The Assassin's Enthrallment:The Confradia Assassins VI

Hello Readers, before we begin I'd like to ask that you follow if you enjoy the story, share and recommend to others. The more follows and messages I get, the quicker I post new episodes. The Assassin's Enthrallment is one of seven books that has been written. However, all Assassin books can be read as standalone, so don't feel bad if you read them out of order. The only confusion will be understanding who the background characters are that are mentioned throughout the story. You will find my social sites and website to learn more about my characters in the author's notes. Enjoy!   Chapter 1: Give love a chance? Logan   I’m not psychotic. At least I don’t think I am. I’d also like to think that I’m not the kind of man who takes pleasure in hurting people. It’s just, some people don’t deserve to live. What I mean by that is that when a man hurts an innocent without provocation, and with pleasure, he deserves a bad end, and that’s what I like about my job. I guess I’d be labeled a sociopath by a trained professional, but I don’t think I’m that either.    My Assassin, Phoenix, stops next to me and observes as our target chokes in his own fluids. Definitely not a good way to die, but still effective. Harold Douglas is a first-class scumbag. He puts on this façade that he’s a good Samaritan with a heart of gold, but the truth is that he’s a stone-cold killer. Anyone not aware of his activities would see only a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, who volunteers in homeless shelters and soup kitchens during his spare time. What the general public doesn’t know is that Mr. Douglas will give them a story about making their situation better, he’ll offer them gainful employment in one of his foreign companies, and once he has them, he’ll have his men incapacitate the person before they steal their organs. He doesn’t care if he kills them. He just wants the money he can get from them. Douglas has made millions off of these people’s unfortunate situations, but it stops now. Regrettably, for him, he has come under the Confradia’s radar. The fool decided to expand his business by selling children’s organs to rich assholes with sick kids. The Confradia frowns upon children being killed. As the East-Coast head of operations for the Confradia, I took an interest in this file and passed it on to my new Assassin, Phoenix, aka, Oliver McCall. Phoenix is a ruthless killer. He used to be part of a special operations program until he caught the Confradia’s eyes. I saw a lot of potential in him, and he has yet to disappoint me. “Man, that’s disgusting,” Phoenix mutters coldly as Douglas takes a few last breaths. Phoenix and I scoped out Douglas for weeks before we finally found a window of opportunity to kill him. The bastard was very slick, keeping people around him. It’s as if he knew he was going to meet a bad end one day. Unfortunately, he didn’t count on the fact that a good Assassin uses whatever resources he has. For example, as he was making his way home, Phoenix and I side-swiped his car and ran him off a cliff. I love L.A. All of these convenient hills and cliffs available for someone who’s looking to kill a person. Of course, Phoenix and I wanted to make sure he was dead, so we strolled down the cliff, and watched as he choked on his own blood. His men were lucky enough to die instantly. “Is he dead?” I ask Phoenix, nudging my chin in the direction of the vehicle. Phoenix sighs with exasperation before he approaches, Douglas and checks his pulse. After a second, he turns back to me and shrugs. “The fucker is dead.” “Good,” I mutter coolly. “Let’s go.” Phoenix nods and follows me to my 1969 Camaro. I had just had it delivered from Miami after I helped Jaxon take care of a problem a few weeks ago. Now, Jaxon is happily married to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. I never thought I’d see the day my best friend got married, but Jaxon surprised me. Maleah and Jaxon are as different as night and day, but they seem to fit. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t cynical about their love because, to me, love isn’t real, but they seem to be happy. I figure that after all of the things they’ve been through, they deserve to be happy. After I drop Phoenix off at his Condo, I head home. The ride back to my beach house is nice and relaxing. I’ve traveled all over the world, but there’s no place like L.A. The weather is beautiful, and everything is clean. