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Hired Gun Ch. 01

By: Sweetcheekss



Sitting in a darkened corner of the parking lot at Tampa's Bayside Mall, I waited patiently for my contact to arrive. The drizzling rain beaded on my windshield, pooled, then streamed downward towards the wipers. With the weather conditions the way they were I expected Michael Whittaker to be running late. Flights from Washington D.C. to Tampa International were notorious for being delayed in rainy weather. It didn't really matter since I wasn't in any hurry.

I watched the traffic passing by on the four-lane highway, listened to Manilow on CD and smoked one cigarette after another, wishing I had a cup of coffee. I wasn't sure what kind of car Michael would be driving since it would be a rental, but I knew which parking space he'd pull into. 

A gray Ford Five-Hundred sedan cruised slowly through the parking lot, easing into the prearranged parking space, a single male driver behind the wheel. I smoked one more cigarette before driving over next to it, wanting to see if anyone suspicious might be following him. Starting the engine in my Cadillac XLR roadster, I switched on the headlights and shifted into drive.

Michael gave me a smile but looked slightly exasperated when I pulled up next to him. 

"I've been waiting for ten minutes!" He exclaimed, reaching for something on the seat next to him.

"So! I've been waiting for an hour!" I retorted. "You don't hear me bitching, do you?"

"Here!" He grumbled, handing me an overstuffed manila envelope. "It's all there!

Opening the packet, I looked inside counting ten packs of hundred dollar bills, fifty bills in each pack.

"Looks like it's all there." I affirmed.

"Trust me. It's all there." Michael assured, running his fingers through his salt-and-paper, gray-black hair. 

For a man in his early fifties, I found him quite attractive but I wasn't about to mention it to him. His ego was already twice the size it should be for a man in his position. More than just a messenger and the guy who made the pay-offs, Michael was the head of an organization called the "Predator Group". Known only to those in the organization and a few top government officials in Washington, the group's sole purpose was to extract justice on those who deserved it.

Thanks to court judges who were more concerned about jail overcrowding and manipulative, well paid attorneys, many hardened criminals were getting off with short sentences or probation. The Predator Group was formed to reduce jail overcrowding in another way, by eliminating the criminals altogether. Felons who committed the most serious of crimes were our targets, our only targets. Rapists and child molesters were dealt with in prison. They got what they deserved and no one, least of all the Predator Group, cared.

"I've got another transaction I need you to take care." Michael asserted, handing me another manila envelope. "This one's not too far from here. Longboat Key to be exact."

"Same deal?" I questioned, pulling a handful of papers from the packet.

"Fifty grand. Just like always." Michael affirmed, starting his rental car. "Call me when you've completed the transaction."

With that said, he drove off, leaving me to look over the information in the privacy of my car. Scanning over the documents and photographs, I found it was another major drug dealer who'd been caught with a kilo of cocaine but somehow managed to get off on a legal technicality. Illegal search and seizure without a proper warrant was the most common form of police mistakes. With so many legalities forced on law enforcement personnel, it was a wonder anyone was being convicted.

Stuffing the documents back into the envelope, I drove out of the parking lot, heading back towards my hotel. The rain finally stopped, making it possible to drive without having the wipers on. Rolling down my window, I rested my arm on the doorsill, then lit up another cigarette.

A neon sign "Whiskey Willies" caught my eye. Slowing, I checked out the parking lot, finding it nearly filled. Figuring it must be one of the hotter spots in town, I turned in, finding a well-lit parking space near the rear of the building. Securing the money and the documents in the trunk, I set the car's alarm and disconnected the ignition system.

Loud music resonated off the walls from the live band on stage. Allowing time for my eyes to adjust to the muted lighting, I saw an open barstool at the end of the bar.

"Double Scotch, no ice." I replied when the bartender asked what I wanted.

After giving me a second look, he went about getting my drink. At five-foot eight with short, platinum blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes, I often got second looks. More often than not, from other woman, some of whom I found quite attractive. I kept my figure in shape by exercising and jogging on a regular basis. Although I was thirty-five, I could easily pass for someone in their late twenties. Married twice but divorced only once, I still considered myself single. I had no idea where Rick, my estranged husband for the past three years was, nor did I care.

"Would you care to dance?" A handsome guy in his early thirties asked, approaching me from the right.

"Sure." I replied, giving him a soft smile.

Pulled into his arms, I barely got a good look at him. Even in high-heels, he was taller than me by a good three inches. His cologne, warmed by his body, permeated my nostrils. He smelled fantastic and his slow dancing had me pressing myself against him. Slipping my hand to the back of his head, I sifted my fingers into his thick sandy-blonde hair.

"I hope you realize how much you're turning me on." He whispered in my ear.

"I do." I murmured, feeling his hard cock pressing against my pelvis.

"Do you have this effect on most men?" He questioned, followed by a slight laugh.

"I certainly hope so." I murmured, letting my lips brush lightly over his cheek.

We danced through the next two songs, both of which were up-tempo. My new high-heels were taking their toll on my feet so I welcomed hearing the band was going to take a short break.

"Would you care to have a drink with my wife and me?" The guy asked, stunning me for a second.

"Sure, why not?" I replied, trying my best not to sound too disappointed. "Let me get my drink and my purse from the bar."

"We're sitting at that table over there." He stated, pointing to a beautiful dark-haired woman, who looked about the same age as her husband, somewhere around thirty.

I had a notion to grab my purse, toss down my drink and head for the nearest exit but something inside me told me not to. Besides, it was too early to return to my hotel, knowing I'd probably just end up watching television.

"This is Kaitlyn and I'm Justin." The guy stated when I joined them.

"Hi. I'm Amanda." I responded, daintily shaking the woman's hand.

Kaitlyn was beautiful, more so than I originally thought since I was seeing her up close. The luster of her dark brown shoulder-length hair and bright green eyes captivated my attention. Sitting at the table alongside her, I assumed she was about my height. Kaitlyn was wearing a white scoop neck top that showed off her breasts without being too flaunting. 

"Are you down her vacationing?" Kaitlyn inquired, her southern draw quite prominent.

"No, I'm afraid not." I replied. "I'm down her taking care of some personal business."

"Where from?" Justin asked with a picture perfect smile. "We're from Valdosta, Georgia."

"Oh, I know where that is." I asserted. "I'm from a little town in south central Missouri. A town you've probably never heard of."

Thankfully, neither of them asked specifically which town, since I didn't want to divulge the name of the small town I'd moved to. Keeping my anonymity was a priority in my line of work.

"We come down every few weeks....just to see what's going on." Kaitlyn disclosed, trying to keep the conversation going. "It's a four hour drive but it gets us away from the kids."

"What line of work are you in?" Justin inquired, motioning for the waitress to bring us another round of drinks..

"Oh.....you might say I'm in public relations." I stammered, almost bursting out laughing. "What about you?"

"I'm a financial advisor. Kaitlyn here teaches elementary school." Justin avowed.

"I see you're married." The woman muttered, tapping her index finger on my diamond ring.

"Sort of married." I grumbled without thinking. "We pretty much live separate lives."

"So, he isn't down here with you?" Justin assumed, grinning.

"No. Afraid not." I responded with a laugh, hoping they'd take it as a joke.

The three of us continued chatting until the band resumed playing. I danced with Justin twice before he managed to coax his wife out onto the dance floor. Kaitlyn was wearing a white leather skirt, which the hemline was just a few inches above her knees. It was snug enough to show off her fantastic figure without constricting her movements. The slow dance allowed them to talk with each other. I suspicioned I was the subject of their conversation.

An hour later, after dancing with Justin several more times, we all agreed it was time to call it a night. Kaitlyn wasn't much of a drinker, sipping on a Bloody Mary that had long grown warm.

Stepping out into the warm night air, I stopped for a second to light up a cigarette. Justin put his arm around Kaitlyn, pulling her in close. 

"Amanda, would you care to join us for one last drink?" Justin inquired, reaching for my hand. "Perhaps in our hotel room."

Looking first at Kaitlyn, I saw she had a look on her face that I'd hopefully agree. Justin had pretty much the same look.

"Sure, why not?" I replied. "Where're you staying?"

Their hotel, a Radisson Inn, was right off I-75 across town. Mine was a lot closer but I wasn't about to invite them there. Besides, I felt the couple wanted the "home field advantage" if things progressed like I thought they might.

Following the couple's SUV, we made the journey in about thirty minutes. Parking next to them in the well-lit parking garage, I joined the attractive couple for a quick elevator ride up to their hotel suite. Kaitlyn seemed a little nervous, more so when we entered their room.

