One kill dark seductive.., p.1
One Kill: Dark, Seductive Romance (The Reapers Book 1), page 1
One Kill
Reapers Mafia Duet - Book 1
N.O. One
Copyright © 2023 by N.O. One
One Kill
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referred to in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design – The Pretty Little Design Co
Editing – Encompass Press Ltd
Dedication
For Maggie Day ~ 1962-2023
And for all those affected in any way by Cancer. It’s tragic and life changing, whatever the outcome.
May it go fuck itself on a rusty fish fork.
And may you all find joy in our book world <3
We love you.
Warning/Foreword
We love that you’ve picked up our books! But please, take the warning here seriously if you in any way shape or form have triggers of any kind. This duet deals with a variety of subjects, miscarriage, stillborn babies, sexual assault, lots of violence, blood and knife play, dangerous role play, stalking, parental deaths, gambling, and we think those are the main ones.
If by any chance you have a specific thing you need to know about, feel free to drop us a message on social media, email us, or visit our website—details for these at the end of the book.
For those still with us… ;)
This first book in the duet is not as heavy on the spice as the second book, but we like to make sure it all feels real and natural. We’re not about to stick a sex scene in there if the characters just aren’t doing it, ya know? That being said… it’s not exactly light on the spice!
We hope we’ve done J justice. She’s a tough cookie that’s hard to break.
But then, we do love a challenge…
Chapter One
J
There’s something to be said about having a talented tongue fucking your cunt minutes before putting a bullet through the traitor’s skull. Some might say it’s fucked up for me to play with my food—metaphorically speaking—but, those people can swivel on a rusty knife for all I care. To be honest, I’d probably get off on it…
It’s a shame I had to kill him, really. Tino was a handsome man with just the right amount of stubble on his chin, a jawline that could cut a bitch, and a body anyone with a pulse would stare at in awe. And that tongue… fuck! It wasn’t exactly an arduous task, having to get close to him at the not-a-request of the New York mafia don.
However, once that final order to take care of business came through from Marco Mancini, the aforementioned don, it didn’t matter that Tino was eating me out. He had to die. Brain matter is now splattered all over the floor of Tino’s office and there’s a little on my thigh, which I wipe off before picking up my black overalls and pulling them on.
Knowing I only have a few hours before any of his coworkers start rolling up here for work, I pull out my phone and send our usual coded text to my crew group chat.
Me: Hotdog’s ready.
Someone should be here in the next ten minutes with a van and all the supplies to get this place cleaned up before morning. When any of us are working a job—even if that job is great at giving head—I make sure there is always some form of backup close by because it never hurts to be prepared.
Being a capo of The Reapers is something I never believed could happen when I began working for Marco—the leaders of the different factions of the mafia are typically men—but the skills I possess are second to none, I’m confident in my own abilities, and when the old capo died, I stepped up. Marco didn’t even think twice about it, easily accepting me as the new leader of his cleanup crew after just six years of service. I’m now in my seventh year as The Reapers’ capo, and at twenty-nine years old, I’m aware of my unique position as the only female capo to exist.
That’s just one of the reasons I’m known as The Shadow.
Some people think I don’t really exist, that I’m just a tale told to scare them into submission. To the outside world, I’m just another member of The Reapers.
Gotta say, though, I’m a little relieved this month-long job is now over; I may know my way around motorcycles, but cars aren’t my forte. Tino’s head mechanic was beginning to get suspicious of my “qualifications” to be here, and I was beginning to get pissed off at his snarky attitude.
“The cavalry has arrived! Where do you—niiiice. Clean through the skull.” Shoo takes up all the space in the doorway as he stands and admires my handiwork. “Tab’s bringing the body bag out of the van.”
“Move your ass, Shoo. You’re a fucking mountain, you can’t stand in doorways like that.” Tab, who is almost as mountainous as Shoo, pushes through the door, covered head to toe in what can only be described as protection. He looks like someone on the hunt for aliens with the hooded coveralls protecting almost every inch of him, plastic booties over his shoes, thick blue rubber gloves on his meaty hands, and goggles that don’t fit his face.
I’d laugh, except all of this is necessary to prevent leaving any evidence of them having ever been here.
“I’ll help you get the body out, then you boys can do the cleanup. You’ve got about three hours before anyone’s due to arrive for work.” They don’t argue with me.
“Sounds good to us.” Tab unzips the body bag, bending down to begin rolling Tino’s limp body inside.
Usually, the cleaning up part is something I enjoy. The monotonous scrubbing, the strong chemical odors, the checking every detail to make sure nothing is left behind, they’re all things that help calm my frantic mind. Apparently, watching your whole family being slaughtered at the age of sixteen can really fuck a person up. It may have happened thirteen years ago, but that kinda shit sticks to you like glue.