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Only a Maleah, would make Jaxon give all of that up. As for me, there’s no way I’d let a woman lead me by the c**k. For forty years, I’ve been single, and I love it. Love is just a word used to tie someone to you in a silken chokehold. I don’t understand this need people have to be tied down to each other. To me, it’s all just smoke and mirrors. My parents are a perfect example of the mockery of love. For years, my father used my mother’s so-called love to control her until he broke her. My mother wasn’t any better either. She’d use every opportunity she could to choke us with her twisted idea of love. Every time things didn’t go her way, she’d cry or threaten to do harm to herself. Even now, she uses every opportunity to make me feel like I’ve wronged her somehow. Love is definitely not in the cards for me.       A sigh of relief escapes my lips as soon as I get home. My house is a bright two-story home with a double-height living room and an anchored indoor-outdoor fireplace. The first floor features an open concept family room, a chef's kitchen with an oversized island. There is a formal dining and living area that connects to the kitchen. The house has four bedrooms, with large windows that deliver a breathtaking view of the hills and the perfectly blue, crystal beach. My house is hidden in the canyon. There’s a beautiful pool, outdoor kitchen, and a covered pool cabana with its own fireplace in the backyard that I use for some R&R, and grilling. My golden retriever, Seph, loves running in the sand and playing in the water freely. The floors in the house are rustic oak, and the kitchen has a variety of beautiful marble and quartzite countertops. It took me years to design the house to my tastes, and I’m happy with the end results. My housekeeper, Matilda, thinks I should marry and fill the house with children. I cringe at her words, but I don’t let her know. Matilda is like a mother to me. She practically raised me. My mother was not very maternal, and my father was too busy working and womanizing to care for me full time. I was five when she became my nanny. Her two children were already full-grown, out of the house, and living in another city when she moved into our home. She’d always make sure I was tucked into bed, read to, and she’d hold my hand and care for me when I was sick. One memory that would stay with me until the day I die is how she’d call me her son and how she cried when I was sent off to live at MIT. She’d always send me packages with small letters and things I loved so I wouldn’t miss being home. When she could save enough money, she’d come and visit me. That’s why as soon as I had my own home, I convinced her to leave my parent’s house and work for me. I was going to ask her to move in with me, but I know that she’d balk at the idea. Matilda is a very proud woman. Now, Matilda’s seventy–five years old and not as spry as she used to be, so I make sure she has transportation to and from my house, and that she only works a few days a week. I try not to give her hard tasks, but she chastises me and cuffs my ears when I try to relieve her workload. When she refused to move into my house, we had words. She only conceded when we found a happy compromise. She found a small, comfortable apartment a few miles away and let me pay her rent. That was another fight, but I refused to back down on that one. It was the least I could do for the woman who gave me everything. Every Monday, Wednesday and Sunday, she’ll show up, do my laundry, cook me dinner and clean my house like clockwork. Matilda is the only human woman whom I’ve allowed inside my home. That’s why I let her scold me over not having relationships. I’m walking inside the door when the sound of booming music reaches my ears. Stiffening in alarm, I approach cautiously and reach for my gun. Matilda is not a big fan of loud music, and my mentor, Drew, is out of town for a few more weeks, which means I have an intruder. I search around in hopes of seeing Matilda, but she’s not here. It’s Sunday, which means she’s scheduled to be in. Striding carefully up the stairs, I silently make my way to my bedroom, which is not hard to do due to the volume of music coming from my bedroom. Gun held behind my back, I open the door and freeze in place. My heart stutters, and my body instantly hardens at the sight that greets me. All I see is long golden legs, a heart-shaped ass encased in very tight, ripped, jean shorts and full pert breasts beneath a nearly see-through ribbed tank top. Her dark, nearly black hair is very long and wavy, falling down her firm round ass. What hypnotizes me is the sway of her hips as she folds one of my sheets and sways to the sultry music. I still haven’t seen her face, but if it’s as