"I've got beer and red wine in the refrigerator." Justin stated. "I've also got Bourbon if you'd prefer something stronger."

"Beer's fine." I responded, setting my purse down next to the couch.

"I....I think I've had enough." Kaitlyn stammered, setting her purse down on the counter at the wet bar.

We stood their waiting momentarily for Justin to join us. Handing me a glass of cold beer, I took a sip before sitting it down on the coffee table. Justin chose a chair across from the couch, leaving Kaitlyn and me to share the couch. Sitting at the end, I sat right next to her.

"My wife finds you very, very attractive." Justin remarked. "I hope that doesn't alarm you."

"No, not at all." I responded, sliding my left arm onto the back of the couch behind her. "I've been wanting to tell Kaitlyn just how seductive I thought she was."

My compliment did little to relax the woman. If anything, Kaitlyn seemed more nervous than ever. She clasped her hands together, placing them in her lap, avoiding looking my way.

Kicking off my high heels, I curled my feet up on the couch. I suspected it was more Kaitlyn than Justin who really had a sexual attraction to me. Sensing they both were a little hesitant to say another word, I decided to press a few buttons.

Placing my index finger below Kaitlyn's chin, I turned it gently towards me. My lips brushed lightly over hers, giving her the opportunity to pull away. But she didn't, allowing me to press my lips to hers for a soft kiss that I prolonged for several moments. Placing my hand over hers, I felt her tensions subsiding.

"I've wanted to do that for hours." I murmured, my lips mere inches from hers.

Kaitlyn barely nodded her head, her eyes fixated onto mine. Looking over at the woman's husband I found Justin leaning forward in his chair, anxious to see what I was going to do next.

"Would you like your husband to watch while I seduce you?" I asked in a whisper.

"Hmmmm." Was her only response, her eyes still focused on mine.

I kissed her again, this time with more passion, grinding my lips into hers. She was succumbing to my seduction, not objecting in the least to my advances. My hand slipped beneath the hem of her white leather skirt, causing the woman to flinch. Not moving my hand any further, I let her get used to my touch.

Kaitlyn's bright green eyes were barely open, the back of her head resting against my arm. Justin was sitting at the edge of his chair, his eyes focused intently on what I was doing.

"Justin, why don't you pull the covers off the bed?" I suggested, nodding towards the two queen-size beds. "Then slip out of your clothes so I can see just how handsome you really are."

Justin rose from his chair like a shot, racing towards one of the beds. Pulling the comforter off one of the beds, he let it pile on the floor. 

Unbuttoning his shirt, he watched as I slid my hand higher, gently squeezing his wife's leg.

With Justin stripped down to his black briefs, I took a moment to look over his masculine form. He wasn't muscular by any means but his build was athletic.

"Your husbands quite a man." I whispered in Kaitlyn's ear, nibbling at the lobe. "Is it ok with you if we let him watch?"

"Hmmmm." She murmured, barely moving her lips.

Rising from the couch, I pulled Kaitlyn to her feet. Leading her over to her husband, I positioned the woman directly in front of him. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, his cock bulging against the constraints of his briefs.

Standing behind Kaitlyn, I put my hands to her waist, pulling her top free of her skirt. Brushing her shoulder-length hair to the side, I placed warm, moist kisses at the back of her neck, heightening her desires even more. I could feel her body vibrating and the heat radiating from her inner core.

Tossing her top on the other bed, I kissed slowly down her spine, at the same time sliding the zipper down at the back of her leather skirt. The lower I kissed the more Kaitlyn arched her back, savoring the touch of my lips on her soft flesh. Pushing the skirt down over the woman's hips, I held onto it with one hand, steadying her with the other. Kaitlyn stepped out of the skirt, allowing me to toss it next to her top. 

Standing in front of me, facing her husband, I took a moment to let my eyes soak in her tight butt and sculptured legs. Wearing a white, lacy half-cup bra that clasped in the front and a filmy white thong, she looked drop-dead gorgeous! 

Justin was rubbing his hard cock through the cotton material of his briefs, obviously more than just a little excited.

Putting my arms around the woman, I licked the back of her ear, pulling her back against me. Kaitlyn was purring, her body still vibrating. I rubbed gently over her flat tummy, raising my hand slowly to the clasp at the front of her bra. I prolonged the moment, seeing her husband was enjoying every move I made. Brushing the tips of my fingernails over the exposed portion of the woman's firm breasts, I had her close to cumming already.

"Amanda." Kaitlyn muttered, repeating my name twice more.

I sprung the clasp on her bra, revealing her perfectly shaped breasts. Her nipples were already hard and erect, begging for me to touch them. Tweaking them with my long fingernails made her legs start to buckle. I held onto her, pulling her weight back onto me. Firmly in my embrace, I continued teasing each nipple, tweaking them harder and harder. 

"OH! OH! GOD!" Kaitlyn moaned in a raspy voice. "OHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDDDD!"

Kaitlyn experienced an orgasm that rippled through her entire body. Grasping my wrists, her legs began to tremble. I feared I wasn't going to be able to support her. Justin's mouth dropped open, his hand clutching his cock.

It took all of my strength to subdue her until the orgasm finally waned. Both of us were out of breath, more so Kaitlyn than myself.

Justin's eyes followed my right hand sliding downward, brushing over the front of his wife's thong panties. The filmy material was saturated with her juices, moistening my fingers. Extending my hand towards Justin, I plunged my fingers between his lips, wanting him to savor the tangy fluid.

Kaitlyn was in a dream state, her body in my absolute control. Sliding my hand to the small of her back, I jerked hard on the thong, ripping the strings at both sides. Justin stared directly at his wife's clean shaven pussy. His tongue, barely visible, licked his lips, eyeing the juices coating her pubic mound.

"Lay her down on the bed while I get ready." I commanded, disrupting his lustful thoughts.

Justin took his wife from my arms, laying her gently in the center of the bed. By the time he looked my way, I was practically naked. Wearing nothing but white bikini-cut panties, I approached the bed. Justin shoved his black briefs down his legs, kicking them away.

Reaching up, I put my arms around his neck, pulling him close to me. I crushed my lips to his; giving him a kiss he'll never forget. Knowing he wanted to fuck me instead of his wife, I pushed him back.

"Let's take care of Kaitlyn first." I asserted. "Then we'll have all night to take care of you."

"Yeah! Yeah!" Justin agreed.

Climbing onto the bed with his wife, I saw she was wide awake and alert. A smile formed on Kaitlyn's pretty face. Leaning down, I kissed her lovingly. Her arms willingly pulled me into her embrace. 

"That was wonderful." She murmured. "I never thought making love to another woman could be like that."

I let my lips doing the talking for me. Gently cupping her breasts, I flicked my tongue over each nipple bringing them to erection once again. I felt Kaitlyn's inner most desires starting to rise once more. I wanted our night together to be one of her most memorable sexcapades. I took my time, brushing my fingernails over her breasts and tummy, putting her at ease and prolonging our intimacies. Kissing the soft skin at her tummy, I slowly worked my way down to her pussy. Justin was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking it all in, his cock still hard as a rock.

I tried to spread Kaitlyn's legs apart but she seemed hesitant to let me. Her leg muscles tensed, blocking my attempt.

"Open your legs for me, Kaitlyn." I murmured. "Let me taste that sweet pussy of yours."

My words were all it took to ease her fears. Kaitlyn spread her legs, allowing me to position them where I wanted. I rubbed her legs, easing the tensed muscles. It seemed to help but I wasn't sure just how much.

Starting at the knee of her right leg, I kissed and licked her flesh, slowly working my way towards her wanton pussy. Kaitlyn's fingers gripped the soft cotton sheets, digging into them. My tongue barely touched her pubic mound but it was enough to make her arch her back, lifting her butt up off the bed. I made a grab for the woman, wrapping my arms around her legs and pulling her back down.

With my arms locking her to me, I slithered my tongue inside her pussy, zealously swirling it around.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!" Kaitlyn screamed. "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

An incredible orgasm consumed her like a ravenous animal consumes its prey. The woman bucked and gyrated, almost breaking free of my grasp. Having her so consumed in sexual bliss, I kept prolonging the orgasm. Clasping my lips on her sensitive clit, I sucked on it, vibrating the nub with my tongue. 

"FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" Kaitlyn cried out. "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Thick cum flowed from her pussy onto my tongue. I lapped it up like a kitten lapping up cream.

Kaitlyn's entire body quivered, devoured by the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced. I held onto her until her body went limp. She was barely conscious but aware that I was gently stroking her body. Using all of her strength, she reached out for my hand, entwining our fingers.


Hired Gun Ch. 01



"I think she's had enough." I murmured to Justin with a grin. "At least for now."