“He’s a heavy fucker. It’d be so much more convenient if he could get up and walk himself to the van.” Shoo grunts as he lifts Tino’s feet into the bag and begins zipping it closed.
“Yeah, Shoo. Just ask the dead man to walk himself outside, blood spilling everywhere and giving us more to clean.” Tab’s serious face makes me chuckle, his brows raised as if he actually has a point.
“So the part about a dead man walking himself outside doesn’t bother you, but him bleeding everywhere and making more of a mess does?” Shoo and I laugh as Tab realizes what he said then rolls his eyes.
“Fuck you both.” He flips us the bird, using both hands, before bending to pick up the now-full body bag. I pick up the other end while Shoo pulls the door open for us, checking that all is clear for us to continue outside to the waiting black van.
The engine is running, the driver-side window open, and Fizz is behind the wheel, ready to help the guys make a quick getaway if needed. She’s been a Reaper since inception, she’s tough as fuck and her driving skills are like no other, but just like any one of us, she has her weaknesses and a helluva past. Mothering us all is her favorite thing to do, but occasionally—like tonight—she likes to go for a late-night drive.
“Hey, Fizz. I’m leaving the boys to it. Need to shower. You got this?” I know she does, but I like to be considerate occasionally.
“Of course. Go. Get yourself gone, Cap.” Her hazel eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles, shooing me away at the same time.
“I’m gone. See ya later, guys!”
Shoo and Tab wave before heading back inside the building to finish the cleanup and I move straight to my baby. My blood-red Harley. I shove my leather jacket on and wrap my black scarf around my neck before sliding on my matte-black helmet and straddling my bike. The engine rumbles between my thighs as I turn the key and she comes to life beneath me. Having a man there is the only other fun alternative to this.
Riding along the Henry Hudson Parkway in the early hours of the morning is something I’ll never tire of. To be so close yet so far from the next state over brings me comfort and pain all at the same time—something I make sure to never forget. Especially at this time of year.
For most people, February is the month for love; valentines, Cupid and his stupid fucking arrows. For me, February marks the time I lost everything.
As soon as I get home to my apartment by Bronx Park, I remove my mechanic overalls, stripping down to nothing, and jump in my shower. There were no expenses spared with my bathroom. It’s now twice the size it started out as and I don’t regret a cent of the upgrade. All totally worth it for the powerful shower and modern fixtures. Scrubbing my body clean, paying special attention to my bloody thighs, I begin to feel lighter. There’s something abou
It doesn’t take me long to dry off and braid my wet hair, then I pull out some clean black cargo pants and a black tank top, quickly getting dressed. The sun is beginning to shine through the window of my studio, so I grab my leather jacket and bike keys before heading straight back out. It’ll take me about an hour to get to Newark, and I’d like to be there to get my table before the breakfast rush begins.
I visit once a year. Same date, same diner, no matter whether I’m working a job or not. I always make time for this and the boss is well aware.
The Prudential Center and the Hockey House come into view as I ride down the side street next to the diner. I could use the nearby parking lot but I’d rather keep my baby away from people and their wide-swinging car doors.
Alma’s Diner is like a time warp. Everything inside is the same as it was twenty years ago when I would spend every Saturday morning here with my dad and my best friend, Murphy. A sharp pain tugs at my chest at the thought of Murphy, my dad, my mom, and… nope, I’ll save the emotions for later tonight when I’m holed up in my apartment alone with a bottle of bourbon. Tears aren’t something I generally allow in front of other people. They’re a sign of weakness.
“Hey, stranger!” Alma’s cheery voice is like pure nostalgia as she greets me and the smells of bacon, sausage, and egg fill my nostrils, making my mouth water.
“Hey, coffee and a full breakfast, please.” I’m polite, I smile, nod my head, but I don’t have the capacity for much else as I head over to my favorite booth in the far corner of the wood-paneled space. The seats are covered in a deep-blue faux leather, and the tables are made of the same deep wood as the walls and floor. It’s not your typical diner, but it’s by far the best one in all of New Jersey.
I know Alma isn’t offended by my behavior. She’s known me longer than any other living person, but by the way we interact, nobody would ever realize. She moves a lot slower these days, but she’d never give this place up. It’s her pride and joy, owned and run by Alma and her husband, with local kids waiting tables during the busier periods over the holidays.
Like every year, I concentrate on the task at hand. I sit in this booth, write on this same diner’s napkin, and apologize for my past sins over and over again.
“Here’s your coffee, sweetie. I’ll bring your breakfast out as soon as Hank’s finished frying up your bacon.” Alma winks as she places the huge mug of coffee in front of me before walking away and I inhale the fresh scent.
It’s hot, but not boiling. One of the perks of Alma’s coffee; always at perfect drinking temperature as soon as it’s served. None of this waiting for it to cool down crap.