spectacular as her body, I’m hooked. All thought leaves my mind at that moment. Even the fact that a beautiful woman is standing in my room whom I’ve never seen before. That doesn’t even bother me anymore. Walking close, I’m nearly a foot away from her, gazing intently at her body as she sways and lifts her hair over her head erotically. Seph, who was lying on my bed, jumps up and pads over to my side, but the girl doesn’t notice. I need to see her face. It’s a compulsion at this point. Leaning forward, I turn off the music and smirk when she whirls and gasps in surprise. I was right, her face is as beautiful as her body. Too bad that the face and body belong to a barely legal female. Disappointment like I’ve never known rushes through me. Gazing into her exotically tilted brown eyes, long lashes, pouty lips, and high cheekbones, I move my gun behind my back and tuck it inside the waistband of my pants, then cross my arms in front of my chest and gruffly ask. “Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” The girl’s eyes widen as her hair flutters around her like a silken waterfall. “I…” She visibly swallows and trembles as she gazes into my eyes. As if she’s unable to help herself, she runs her gaze over my face and body appraisingly. Her eyes soften, and her lips open with a soft gasp. “I’m… Bella. You must be Logan.” She raises her trembling hand in greeting. Ignoring her delicate hand, I take a step back and narrow my eyes. “Am I supposed to know who you are? Because let me tell you, I don’t.” I have to stifle a groan when she bites her lip and gives me a beseeching stare. “You don’t know me, but you know my grandmother, Matilda. She wasn’t feeling very well this morning, so she asked me to come here and take care of her responsibilities.” Narrowing my eyes, I take a step back and snap my fingers to keep Seph by my side. I remember Matilda mentioning her granddaughter before, and I’ve even seen childhood pictures of her, but I never thought I’d come face-to-face with her. From what I remember, she was attending Stanford University. However, I haven’t lived this long without covering my bases. “Matilda would have told me if you were coming here,” I mutter challengingly. Bella shakes her head and raises her arms up. “I know, I moved here to do my residency at L.A. Memorial a few months ago. Gran introduced me to a few of your friends, Drew and Oliver. I think you were doing business in Miami at the time. I swear I’m not lying.” Moving closer, I search her features to gauge her honesty. “Show me your ID.” I retort. She nods her head and reaches into her pocket, aware that I’m scrutinizing her moves. After a moment, she pulls out a skinny wallet from her back pocket and hands it to me. “My medical school id is there, along with my license and credit card.” Not taking my eyes off her, I take the wallet from her hands and remove her ID. Bella Arias, five feet six inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds. According to my calculations, she’s twenty-one-years-old. Jesus, she’s a baby.  “Stay right there,” I mutter evenly before I reach for my phone and dial Phoenix’s number. “What’s up, Hades?” I keep my eye on Bella while I swiftly reply. “Have you ever met Matilda’s granddaughter?” Phoenix hums in reply. “Oh yeah, she’s freaking hot. Drew and I met her a few months ago. She’s here for med school. Why do you ask?” I narrow my eyes, angry over Phoenix’s infatuated tone. I don’t know why I’m bothered that he thinks she’s beautiful, but it does. “Because there’s a girl in my house who says she’s Matilda’s granddaughter, and I need you to confirm with me who she is.” Phoenix takes a deep breath and replies. “Well, she has really long dark hair, brown eyes, and golden skin. She about average height, slim but well-built─ if you know what I mean. I would gauge that she’s about twenty years old.” I look at Bella and appraise her again. “Alright, she checks off. I’ll call you later.” I mumble and disconnect the call before he can reply. Lowering my cell phone, I extend her wallet towards her. “You know it’s rude to play loud music in a home that’s not yours?” I mutter gravely. Bella nods her head and shrugs her shoulder. “Sorry, I was just trying to liven things up while I cleaned. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” I nod my head and take a few steps back. There’s something about this girl that is throwing me warning signals. Not because I think she’s lying about who she is, but because I feel drawn to her. Jesus, she’s nineteen years younger than you. Get yourself together, Logan.  