"Whew!" Justin responded, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "I've never seen her cum so hard and so much!"

Clambering off the bed, I took a moment to get my bearings. All I wanted was a cold beer and a cigarette. With both in hand, I sat on the bed across from Kaitlyn. Facing me, her eyes were barely open. She had a happy and satisfied expression on her beautiful face.

Finishing the cigarette and drinking the last of the cold beer, I moved over next to Justin. He was more than ready to have sex with me. As a lover he wasn't bad but his stamina needed some work. He managed to get me off during oral sex but fucking his cock in and out me like a madman didn't do all that much for me. Still, I was satisfied as were Justin and Kaitlyn.

I slept with Kaitlyn warmly snuggled in my arms through most of the night. Waking before either one of them, I grabbed a quick shower and got dressed while I had the chance. After putting on a pot of coffee in the small kitchenette, I switched on the TV to get the latest news and weather report.

Justin was the next to waken, jumping in the shower after downing a quick cup of coffee. Kaitlyn was slow waking up. Her hair was mussed but she still looked beautiful. We chatted for awhile before I had to leave. I gave each of them a kiss, knowing I'd never see them again.

Longboat Key, a coastal resort town on the Gulf, was only an hour's drive away. After stopping at my hotel, changing clothes and checking out, I was on my way. I wanted to see the town during the day so I could get the lay of the streets in case something went wrong and I had to make a fast getaway. Getting lost was the last thing I wanted to have happen in a critical situation.

Sitting in a parking area along the beach, I reviewed the information I had on my next target.

Thaddeus Combs, a major drug dealer, wasn't a man to be taken lightly. A large black man, his build was described as six foot, five and weight around three-eighty. His last known address dated back to 2001 so I wanted to check that out first. If I could set up close enough to get off a shot with a high powered rifle I go that way. If not, I'd have to be lucky enough to pick him up while he was driving, then pull alongside him and hope my aim was accurate enough to snuff out his life.

Running Combs' last known address on my laptop computer, I was given directions from my current location. It was a rundown area of town along the intercostals waterway. Old buildings, mostly sheet metal fabrications, lined both sides of the street. My Cadillac XLR stood out like a sore thumb. Finding the address, it was just as I suspected it would be, only worse. The building was in the process of being torn down.

The information I had, mentioned a favorite hangout of Combs, a sports bar he was known to frequent on a regular basis. Located in a commercial area in Longboat Key, I decided to search it out. Playing detective wasn't one of my best traits but I was getting better at it.

Lannigan's Pub was an old concrete block structure, situated amongst a string of used car lots, two blocks parallel with the main highway through town. Right now, it was about all I had to go on. 

Checking in at one of the less expensive hotels, I paid for three nights, hoping I wouldn't have to use them all. Sleeping during the afternoon and early evening, I parked in a used car lot adjacent to the sports bar after dark.

I was looking for a white, late model Lincoln Navigator with custom spinner wheels on it. I hoped that bit of information was up to date, having doubts that it was. 3:00am rolled around with no sign of Combs or a while Navigator so I returned to my hotel after stopping off for an early breakfast.

The second night, I had high hopes my luck would change but it didn't. It was frustrating not knowing if I was wasting my time or not. Whoever coined the phrase, "Patience is a Virtue", never packed a Glock stainless steel forty-five with a quick-detach Brunson silencer!

The third night, I eased my XLR into the used car lot, parking between two old pickup trucks. Spotting the white Lincoln Navigator parked halfway down the side of the building, set my heart pounding. I checked my forty-five, making sure the ten round magazine was locked in and the safety was off.

I sat there for almost two hours, viewing everyone who exited the bar through my night vision binoculars. I was getting antsy waiting but that's part of the game. I just hoped I'd be able to pull out when Combs did and stay with him until I could pull alongside him. Hopefully, he'd be alone.

Snuffing out the last cigarette I had with me, I saw a huge black man come out of the bar, dragging a young woman by the arm. Starting my car, I gripped the shift lever, ready to pull it into drive. I knew I'd have to take them both out, not wanting to leave behind any witnesses.

Combs grabbed the young woman by the hair, smashing her head against the rear window of his SUV. Spinning the woman around, he slugged her with his fist, knocking her out. But he wasn't finished. The huge man, built like a linebacker, began kicking the woman in the stomach.

"GO! GO NOW!" My brain commanded me.

Reaching for the Glock forty-five, I leaped from my car and rushed towards the couple. Combs heard me running towards him but he didn't see the gun I had behind my back.

"WHATTA YOU WANT, BITCH!" Combs shouted, pulling a switchblade knife out of his pocket. "YOU WANT ME TO SLIT YOUR WHITE ASS OPEN?"

My only answer was pulling the gun from behind me and pointing it right at his head. Standing ten foot away from the man, I squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. The bullets passed through the silencer, barely emitting a spitting sound. The first shot hit Combs in the throat, passing through his neck, then hitting the SUV. The second shot hit him in the forehead. The third struck the man right on his nose, blowing the appendage off.

Combs stood, not falling to the ground. I pumped three more shots into him, hitting his heart and lungs. He fell straight backwards like a sack of concrete falling off the back of a pickup. Blood smears coated the back quarter of the Lincoln Navigator. 

Although the young black woman he'd been beating on was probably unconscious through the whole thing. I couldn't take any chances. I had four rounds left in the clip so I pumped two into the back of her head. 

"Sometimes the innocent pay for the crimes of the guilty!" I remember Michael Whittaker saying. This was one of those times.

Sending Thaddeus Combs and his lady friend to the morgue for processing had taken less than sixty seconds. Setting him up had taken three days. At fifty-thousand dollars a hit, I was making damn good money!

Rushing back to my car, I shifted into drive and pulled out into the late evening traffic.

"Now's a helluva time to be out of cigarettes!" I thought. "Just when I could use one the most!"

I drove north, catching the bypass over to Interstate 75. My need for a cigarette and a cup of coffee was getting the better of me. Approaching the intersection of Highway 52, I pulled off at a convenience store to satisfy me needs. 

I filled a large cup with coffee, adding one cream before putting the lid on it.

"Let me take care of that for you." A male voice spoke up.

Turning to face the guy, I saw he was wearing a Florida State Trooper's uniform.

"Thanks." I responded with a pleasant smile. "I appreciate your offer."

I waited while the officer fixed himself a cup of coffee, admiring his masculine appearance. He was strikingly handsome for a man in his late forties.

"Three packs of Camel Light 100's." I ordered after the state trooper paid for our coffee.

"I'm sure you're aware those things are bad for your health." He laughed, watching me stuff them into my purse.

"Yeah but we're all gonna die someday." I laughed. "I just wanna die happy."

The trooper had parked right next to my car, along the side of the building. Setting our coffees on the hood of his patrol car, I proceeded to light up a cigarette, surprised he was also lighting one up.

"Don't say it!" He laughed. "I keep promising myself I'm gonna quit!"

The two of us chatted for awhile, interrupted only by the calls coming over his radio. I never heard a word about a shooting in Longboat Key and the trooper never mentioned it. Saying our good-byes, I thanked him again for the coffee, reminding him to be careful.

Back on the interstate, I headed north. Driving towards Georgia, then into Tennessee, I'd pick up Interstate 24 and wind my way home to Stoneridge, Missouri. It was a twelve-hundred mile trip, one that I wouldn't try making without a layover.

Passing by Valdosta, Georgia I wondered how Justin and Kaitlyn were doing. I was sure they'd always remember our night together. I knew I'd never forget it.

Reaching the Music City, I pulled into a hotel just off Interstate 24. I still had another five-hundred miles to drive but I needed a good night's sleep more than I needed to cover the miles.

It was mid-afternoon the following day when I arrived in Stoneridge, Missouri. A small community in south central Stone County, it was located within a few miles of Table Rock Lake. Rolling hills surrounded the town, contributing to its picturesque scenery. With a population of just a few hundred people, the community was perfect for someone in my line of work.

I'd purchased a small farm that was overgrown with weeds. The dilapidated two-story Victorian style home, which I'd hoped to restore, proved too costly to renovate. I had it torn down, replaced with a new home that mirrored the original dwelling. The three bedroom, two bath home with nearly two-thousand square feet of living space was more than I needed but I considered it a sound investment. Situated on eighty acres, the house and property would greatly appreciate in value over time.

The gravel driveway, which I opted to keep in lieu of concrete or asphalt, led past the house to a new stable facility I had constructed. The two-story barn with five stalls and a tack room had ample room overhead for hay and straw. 