A shadow that isn’t Alma’s falls over my table and I take a deep, calming breath before folding the napkin, sliding it in my back pocket, then looking up to find a young blonde girl standing there, twiddling her fingers. Confusion and something I can’t figure out crosses her features and she looks like she’s gearing up to say something.
“Spit it out, Kid. I’m trying to enjoy my coffee. Alone.” My voice is firm as I try to hide my annoyance at being interrupted.
“You’re her… Jordyn, yeah?”
Woah, nobody’s called me that since…
“I’m your daughter, Hallie.”
Chapter Two
J
“My name is Hallie.” I’m staring at this girl who is getting more and more impatient with my silence by the second. Her growing annoyance is clear in the way she punches her little fists on her hips and cocks her head to the side, giving me a look that could make grown men wilt.
“I heard you the first time, Kid. Sit down, you’re giving me a crick in my neck.”
“Well, I couldn’t tell since you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you were getting hard of hearing.” I push down my urge to chuckle at her snark. I like it but now is not the time to indulge her.
“How old do you think I am?” My gaze follows her movements as she slides into the old faux-leather seat and crosses her arms over her chest. We’re having a wild west moment as we size each other up.
“Old enough to have abandoned your daughter.” My gaze narrows, eyes turning to slits, as I try to scare her into submission.
“I’m sure you are a lovely kid.” A bit too bold for your age, but I don’t tell her that. She’s going to need all the bravado and self-confidence for her adult years. “But, I don’t have a kid and I sure as shit didn’t abandon one, and if this hypothetical kid knew anything about me, she wouldn’t dare make that kind of accusation.” Speaking through my teeth, I add a small smile to ease the sour words she now has to digest.
There’s a pause in our conversation, her brows slanting in confusion and the corners of her mouth falling with disappointment. I’m watching every detail on her face, from her hazel eyes that seem to change color with every emotion that crosses her features to her slightly upturned nose and her long, long blonde hair falling almost to her waist in thick strands.
I mean, I get it. She could definitely be my daughter… if I’d had one.
“So, your name isn’t Jordyn? And don’t lie to me. I saw the shock in your eyes when I called you that earlier.” I have to admit, her knowing my real name is a mystery. I haven’t been called that since I left my dead parents in a pool of blood and ran to Marco Mancini for help.
“It is and yes, color me surprised.” I’m trying not to make this a big deal. I don’t want to give this girl false hope.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me how I know your name?” Oh, she’s getting bolder by the second.
“Does it matter?” Fuck, I really do need to know, though.
She just shrugs like she has a secret and knows I want it.
Okay, I just need to assess the situation like any other and fix the problem. This is literally my job… assess and fix.
“Look, Kid, I know this must be hard to hear and I’m sure you did all this research that ended you up in this place…” I look around the diner. The odds of her landing in this place are slim, but hey, maybe she saw my blonde hair and thought, “Oh! That’s my long-lost mother.” Who the fuck knows? I’ve seen weirder shit in my life. “But I can assure you I’m not your mother.”
“That’s not what my dad said.” My back goes ramrod straight and my eyes quickly roam the diner once more, thinking maybe I’m being set up for something. Maybe this kid is a lure and I’m about to get a bullet in the head.
Fuck, I do not want to die in this place, on this day, of all fucking days.
I keep my calm once I take a good look around and find no plausible threats.
“And who, exactly, is your dad?” It’s my turn to lean back in the booth and cross my arms.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe she’s going to splutter some celebrity name or a dude she looked up on the internet or maybe—
“Murphy Gallagher.”
My ears are assaulted by a loud ringing, my mind swimming with reels and reels of memories flashing by as I try my damnedest not to react to the fucking nuclear bomb she just dropped on this mom-and-pop diner.
“That’s my dad. His friends call him Murph.” I can see her eyes searching my face, trying to find a reaction. She won’t because I’ve schooled my features into neutral nothingness, something I perfected before I even learned how to drive.
“He’s your age? Brown hair, brown eyes?” Her shoulders slump as her confidence dies a slow death and it’s killing me to be the one taking away her strength. “You were the love of his life.”
I don’t want to, and I fight it as hard as I can, but those last whispered words punch me in the lungs, forcing the breath I’ve been holding to rush out from between my lips.
“I knew it!”
“You don’t know shit, Kid.”
Her spirit and defiance back in full force, this kid—Hallie—sits a little taller, her chin a little higher, as her lips spread into a cocky little grin.
I haven’t heard Murph’s name in over a decade, not since I bolted from my house. I guessed he’d be pissed off that I took off without telling him but I knew I was in danger and putting him on my parents’ killer’s radar wasn’t an option. To save him, I had to become invisible. A shadow.
