Page 1 of His Trick

Many Years Ago…

People always thoughtviolence made me cold.

They were wrong.

It was fucking touch.

All their grubby hands reaching into my pants and using me like I was theirs.

Touch made my skin crawl. Always had. Always would. A stray hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing past mine at a bar, hot breath on my neck from some halfwit trying to catcall…half the time.

I didn’t even feel anger—just a complete vacancy. Like something inside me shut down to survive it, but I did what was necessary to eliminate the target and get the job done.

I hated it.

Hated how my own fucking body betrayed me.

I was a glorified dildo. It didn’t matter how many times these bitches came on my skin…I always burned. My father’s targets were as ruthless as he was, leaving marks on my body and scars that never faded, even when the bruises had.

It was always the same.

From that very first night…

Margot Hale’s mansion greeted me the same way every rich house did, quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat, but empty enough to make you feel like you didn’t fucking belong. I swallowed hard, adjusting the stuffy collar and tie I stole from my father. The reflection in the warped glass looked like a stranger.

How the fuck am I supposed to do this?It’s a chick. A woman who probably screams louder than any man I went toe-to-toe with.

C’mon Harding. Move your stupid ass. Get this done.

Dad said I didn’t have to use brute strength, but I didn’t know what the fuck he meant. Apparently, getting her wasted with the wine bottle in my grip was the first step.

“Come in, darling. It’s open!”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed through the big ass door. I moved through the hallway, checking corners and mapping exits on habit. I never just walked through the doors.

I wasn’t a welcome companion.

I was a silent stranger.

The photos on the walls showed a man who looked like a cop holding a woman, and neither looked particularly interested in getting close to the other.

Breathe.

Find the target, present the gift. Get close, and eliminate. Simple. Controlled.

Control was how I kept my shit together.

Following rituals that made me feel like I could breathe again.

I started to feel a little less shaky until she appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase, her robe tied loose around her body, her salt and pepper hair glossy, and her eyes glittering like she’d been waiting for something.

“You’re late, handsome,” she purred, her robe falling off one of her shoulders.

My jaw tightened. “Sorry. I uh…brought you a gift. Wine.”

Why did she look like my sister’s moron cat that tried backing up on my leg every month?

“Everything here is for me, Doll. Why don’t you get a glass?”