Ever since I can remember I was always fascinated with horses. My father would often take me out to a stables west of Philadelphia where you could rent horses by the hour. He didn't care for riding himself but he loved to see me enjoying it. I even took riding lessons to improve my skill level. Although I never owned a horse when I was young, I never gave up on having one....or maybe a stable full!

I spent my first day back recuperating from the trip to Florida. I needed to unwind and catch up on some sleep before rebuilding my physical strength. For some strange reason, I dreamt about the erotic evening with the couple from Georgia, reliving every moment.

Early the following morning, I awoke to the sounds of the construction crew replacing the last of the field fence and stringing the barbwire. It was the last improvement I'd have to make to the farm. I was glad to see if finally getting done so I could proceed with my plans to buy a horse. 

I didn't know as much about horses as I would have liked to. I'd read several books from cover to cover so I wasn't a complete novice but I was still far from knowing as much as I should. Still, I wasn't about to give up but I had some reluctances.

Being gone for days and sometimes weeks at a time added to my reluctancy. Horses needed caring for on an almost daily basis. I couldn't stand the thought of knowing they were neglected if I wasn't there to look after them.

I thought about posting an ad at the local convenience store in town and maybe a few other places in hopes of finding someone qualified to care for my horses while I was away. I hoped to find someone locally that was trustworthy and dependable. It was a wild idea at best but it was better than no idea at all.

I spent hours trying to phrase the posting, carefully selecting words that might attract the right person. The words "stable boy" sounded too demeaning so I replaced it with "ranch hand" which sounded a little better. After making several copies of the posting I drove into town.

Lowery's General Store on Highway 13 at the north edge of town was my first stop. The single story pole barn building, offered gas and diesel fuel, convenience store items and a limited selection of groceries. It was also the favorite hangout for some of the community's senior citizens who often played cards at a table in one corner of the store.

Walter Lowery owned the store with his wife, Catherine. Both were extremely nice, going out of their way to be friendly and congenial to all their customers. Catherine was restocking one of the coolers when I entered the store. Her husband was busy, chatting on the phone. 

"Hi." I said, approaching the middle-aged woman. "I was wondering if you'd allow me to put up a posting on your bulletin board."

"Sure! Sure!" She replied, smiling from ear to ear. "What're you selling?"

"I'm not selling anything." I responded, returning her smile. "I'm looking for someone who can look after horses for me."

"A stable boy?" Catherine questioned.

"Well....not a stable boy exactly." I stammered. "I was thinking more along the lines of a ranch hand."

"Ain't no difference, Missy!" One of the elderly men playing cards shouted out, overhearing our conversation. "Horse manure's, horse manure, no matter how you spell it!"

"Pay no attention to them!" Catherine laughed. "They're all full of horse manure!"

"What's it pay?" Another of the elderly card players asked, tapping his cane on the wood floor to get my attention.

"Well....I was thinking somewhere around ten to twelve dollars an hour." I stuttered, hoping he wasn't thinking of applying for the job himself.

"I gotta grandson who might be interested." The man asserted, motioning me over. "He's damn good with animals, especially horses."

"You mean Trace?" Another of the card players chimed in. "Thought he was working for the vet over in Branson?"

"He is but it's only part-time." The first man responded. "He's always looking to pick up some extra money."

"You interested?" He continued, looking me up and down.

"Yeah. Sure." I replied. "How can I get in touch with him?"

Reaching inside the pocket of his checkered shirt, he took out a cell phone.

"His phone number's in my address book." He stated, handing me the phone. "Just click on his name and it'll dial the number for ya."

"What's his name again?" I asked.

"Trace! Trace McCall!" The elderly man shouted, hooking his cane on the edge of the table.

Finding the guy's name, I clicked on it. The phone rang several times before anyone answered. I could hear dogs barking in the background so I assumed he was at work. I didn't want to take up his time, sensing his employer might not like it, so I briefly explained what I was looking for.

The young man asked several questions, perceiving I was a novice around horses. Surprisingly, he never inquired as to what the job paid. I wasn't sure if he was really interested or not until he suggested setting up a meeting to discuss the job in person. I didn't hesitate giving him my address after agreeing to meet with him at evening.

"Sounds like he's interested!" The man's grandfather exclaimed when I handed him back the cell phone. 

"Let's hope so." I responded, gently squeezing his shoulder.

Returning to the farm, I started jotting down questions I thought I should ask. Never having conducted an interview before I wasn't exactly sure what I should and shouldn't ask.

Around 5:00pm I grabbed a shower and got dressed, preparing for my meeting with the prospective ranch hand. Wearing a dressy blouse and western style dress slacks, which I loved the cut and fit, I decided to wear high-heels to give myself a more professional appearance. Trying on several pairs of earrings to compliment my outfit, I settled for a turquoise feathered pair that dangled from my lobes. After checking myself in the full-length bedroom mirror I returned to the livingroom to once again review my list of questions.

Around 6:30pm I heard a pickup pull into the driveway, its brakes lightly squealing when it stopped at the side of the house. Primping my hair one last time, I walked nervously to the front door, stepping out on the porch.

"Are you the lady I talked with on the phone?" A handsome young man asked, removing his western style hat.

"Yes. Amanda Douglas." I responded, extending my hand. 

"Trace McCall." He asserted, clasping my hand firmly in his. "Glad to meet you."

"Is that your stable facility?" Trace asked before I could say anything.

"A....yeah." I stammered, soaking in the sight of him. "Would you like to take a look at it?"

Trace nodded his head, putting his hat back on. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. I was terrible at guessing ages but I definitely knew handsome when I saw it and Trace was quite a handsome young man. Taller than me by a few inches, he looked to have a strong build without being overly muscular. His broad shoulders and slender waist, accentuated by his western attire, gave him the rugged look of a cowboy. His dark hair, thick and lustrous and steely blue eyes complimented the small cleft in his chin. 

I soon realized the high-heels weren't such a good idea. Walking on the loose gravel, I had to be careful of my footing. Walking close to Trace, my arm accidentally brushed against his several times.

"You really oughta consider boots." Trace suggested with a grin. "Or shoes with a flat heel."

"I'm used to wearing high-heels." I responded. "Flat heels hurt my feet."

Standing inside the new stable facility, I let the young man check out the stalls and tack room while I stood back and watched. His snug fitting denim jeans hugged his cute butt perfectly. 

"How many bales can you store overhead?" He asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Oh....a....I'm not sure." I stuttered. "Quite a few I guess."

Traced snickered at my answer, deciding to climb the ladder and have a look for himself. I glimpsed at his butt, being careful that he didn't catch me. 

"Oh yeah!" Trace exclaimed, his eyes scanning over the second floor. "You've got gobs of storage. Course it depends on how many horses you're planning on having."

"I'm not sure." I asserted. "I've got room enough for five."

Trace sensed right off I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing. He asked one question after another, not allowing me enough time to answer any of them. What kind of horses was I planning on having? Was I planning on showing the horses or putting them in competition like calf roping, team penning or cutting? Did I have a horse trailer and a decent truck to pull it with? How many hours did I want him to work? His questioning went on and on until I quit listening to him. 

"Maybe I should think things over for a few days!" I exclaimed, interrupting his constant questioning. 

"That's up to you." Trace asserted. "You've got my phone number in case you wanna talk some more."

"No. No, I don't." I replied. "I used your grandfather's cell phone to call you. I didn't bother to write down your number."

Taking a slip of paper from the glove box in his pickup, he jotted down the number.

"I'm glad we at least got to talk." Trace affirmed, shaking my hand.

"I'm sorry I wasn't better prepared." I muttered, clenching his hand tightly.

I suspicioned Trace wasn't all that anxious to leave. As for me, I didn't want to see him leave either.

"Would you like something to drink before you go?" I questioned, hoping he'd say yes.

"Sounds good." The young man responded. "A soft drink or coffee's fine with me."

"I'll put on some coffee!" I stated, elated that he'd accepted my offer. "I'm dying for a cup myself."




Hired Gun Ch. 01



The two of us stood in the kitchen watching the coffeemaker and chatting about horses. The more he spoke the more I realized how ill-prepared I was. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted but Trace was tossing out suggestions that made me aware of more options.

"Maybe I should have built a bigger stable!" I jested, interrupting him. "Five horses may not be enough."

"Well, you've got room to add on if you decide to." Trace responded, sipping his coffee. "And, you've got plenty of pasture for grazing."

We talked for another hour or so, putting our ideas together on paper. I realized that owning horses and everything that went along with them wasn't going to be cheap. But money didn't matter as long as I was happy.

"We haven't talked about your pay." I reminded him. "I'm not sure what a fair wage would be."

"That depends on how many hours you'd want to work." Trace asserted. "And, if you'd need me every day."

