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“Oh?” Colton asked, an eyebrow cocked.

“This one should be easy for a man like you to have fun with.”

“Kind of disappointing.”

His mother sighed and then began speaking to him in their own coded language. It was a tongue passed down through their family for over a hundred and fifty years and unlike any other language. “Doka osoma baktu biser.” Translation being: “It’s some ruffian biker.” She went on in what could only be their native tongue. “They walk around with those tacky vests on, advertising who they are all of the time. Anyway, try not to get attached.”

Colton pursed his lips; it’d been three months since he’d last been tasked to take out a target. This little job may just be what he needed to get his blood pumping. “Well, you know I’m a sucker for rough riders. The details of the event?” he replied, still speaking the “Bridger Tongue”as some called it.

Even though their phones were encrypted, they still communicated in code. The good news was they weren’t on anyone’s watch list as far as they knew. Colton and his family came from old money, money made in large part by killing, but business was always good. To those who didn’t know, they were philanthropists, investors, and trust fund inheritors. Their money was in stocks and in art galleries and auction houses where they could legally launder it. They dined with the elite of society and you never contacted them directly for a job. You had to go through someone who knew someone before you even reached his mother, Helena, the head of the family.

“A million white men with half of them showing up early,” Helena said.

Colton nodded. That meant the client was willing to pay a million dollars for the job to be handled with a five hundred thousand deposit. He liked doing business with serious people.

Colton chuckled. “Your jokes aren’t as funny as you think.”

“Fine then, I’ll just send the details for your eyes only. Try not to make a mess when you see him.”

“I’ll try,” Colton said. “Later, mom.”

“Speaking of making a mess… when can I expect to see some grandbabies from you?” Helena asked in English before he could hang up.

Colton removed the cell from his ear and threw his head back, cursing to the gods. He took a deep breath before putting the phone back to his ear and responding. “You have six grandkids, mom. Nathan’s twin boys and Iris’ four. You really don’t need any from me.”

“Oh, but I do. Our family’s legacy depends on it. You’re not getting any younger.”

Colton rolled his eyes. “I’m gay.”

“Yes, I’ve been quite aware since you announced it at dinner thirty-six years ago. No excuse, gay men have children all of the time. You can have yours through a surrogate like your brother did.”

Colton had hoped he could avoid the baby talk, but his mother made sure to include it in every call and text… even adding a note in his birthday card this year. He wasn’t sure he was even father material. “Mom, I have to go.”

“I want my grandchild, Colt.”

“And I want my freedom to walk around my house naked if I want and to fuck some pretty man anywhere and at any time in my own home,” Colton shot back. He heard his mother make an unapproving noise and he smiled to himself, hoping she got the point. He couldn’t be blunter than that.

“No need to be so foul,” Helena said. “I raised you better than this.”

You raised me to kill people, but this is where you draw the line?he thought, then chuckled. “I’ll think about it. I’m not even ready.”

“You’re fifty years old.”

“And at that age, trust me, mom, I’m some boy’s Daddy.”

“Oh! My god!”

Colton laughed then, because he didn’t have to be in the same room with his mom to know she was clutching her literal pearls. “I’ll call you later, love you,” he said, taking her shocked response as his cue to get off the phone. He laughed again as he looked down at the text his mom sent of a frowning face emoji. Sending her disapproval in all its forms. He sighed and slipped his cell back into his robe pocket, then made his way to his bedroom where he found the male prostitute he’d hired for a few hours lacing up his boots.

“That shower is amazing,” the man said, then rose and walked over to Colton.

Colton didn’t need the man to tell him his shower that rained down water from four different spouts was amazing. He’d experienced it and paid handsomely for it. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said as he fished a few hundred dollar bills out of his wallet, then handed them to the man.

“Oh, a tip.” The man smiled as he plucked the bills from Colton’s fingers. “Thank you,” he said.

“The pleasure was mine,” Colton said, then gestured for the man to follow him. He led the man to the elevator and out of his penthouse condo. Running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, he thought about his next mission and not the baby his mom wanted him to have. He made his way to his office and settled down in front of the computer to check out the details his mom had sent. It was encrypted and even if the encryption was broken, it was still in code. The man’s photo was in a frame, like a portrait that was to be put on display at his gallery.

“Damn, you’re beautiful. Almost a shame to have to kill you,” Colton said to himself as he peered at the photo of an extremely handsome man. Zaire Esai looked to be in his mid-twenties, and of Indian and Filipino descent by the man’s features. Green eyes, thick, black hair, beard, sensuous mouth with full, shapely lips, and a body that wet Colt’s appetite for male flesh. Apparently, this man was responsible for the disappearance of Sean Hutchinson. The man had gone missing three years ago and was the only child of a very wealthy businessman, Lindsay Hutchinson. His target lived in Chicago, which was fortunate. He could take care of it tonight. He removed his robe and briefly checked out the tattoo of a snarling tiger on his back, fiercely drawn.