fuck this shit, Michael swore to himself as he moved up to straddle the man’s hips. He wasn’t going to wait around any longer; he had a job to do. He had no intention of really fucking the bastard anyway, so might as well get it over with, sooner rather than later.

Holding his hands behind his back pretending to obey his target’s orders, Michael slipped a specially designed jet injector out of the leather cuff he’d worn as part of his costume. The injector had been loaded with a concentrated dose of a drug that mimicked the effects of a massive heart attack.

It wasn’t his favorite method of killing a person, but it was an effective one. One that left no evidence whatsoever—not even a puncture mark. No one would know that his target had been targeted for assassination, not unless someone looked closely.

Which they wouldn’t, because he’d just done everyone a favor.

He moved up further, straddling the man’s chest and leaned forward. With a quick hand to cover his targets’ mouth, he jabbed the injector to his target’s neck, right over the jugular vein.

* * *

Michael stood at the back of the elevator, his eyes closed and not too gently knocking the back of his head against the mirrored interior.

His target had been paranoid enough to book the top floor of the hotel, with an ocean view that gave snipers no vantage points. The man was beyond careful. The only thing his target had forgotten to do—an amateur mistake, really—was to have people secure the room below.

Michael had slipped into the unoccupied room easily with a duplicate maid’s key and left his gear there for when he was done.

It hadn’t taken long for the toxin to work its magic. He feigned panic and alerted the guards, waiting for the chaos to start before slipping away unnoticed onto the balcony below, leaving no evidence behind. No one would miss him—he was just an escort who’d panicked and ran when a client had a heart attack during sex, after all.

Everything had gone according to plan, except for one tiny problem.

His cock, still mostly hard and rigid, was trapped in the dark denim he’d changed into, and it was becoming unbearable. He mentally cursed at Doyle, who insisted that he take one of his “special formula” pills, “just in case you actually have to perform,” the man said. Doyle must’ve done something to change the formulation because it had lasted a lot longer than he’d expected it to.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He needed to get off, and he needed to do it soon. He’d always preferred a warm body to his own right hand, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. Right hand it is then, Michael sighed. He wanted to kill Doyle but then he’d have to go find another tech, and the agency probably wouldn’t be too happy about that.

The elevator dinged, making him open his eyes and look forward.

Oh hell, all he needed now was people in the same metal box of doom trying to strike up a conversation. What did he do this time to piss off the man upstairs?

The doors opened and a man walked in. At least he was pleasant to look at, Michael thought to himself. His companion was about his height and similar build as he was. Short, dark blonde hair that was just long enough to run fingers through sat messily above a clean-shaven face, with a pair of grey eyes hidden behind long lashes and full lips that barely hid a smirk. The man was very good looking, and Michael really wouldn’t mind talking to him if he hadn’t been so keyed up and frustrated already.

“Man, you look like hell,” the stranger said after taking one look at him.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t want to answer the guy but it’d be impolite not to, and Michael Smith had never been known to be impolite. “Yeah, long day.”

“You look like you could use a drink. Or three.” The other man smiled and perfect pearl white teeth flashed in the harsh light of the elevator. “Come on, I’m heading to the bar myself.

Let me buy you a drink? If you’re done for the day, that is.”

Michael arched a brow and looked at the man more intently. Was this

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