"Well, I travel a lot so I'd be gone for several days at a time, maybe as long as a couple of weeks." I divulged. "I'd wanna make it worth your time seeing you have to drive all the way from Branson."

"Branson's only fifteen miles from here. But I live in Lakeview." Trace disclosed. "It's just up the road a few miles."

"Oh, that's good!" I exclaimed, allowing my excitement to show. "You'll be close by then."

"Yeah....real close." Trace muttered, leaning into me.

His lips were mere inches from mine, our eyes locking onto each other's. Trace's lips pressed softly against mine, stoking the smoldering embers of my desires. Our kiss lasted for several moments, neither of us wanting it to end. I wanted Trace more than I ever wanted any man.

I wasn't sure what to do next so I let Trace take matters into his own hands. Without saying a word, he led me upstairs. Waiting for me to point out the master bedroom, I nodded my head towards the last room at the front of the house.

Warmly embraced in his strong arms, our lips pressed once again for a passionate kiss that raised my body heat. Grinding our lips together, I felt his hard cock pressing against me through the heavy denim material of his jeans. Trace's hands slipped downward, giving my butt a squeeze.

We practically tore our clothes off, tossing them about the bedroom. Trace didn't give me enough time to finish undressing. Kicking off his boxers, he scooped me up, tossing me on the bed. I still had my bra and panties on but not for long. Trace's deft fingers unhooked my bra, tossing the garment across the room. Ripping my panties off, he tossed them aside.

"Sorry about that." He murmured, grinning. "I'll make it up to you."

Our bodies crushed together, my teeth sinking into his lips until I drew blood. I grabbed for Trace's long, thick cock but he pushed my hand away, making me wait until he was ready.

Pinning my wrists above my head, Trace nibbled at my ears, which drove my senses crazy. Arching my back, I tried to throw him off but it was useless. He was in control and I loved it!

Kissing me along the neck, his moist lips brushed downward over my heaving breasts, taunting my hard nipples. Suckling lightly on each one, he flicked his tongue over each nub until I let myself cum.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" I screamed out, the sensuous rippling passing through my body.

I felt Trace's hard cock vibrating against my tummy, then down over my pubic mound.

"PLEASE! FUCK ME NOW!" I begged. "FUCK ME HARD!"

My pleading fell on deaf ears. Trace wasn't about to concede to my desires until he was damn good and ready. His tongue licked at my pussy, tasting my juices that flowed freely. Again, I arched my back but that only made Trace grasp my hips tighter. I came the instant his tongue snaked inside my pussy, grabbing his hair and pulling his face hard into me. 

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! GODDDDDDDDDDDD!" I cried. "STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!"

The astonishing orgasm zapped all of my strength, seeming like it was never going to end. Trace's tongue manipulated my clit, prolonging my sexual bliss. Grabbing the comforter, I dug my fingernails into it until the orgasm finally faded into memory.

Trace picked up my limp form like it was nothing. His strong hands cupped my ass, raising me high enough until my pussy was touching the head of his cock. Slowly, he lowered me onto the steel shaft, savoring the feel of my pussy sheathing his thick cock. All I could do was drape my arms over his shoulders and hang on while he lifted and lowered me on his cock. I came once, then again before he shot his hot, thick load into me. I was near passing out but I kept fighting off the urge to let it happen.

The next thing I remember was waking up the following morning. Every one of my muscles ached. I laid there until I gathered enough strength to slide out of bed. Looking around the bedroom, I saw my clothes had been picked up and thrown over the back of a chair. There wasn't any sign of Trace or his clothes so I assumed he'd already left. Making my way to the opposite side of the house, I looked out the window, hoping to see Trace's pickup in the driveway. But it wasn't there and neither was Trace.

I was disappointed to find him gone but more concerned about seeing him again. Was he just another guy I'd fuck once and never see again or was Trace different. Either way, it was out of my hands!

I soaked in the tub instead of showering, treating myself to a bubble bath. My pussy was a little sore from having Trace fuck me like he did but it was worth the discomfort.

TO BE CONTINUED...



Hired Gun Ch. 02



Slipping into jeans and a t-shirt, I decided to call Michael Whittaker in Washington to arrange a pay-off for my takedown on Thaddeus Combs. His secretary informed me he was tied up in a conference meeting but she'd have him call when he finished.

Having the phone in my hand, I called Trace's cell phone. Hoping to hear his voice, all I heard was ringing, then recorded instructions to leave a message on his voice mail. I figured he was probably busy, castrating some poor dog or neutering a cat! 

"Great!" I thought. "Nobody wants to talk to me!"

Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down at the diningroom table looking over the notes Trace and I had put together. Owning horses was a lot more involved than I thought but I was growing more adamant than ever. With Trace's help, I felt confident I could care for them.

Booting up my computer, I searched for horse trailers, knowing I'd probably need one. What I didn't expect were so many websites and so many different makes and models. Not sure of what would best suit my needs, I thought it best to wait and see what Trace had in mind.

Hearing my phone ring jolted my thoughts. Hoping it was Trace, I had a feeling it wasn't. 

"Looking for your money?" Whittaker inquired without so much as saying hello. "Pick a time and a place....and don't say right now either!"

"How about the parking lot at St. Louis International Airport?" I suggested. "Section E, third from the last parking space in Row Seven sometime after midnight tonight?"

"Let me write that down." Michael grumbled. "I'll never remember all that."

"You know my car." I stated. "Just have the shuttle drop you off."

"Ok." Michael agreed. "You can take me out for an early breakfast somewhere. I need to cover your next transaction with you in person.

"I was thinking about taking some time off." I asserted. "Maybe a few weeks....or a month."

"Can't wait that long!" Whittaker countered. "I need this one taken care of right away. The sooner the better!"

"I'll throw in an extra ten grand just to make it interesting!" Michael affirmed with a snicker. "That'll get your ass in gear!"  

"Make it fifteen and I'll throw in a kiss." I laughed, considering his offer was too good to refuse.

"Five grand for a kiss!" Whittaker exclaimed. "For that kind of money you better damn well put some tongue into it!"

Disconnecting the call, I wondered what the big rush was. Seldom, if ever, was I pressured into making a hit within a certain time limit. It had to be big and that usually meant extremely dangerous. Still, a fifteen grand bonus was too much of an enticement to worry about it.

Shaking off the thoughts, I phoned Trace one more time. Again, I got his voice mail instead of an answer. I decided to wait and call again later, rather than leave a message.

With nothing else much to do, I decided to put on my shorts and sneakers for a jog down to the highway and back. The exercise not only made me feel a lot better, it helped clear out my lungs from all the smoking I did.

Returning home, I tried calling Trace for the third time. Again it rang until it switched over to his voice mail. Getting exasperated, I decided to leave a message.

"Hey! This is Amanda. I've been trying to call you but all I get is your voice mail." I stated. "I'm leaving for St. Louis around 6:00. Not sure what time I'll get back tomorrow. Call me if you get time....that is if you want to."

I threw in that last comment beginning to wonder if Trace was purposely avoiding my calls. If he was, there had to be a reason. Whatever it was, it better be a damn good one! 

I waited until a few minutes after 6:00pm, hoping Trace would call at the last minute but he didn't.

The drive northeast to St. Louis was a good five hours. I wanted to be there on time, not wanting Michael Whittaker to have to stand in the airport parking lot with fifty-thousand dollars in cash on him. Flying on a commercial carrier, I knew he wouldn't be carrying a firearm. That's the one reason I never flew.

I'd been on the road for less than an hour when my cell phone rang. Checking the caller I.D. I saw it was Trace.

"What'd you mean by -if I wanted to call you-?" Trace grumbled. "Was that supposed to mean something?"

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to call me or not." I responded. "When I woke up this morning, you were already gone and then you never called during the day." 

"I called several times but all I got was your voice mail." I continued, venting my anger. "So there!"

I wasn't sure if Trace had hung up on me or not. I wasn't getting a dial tone so I assumed he was still online.

"What's with the wedding ring?" He muttered. "I didn't notice it until this morning."

"I'm married. I'll admit to that." I replied. "My husband and I haven't seen each other for several years. I'm not even sure where he is."

Again, the phone conversation fell silent. I didn't say a word and neither did Trace. Finally, I disconnected the call, stuffing the cell phone into my purse.

Finding the designated parking space in the parking lot at St. Louis International, I reclined my seat back, prepared for a lengthy wait. I must have drifted off, startled awake by the sounds of rapping on my windshield.

Tapping the electric door locking switch, I motioned Michael to the passenger side of the car.

"Sixty-five grand." Whittaker stated, patting the briefcase. "Fifty for the Combs' hit and the fifteen grand bonus for the next one."