I think to myself as I gaze intently into her eyes. Time to change the subject. “Is Matilda alright?” I ask, concerned. Bella nods her head. “I checked her over. She’s just tired. Uncle Rafa has been staying with her, and he’s kind of stressing her out. He’s such a child. I told her to boot him out, but she won’t, and I can’t say anything because she’ll get mad.” I nod my head. Matilda has always babied Rafa. I’ve met the fucker several times over the years, and I’m not impressed. The guy is a first-class mooch, but he’s Matilda’s son, and I have to respect that. I’ve even lent him money a few times. “You know Gran always talks about you. It used to drive Rafa crazy with jealousy. My mom thought it was sweet.” She rolls her eyes as she turns around and picks up a stack of linen to place them on the bed. “I’m sorry about your parents,” I mutter regretfully. Bella’s parents died a couple of years ago in a car accident. I remember how destroyed Matilda was. “Your parents were very kind people.” Bella turns back to me and shifts comfortably into place. Her lips tremble, and her eyes glisten, but she quickly composes herself. “Yeah, they were wonderful people. I miss them every day. I know that Gran misses them too.” I nod my head. I had only met Bella’s parents when I was a child, but I remember Estrella, Matilda’s daughter being kind and welcoming when I was around them. Her husband was just as nice. They moved to Orlando before Bella was born, and I went off to MIT, so I never got to meet her. Bella continues to work as if I’m not in the room, which frustrates me a little because I want her to focus on me. I can’t stop staring at her and imagining bending her over the bed while I plunge my hard c**k inside her. As soon as that thought strikes me, I recoil. This is Matilda’s granddaughter, and to make things worse, she’s barely legal. f**k! Straightening my spine, I gain control and clear my face of all emotion. “Listen, Bella, Matilda is like a mother to me, so I won’t ream you out any further for infringing into my room. However, Matilda shouldn’t have let you come here. She knows that I’m peculiar about my things and that I don’t like strangers in my house. So, I’m going to ask you to please, leave my things where they are, and get the f**k out of my room.” I say a lot more rudely than I expected. There’s just something about this girl that puts my nerves on edge. Bella’s face flushes with embarrassment before she takes a step back, rests the linen on the bed, and mutters. “Wow, you’re such an ungrateful asshole. For your information, I only came because Gran was determined to come here and take care of your stuff. I had to beg her to stay, and the only way I could do it was by volunteering to come in her stead. She made me promise to follow her directions, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m sure you can deal with my presence long enough for me to finish my task and get out of your ungrateful sight.” Her chest heaves with her rage and her fists tighten as she stares me down. She’s definitely pissed, and god does it turn me on. Taking a deep breath, I shrug my shoulders, remove my suit jacket, my tie, and begin to unbutton my dress shirt. Bella’s eyes widen at my actions, but she doesn’t move. Quirking a brow, I unbutton the last button of my shirt and begin to remove it. I can see desire glowing in her eyes, and I revel in it for a moment. Not for you, my friend. The little angel on my shoulder whispers. I need to get this girl out of here before I do something I’ll regret. Opting to be rude again, I quirk a brown and toss the shirt on the ground. “Are you going to clean my house, or are you going to stand there gawking at me for the rest of the afternoon? I’m sure that’s not what Matilda asked you to do.” Bella blushes again and manages to stutter out. “I-I-I…yeah, I’m done. I’ll just…um…” She drifts off as she gazes at my bare chest, enraptured. Not to sound conceited but I’m very fit. I work out, and it shows. My chest, arms, and legs are defined, and I have a six-pack. I have a tattoo on my right pec and a happy line that leads to a package that has brought a great deal of pleasure to many women. Women have to me that I’m the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. I have dark brown hair and dark eyes with sharp cheekbones, a Roman nose, and full lips. I run my hand through my scruffy beard and consider my assets. Not bad for a forty-year-old man. Bella swallows again and stumbles towards the door when she sees my killing scowl. It’s not until she disappears out the door that I take a deep breath. This is bad.   Copyright © 2018 by Jeanette Rico All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.