Reaching over, I put my hand to the back of his head, pulling him towards me. I pressed my lips softly to his, gradually exerting more pressure until I was grinding hard. Slithering my tongue between his lips, I snaked it over his tongue, almost gagging him. Pulling my lips from his, I saw his face was blush red.

"Was it worth five grand?" I asked with a grin.

"I've had better!" Michael responded, obviously lying.

"Bullshit!" I laughed, staring the engine. "You've never had better and you know it!"

Leaving the airport, I drove onto Interstate 70 heading west towards a twenty-four hour restaurant I'd spotted coming in. At 3:00 in the morning, we pretty much had the restaurant to ourselves.

"What's so important about this next gig?" I asked after we placed our order.

"It's a Pakistani National. Name's Sardar Iqbal." Michael replied. "He's got a bad habit of tossing hookers off his hotel balcony. The Pakistan Embassy in Washington's denying the charges but the FBI's pressing for a full investigation."

"So he hasn't been brought to trial yet." I assumed. 

"He'll never be brought to trial!" Whittaker proclaimed. "The Pakistan Embassy will put his ass on a private jet if they get wind the FBI is going to investigate the matter. That's why it's important we get to him first."

"Suppose he's innocent?" I questioned. "Maybe someone else threw those women off the balcony?"

"There were several eyewitnesses but they seemed to have clammed up now after getting phone calls from the Embassy in Washington." Michael stated. "We've confiscated their signed statements. That's all the proof we need."

"Hey! You know the difference between a streetwalker and a high-class call girl?" Whittaker laughed.

"Yeah. Better agents." I replied. 

"Guess you heard that one." Michael grumbled.

After eating and paying the bill, we returned to my car. Michael gave me a manila envelope with all the information I'd need. Sardar was staying in a suite at the Showboat Casino in Atlantic City. His luxury suite was on the south side of the hotel. The Taj Mahal on Virginia Avenue was a block away. 

"I've already booked you a suite on the north side of the Taj Mahal under a bogus name." Whittaker disclosed, giving me a packet with a phony driver's license and credit cards. "I hope you can take him out from a block away."

"You'll only get one chance." Michael added. "If you miss, he'll know someone's out to get him."

"I'm not worried about knocking him off." I affirmed. "I'm worried about getting out of Atlantic City without getting caught."

"That's your problem, not mine." Whitaker mumbled with a grin.

"You're all heart Michael." I jested. "That's what I like about you."

Returning to the airport, I dropped Whittaker off at the main terminal. As he walked through the entrance I wondered if I'd ever see him again....with another fifty grand in cash!

During the drive back to Stoneridge I started putting a plan together. I wasn't worried about making the long distance shot from my hotel room to Iqbal's suite. If I made it at night, the cover of darkness would help conceal my position. The lighting in Sardar's suite would illuminate my target, allowing me to pick him off. 

Getting out of Atlantic City was my only fear. I'd had to plan my escape carefully or risk being caught.

Arriving back at the farm, I grabbed my purse and the briefcase from the passenger seat. I had a headache so I tossed down a couple of aspirins before stepping into the shower. I hoped after a few hours of sleep, I'd wake up feeling better.

More tired than I thought, I awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Checking my watch, I saw it was almost 6:30pm. Finding a robe, I slipped it on before running downstairs to answer the door.

"I brought dinner." Trace asserted, carrying a large pizza. "I hope you're hungry."

"Yeah. Sure. Come on in." I mumbled, still half asleep.

"How was your trip to St. Louis?" Trace inquired, heading towards the kitchen.

"Fine." I muttered, wiping the sleep from my eyes. "How was your day?"

"Boring! But that's pretty typical." He replied, setting the pizza on the kitchen counter.

"I was looking at horse trailers on the internet yesterday morning but I wasn't sure what we needed." I stated, trying to keep up my end of the conversation.

"Depends. Depends on how much you wanna spend and how many horses you're planning on hauling." Trace affirmed. "What're you gonna pull it with?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" I retorted, getting a couple of soft drinks from the refrigerator. "Don't you ever answer any?"

"Big truck, big trailer." Trace responded, laughing. "There....I answered two questions."

"Sounds expensive." I remarked. "What kind of money are we talking about."

"Oh....probably fifty-thousand for each." He estimated, waiting for my reaction. "That's just a ballpark figure."

"Does it really bother you that I'm married?" I asked out of the blue.

"Yeah....it does." Trace stammered, staring at me. "Did you think it wouldn't?"

"I'll ask the questions." I proclaimed in a stern voice. "You just supply the answers."

"What if I told you I had no intentions of seeking a divorce?" I questioned. "What then?"

"That's up to you." Trace answered without hesitating. "Personally, I think it's stupid."

"Why's it stupid?" I asked, looking directly into his eyes. "Because it makes you feel guilty having sex with a married woman or is it something else?"

"I don't feel guilty! Not a damn bit guilty!" Trace exclaimed, rising to his feet. "If anyone should feel guilty, it's you!"

"Guilt isn't something I ever feel." I muttered, looking away from him. "I'm too coldhearted."

"That's bullshit and you know it." He declared. "Nobody who loves horses is coldhearted."

I almost laughed out loud at his statement but I didn't. Instead, I just sat there, staring at the uneaten pizza and wondering what to say next.

"I'm gonna cut out!" Trace declared, breaking the eerie silence. "If you want to see me again, lose the ring and lose that husband of yours once and for all!"

I wasn't about to do either but I wasn't going to continue arguing. It was a no-win situation for both of us. I thought it best to let it go....best to let Trace go.

The following morning, after packing my clothes and firearms, I left for Atlantic City. All I had on my mind was getting there, getting the job done and getting the hell out without getting caught.

According to my computer program, it was twelve-hundred miles from Stoneridge to Atlantic City. I planned on driving straight through, arriving the following morning in the East Coast's infamous gambling mecca.

I planned on parking my car at the Trump Plaza, then taking a cab from there to the Taj Mahal. Cab drivers in Atlantic City were notorious for their driving abilities. Not having my car seen at the hotel I was staying at would be a plus in my favor. The Trump Plaza was at the end of the Atlantic City Expressway. After taking out Sardar Iqbal, I'd grab a cab back to my car, then make my escape. It sounded plausible if everything went according to plan.

Arriving at the Trump Plaza, I pulled into the parking garage, finding a space available in a well-lit area. Backing in, I grabbed my luggage and purse, heading for the main level. Hailing a cab wasn't a problem. They were everywhere, vying for business.

Within minutes, the cab screeched to a halt at the Taj Mahal's main entrance. Paying the fair and tossing in a twenty dollar tip, I headed for the front desk. There were throngs of people in the casino as I passed by, mostly senior citizens who'd been bussed in from Philadelphia and New York. No doubt many were gambling with their Social Security and pension checks, hoping to hit it big.

Safely in my room on the twelfth floor, I stepped out on the balcony to get my bearings. Looking down at the street below, I realized how much of a drop it was. Looking across at the Showboat Casino, a block away on Maryland Avenue, I counted off the balconies, pinpointing Iqbal's twelfth floor suite. Most of the drapes were closed on the rooms but that was to be expected during the daytime. 

Grabbing a shower, I slipped into bed to catch up on my sleep. I'd made the twenty-four drive from Stoneridge stopping only for gas and food. 

Waking around 7:00pm, I dressed and went downstairs to one of the hotel's restaurants. The Stage Deli of New York was the least busy so I ate dinner there. I hated eating in crowded restaurants, preferring quiet and solitude. 

Afterwards, I sauntered through the casino, trying my luck at the slot machines. I wasn't much of a gambler but it was too early to return to my room and get things set up. After dropping several rolls of quarters into the slop machines and winning nothing, I rode one of the elevators back to my room.

Hoping to make the hit on Iqbal my first night, it wasn't to be. The lights in his suite never came on, leading me to believe he was probably out for the night. Still, I waited until the sun started to rise before packing my stuff up.

I pretty much followed the same routine for the next two days. Sleeping during the day, tossing quarters in slot machines during the evening and keeping a close eye on Sardar's suite all night long. I wondered if Michael Whittaker in Washington was getting as anxious as I was to take out the Pakistani National. I hoped the Pakistan Embassy in D.C. hadn't gotten wind of the FBI's pending investigation.

It was my fourth night lying on the floor just inside the open balcony doors. With the lights in my room turned off and covered by a black cotton sheet, I checked my IDF SNR sniper rifle one last time. 

Developed by the Israeli Defense Forces, the 7.62mm semi-automatic sniper rifle cost me a cool fifteen grand. The twenty round magazine fed special projectile M-118 ammunition. All I had to do was aim and squeeze the trigger. A tripod supported the end of the rifle barrel; the six by forty telescopic scope with night vision capabilities assisted my aim. A quick-detach Brunson silencer added nine inches to the rifle's length, making it look more like a bazooka. When I struck a target, it pretty much had the same effect. The special projectiles exploded on impact instead of boring a finger-size hole through its victim.

Lying there in the near pitch dark, listening to the traffic twelve floors below, I thought about Trace. I wondered if he was still dead-set on his ultimatum about my getting a divorce from my husband and taking the ring off my finger once and for all.

"Oh God, I could use a cigarette!" I thought. "This waiting is killing my ass!"

Just then the lights in Iqbal's suite came on. The curtains across the windows leading out to his balcony were barely open. Not enough for me to get a shot off but open enough to see several figures milling about the room. It looked like two men and two, maybe three women. My heart rate doubled and my hands grew cold. 

It seemed like forever but it was probably less than ten minutes before one of the men opened the drapes and stepped out onto the balcony. Sighting through the scope, I could see it wasn't Sardar. Dressed in a dark suit, he didn't quite look Pakistani but he still might be.

"Must be a bodyguard or something." I thought, slipping my finger off the rifle's trigger.

Two women, both partially naked, performed a lap dance for the other man in the suite. Sighting in on him, I saw it was Iqbal. Uglier than a camel's cunt, he was dressed in traditional Pakistani garments. With the women gyrating around him, it was too risky taking a shot. I'd have to wait, hoping my target wouldn't head for one of the bedrooms.

One of the women, looking to be in her early thirties and wearing a bright red thong stepped out onto the balcony. She put her arms around the man in the dark suit, giving him a kiss.

Sardar rose from the couch, angrily pushing the other woman aside. He turned, taking steps towards the balcony. Finally out in the open, I squeezed the trigger, feeling the gun's muted recoil. The projectile found its target, decapitating Iqbal and splattering his blood all over the far wall of the suite.

Stunned, the man and woman on the balcony froze in position. The woman let out a scream but I couldn't hear it from a block away. Reaching into his suit jacket the man pulled out what looked like a forty-five automatic.

"Yeah, that's gonna scare me!" I laughed to myself, sighting in on him.

Squeezing the trigger once again, the projectile bored a hole in the man's chest big enough for me to see through. His body fell through the broken window behind him, out of my sight. The two women screamed and ran around gathering up their clothes. Instead of heading for the door, they ran into one of the bedrooms. No doubt afraid they were going to be shot next.

Methodically and without rushing, I dismantled the rifle in the dark, putting everything in its carrying case. Stuffing the case into my luggage, I set it near the door. I got dressed, slipping into dress slacks and a blouse, then primped my hair before leaving.

At the main desk, I paid my bill and chatted with the desk clerk for a brief moment. Cabs were lined up at the entrance to the hotel so I didn't have to flag one down. 

"Trump Plaza!" I instructed the driver, handing him a fifty dollar bill.

Reaching inside my purse for a cigarette, I barely had it lit before the cab screeched to a stop at the hotel.

"Here you go!" The cab driver exclaimed. "Trump Plaza!"

Grabbing my purse and luggage, I walked casually towards the parking garage, careful not to draw attention to myself. Now wasn't the time to panic and take off running.

Securing everything but my purse in the XLR's trunk, I climbed in behind the wheel. Within minutes, I was on the Atlantic City Expressway heading east towards Philadelphia. Looking in my rearview mirror I expected to see flashing red and blue lights and hear sirens but I didn't. I wondered if the two women were still sequestered in the bedroom, afraid to come out.

It was around 11:00am when I pulled off the interstate just east of Columbus, Ohio. Wheeling my car into a nearby restaurant, I thought I'd grab something to eat, then maybe look for a place to stay for the night. My eyes were weary, having been up for almost eighteen hours.

Sitting in a booth, I watched the CNN news on a television set elevated in one corner of the dining area. 




Hired Gun Ch. 02



"The FBI is presently conducting an investigation into the overnight shooting of one of its agents at the Showboat Hotel in Atlantic City." The reporter, a distinguished looking man in his late forties stated. "His body along with that of Sardar Iqbal, a Pakistani National was found massacred early this morning, along with two unidentified women, who escaped being injured.

"The FBI gave no explanation as to why one of their agents was present, admitting only that they were conducting an investigation into Iqbal's activities at the hotel." The reporter continued. "We'll have more on this later."

"Well!" The reporter's female co-anchor laughed. "That must have been one heck of a party!"

I wasn't upset knowing I'd taken out an FBI agent, assuming he was there on behalf of Sardar, probably warning him of the pending investigation. He was obviously a traitor!

Finishing the last of my iced tea, the news switched to a live report from Washington. A spokesman for the FBI was standing behind a podium, reading a prepared statement.

"Our investigation into the assassination of Sardar Iqbal has come to an abrupt close." The man stated. "We have determined that a militant group is responsible for the action, which also resulted in the death of one of our agents, who was under an internal investigation by the Bureau."

One of the many reporters present asked if the agent was suspected of being a cohort of Iqbal's.

"We're not going to answer that question." The spokesperson replied, gathering up the papers. "The least we can do is protect the suspect's family."

"Suspect!" I thought. "Why the hell don't you just admit you've got security problems, Asshole?"

Feeling much better, I decided to drive on to Indianapolis before getting a hotel room and a good night's sleep. That would put me within five-hundred miles of my home.

Stepping out of the shower at the Holiday Inn on the west side of Indy, my cell phone rang. The caller I.D. was blocked so I knew it was Michael Whittaker.

"I hope you're not expecting another bonus for taking out two assholes instead of one!" Whittaker laughed instead of returning my hello. "But I do appreciate it."

Before I could ask about the FBI agent in question, Michael informed me he was a distant relative of Sardar's and acting on his own to warn the man about the investigation into his tossing the two hookers off his balcony.

"When do you want to meet for the pay-off?" I asked. 

"Where the hell are you now?" Michael inquired.

"I'm at the Airport Holiday Inn in Indianapolis." I answered. 

"Are you naked?" Whittaker laughed.

"No. I'm wearing a red thong with matching spiked heels!" I jested. "And a smile of course!"

"Hmmmm. Sounds hot!" Michael exclaimed. "Stay put. I'll be there sometime around midnight."

Tired and sleepy, I climbed into bed after downing a few aspirins to knock out my headache.

The light knocking on my door awoke me around 1:00am. Slipping on a robe, I checked the security eyepiece before unlocking the door.

"You're an hour late!" I quipped, seeing Michael standing in front of me.

"Yeah, but I'm worth the wait!" Whittaker jested, glancing down at his briefcase.

"I hope that's for me." I asserted with a grin, knowing it was.

"Fifty grand, just like always." Michael responded. "I also brought along a bottle of champagne to celebrate."

"Hmmmm. Champagne makes me horny." I laughed, slipping off my robe and tossing it on a nearby chair.

"Oh my God, Amanda!" Whittaker exclaimed, taking in the sight of me standing before him completely naked. "I never dreamt you were so beautiful!"

"I'll pour the champagne while you get undressed." I murmured in my sexiest voice. 

I put ice cubes in the glasses to chill the champagne, seeing it was warm. Setting the glasses on the nightstand, I didn't have to wait long for Michael to pull me into his arms. His heart was beating hard, throbbing against my bare breasts. His lips crushed against mine in a passionate kiss that seemed to last forever. 

For a man in his early fifties, he had the physique of a much younger man. Not nearly as good as Trace's of course but still great for a man of his age. Running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair I wanted to fuck him right then.

"The Viagra's working!" He mumbled, guiding me backwards towards the bed. "Let's see how long it lasts."

As a lover Michael was fantastic. His lips traveled slowly downward over my breasts, taunting my erect nipples with his teeth. Placing my hands gently on the back of his head, I entwined my fingers in his hair. I was about to cum the minute his warm breath wafted over my pubic mound. His nose nuzzled my trimmed pubic hair. Michael's tongue flicked lightly at my clit, sending a shock wave through my body. 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" I moaned aloud. "AHHHHHHHHH!"

Whittaker's tongue stabbed at my pussy, prolonging my orgasm, milking it for all its worth. I rode it out, never wanting it to subside.

Catching my breath, I felt his tongue slither inside me. I grasped the back of Michael's head, pulling his face hard into my wanton pussy. I came again, the orgasm outmatching the first one.

"Christ! You're hot!" Whittaker exclaimed after lapping up my cum.

"Fuck me!" I whispered, reaching up and grabbing his shoulders. "Make me cum all over your cock!"

Michael's cock, though not very thick or very long, worked my pussy hard. With every stroke I slammed my body into his, jolting both of us. Michael's stamina was not to be outdone. We fucked like animals, grunting and groaning. I came the instant he did, feeling his warm cum flooding into my pussy. His arms stiffened, supporting his upper body wait. I felt he was going to collapse on top of me at any minute but he didn't.

"That's one!" He muttered with a grin. "Let's go for two."

His cock slammed into me like a jackhammer, his desires taking control of his body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles together. Michael fucked me harder and harder until I came once again, muffling my screams against his chest.

Whittaker's perspiration covered my face, saturating my platinum blonde hair. His climax totally wiped him out. Collapsing on top of me, his cock was still oozing cum inside me.

I held him in my arms, our hearts beating against each other's chest harder than ever. We lay there, warmly embracing for almost a half hour.

"That's the best pussy I've ever had." Michael murmured in my ear.

"Killer pussy's always the best." I whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

"My dick's still hard." He laughed. "Wanna go again?"

"Let's have some champagne first." I suggested, rolling him onto his side "I need a cigarette."

"Good idea!" Michael agreed, climbing off the bed.

We drank two glasses of champagne, which gave me enough time to choke down a couple of cigarettes. Michael's cock remained rock hard so he strutted around the room like it was some sort of trophy.

"How about giving my ass a rest?" I suggested, running my fingernails lightly over his cock.

Motioning him towards the bed, I had him lay flat on his back. Picking up a pillow off the floor, I placed it behind his head.

"Whatcha got in mind?" Michael asked with a grin. "Something kinky, I hope."

"Nothing kinky." I murmured, giving him a passionate kiss, snaking my tongue between his lips. "Just lay back and relax."

Gliding my tongue down over his chest, I stabbed at his bellybutton before continuing on. Michael's rock hard cock brushed against my cheek. Sliding my tongue upward from the base, I swirled it slowly around the mushroom-shaped head. Michael was staring at me, his eyes wide open, taking it all in.

Filling my mouth with thick saliva, I plunged my lips down over his cock. His body tensed for several moments before gradually relaxing. Slowly, I lifted my mouth upwards, coating his shaft with my fluid.

"You like that?" I whispered, knowing he loved it.

"Hmmm!" Michael moaned, his face taut.

I pumped my mouth up and down on his cock, taking my time, prolonging his climax until I wanted him to cum. His balls were warm, my fingers gently massaging them. I sucked on his cock, filling the room with loud sucking noises. That was enough for him to blow his load. I clamped my lips tightly around his throbbing cock. 

"OHHHHHHH GEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZ!" Michael groaned, succumbing to my desires.

His body remained tense as the cum seemed to never cease. I swallowed it all, not letting one drop of his cream escape my lips.

"Feel better?" I laughed, leaning over him. "I certainly do!"

"That was awesome!" Whittaker muttered, smiling up at me.

Climbing off the bed, I ran into the bathroom to get a wet washcloth. Michael was still lying flat on his back, watching me when I returned. His cock had finally gone flaccid.

"Now what?" He questioned, eyeing the washcloth.

Instead of answering him, I began washing him off, putting his tired body at ease. Michael's eyes followed my every movement, savoring the attention I was bestowing on him.

"Do I get to wash you off?" Michael jested with a grin.

"No. I'm going to run through the shower." I replied, washing his balls. "You just lie back and wait for me."

I took just enough time to wash myself completely and dry off before returning to the bedroom. Whittaker was sitting up in bed, drinking another glass of champagne. Climbing onto the bed with him, I slipped the glass from his hand and took a sip.

"I need you to do me a favor." I stated. "A personal favor."

"Name it, you got it." Michael replied without hesitation, taking the glass from my hand.

"I know you've got a researchers working at the Predator Group." I asserted. "I need them to track down somebody for me."

"Let me guess." Whittaker interrupted before I could continue. "Richard Adam Douglas."

"Yeah. How'd you know?" I asked.

"I knew you'd ask eventually." Michael answered. "I figured someday you'd find somebody and want a divorce from your husband." 

"Too bad I'm not the lucky guy." He laughed. 

"There isn't anybody else." I declared. "I just think it's time I got a divorce and ended the marriage officially."

"I could have him taken care of." Michael suggested. "No muss, no fuss, instant divorce."

"No. I don't want that!" I exclaimed. "Just find him for me and give me his address. I'll take it from there."

"Ok. Ok. Have it your way." Whittaker reluctantly agreed. "Give me a few days."

Switching off the lights, I snuggled into Michael's arms, falling asleep almost immediately.

It was around 8:00am when Michael jostled me awake. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd worn when he arrived.

"My flight's leaving in an hour." He murmured, giving me a loving kiss. "I hate leaving but I've got to be getting back to D.C."

"I hate your leaving too." I whispered, brushing my lips over his. "Don't forget your promise."

"I won't." Michael responded.

After getting dressed, I checked out of the hotel, grabbing a bite of breakfast as a nearby restaurant. I still had five-hundred miles to drive but carrying fifty-thousand dollars in cash made it more enjoyable.

It was late afternoon, when I pulled into my driveway. I was glad to be home, glad to be where I felt safe and secure.

For the next several days, I jogged, mowed grass and kept busy around the house. I carried my cell phone with me constantly, hoping to hear from Michael Whittaker....or Trace McCall, but my phone never rang.

The incident in Atlantic City had faded into history on the internet, in the newspapers and the televised news reports.

Finally, I got the call I'd been waiting for. 

"Turn on your fax machine, Hon." Whittaker affirmed. "I'm sending you the information you wanted."

Switching on the fax I waited patiently for it to warm up. The green light started flashing alerting me that a document was being sent.

"Are you receiving it?" Michael asked over the cell phone. "Stay online with me until it does."

The document printed out face down. Reading through the paper, I saw the top line. "Certificate of Death". I didn't bother taking the paper out of the tray.

"How? How'd it happen?" I mumbled into the cell phone.

"It was a traffic accident, Hon." Whittaker replied. "About six months ago, just outside of Detroit. Rick was pronounced dead at the scene."

"Are you sure it's the right Richard Adam Douglas?" I muttered, tears streaming down my face.

"We confirmed his Social Security number, driver's license and tax records." Michael asserted. "I wanted to make damn sure before I called."

"I need some time off." I stammered. "I'll call you when I'm ready for another assignment."

"Call me if you need me." Michael stated. "I'll do whatever you want."

Disconnecting from the call, I took the sheet of paper from the fax machine. I read it over carefully, focusing on each word. Rick, the man I'd had feelings for since we first met, was gone forever. I cried uncontrollably for over an hour. 

For the next two days I moped around the house, not eating, just smoking every cigarette I had. I toyed with my diamond wedding band, vowing I'd never take it off.

My appetite finally returned but I was reluctant to bother eating. Everything in the house was outdated except for a package of Oreo cookies. I ate the whole package, which made me sick to my stomach. The last thing I remember was lying on the bathroom floor, wishing I were dead.

It was dark when I awoke. I lay there, not moving a muscle, afraid I'd get sick all over again. It took me awhile to realize I was in bed and not lying on the bathroom floor. I heard footsteps climbing the stairway, then approaching the bedroom.

"You're awake." Trace murmured, kneeling next to the bed, brushing his fingers through my hair. "You feel like eating something?"

I barely shook my head. The last thing I wanted was something to eat no matter how bad I needed nutrition. Trace said something but I fell asleep, not hearing a word.

The bright morning sun streamed into my bedroom, shining on my face. My body ached all over like I had the flu. I laid there for awhile, gradually moving my legs, then my arms to work out the kinks. I rolled over, turning my back towards the sun.

I wasn't sure if Trace had left or not. Slowly opening my eyes, I saw him sitting in a chair in the corner of the bedroom.

"What time is....?" I mumbled, my mouth too dry to finish the question.

"It's a little after 9:00." Trace replied, checking his watch. "You want some water?

I nodded my head, exerting all my strength to prop myself up on my elbow. Trace held the bottle of chilled water to my lips, letting the fluid seep into my mouth.

"Cigarette." I muttered.

"No cigarettes until after you've eaten something." Trace retorted.

I wasn't about to argue, knowing he was right. Sitting on the side of the bed, Trace spoon fed me some soup. I started feeling a little better although my muscles still ached.

"My husband...." I sobbed

"I know. I know." Trace interrupted, brushing the tears from my face. "I saw the fax on the diningroom table."

"I'm never taking the ring off." I mumbled. "I just can't."

"That's ok." Trace murmured. "I can live with that. I love you too much not to."

THE END....or is it