Smoke: A Special Agent Novel, #2

By C.P. Mandara

I've been sold to Alain Dumortier. I was delivered to his doorstep naked as the day I was born, and two weeks later I haven't got a stitch of clothing to my name. 

This should have been an easy assignment. Get in, have him fall under my spell, grab every little piece of intel I can find, and then assassinate him. They were simple instructions, and ones I'd followed countless times before. What could go wrong?

 

Just about everything. Alain's kept me imprisoned and drugged up to my eyeballs. The mind games he's playing are nearly my undoing, but it's hard battling a body that's full of barbiturates or opium. There's one more problem, too. 

 

I think I'm falling in love with the bastard.

 

And that was how our story began. Little did I realise, but even though I was half in love with James back then, I would soon forget all about him in less than two weeks time. As unbelievable as it sounds, it was the truth. When the doors of Carte Blanche opened for me, they would strip my world bare, and I've never been a girl who was fond of black and white. Though James had tried his best to warn me, it wasn't until I was on the road of no return that I realised I had made the biggest mistake of my life. All alone, and with no one to turn to, I'd made my bed, but lying in it was almost impossible. Alain Dumortier was out for blood. Mine.

 

 

Smoke is an intense dark romance suspense series. It features a love triangle between two alpha male special agents and an assassin. They are involved in a underground world of organised crime and espionage. These books are dark and twisted. You have been warned!
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.P. Mandara
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393675655

Book preview

Chapter One

Present Day

---

I ’m going to kill you.

Dumortier bit the words off one by one, and I could feel flecks of spittle splatter against my forehead. Glowering down at me, he grabbed hold of my cheeks and squeezed them painfully tightly, his fingernails digging into my soft skin. My split lip protested at the treatment, but this was tame when compared to what he did to some of the other girls. This was the first time I’d been brought down to the wet room, and judging from what I’d previously seen, I had a lot to look forward to.

But that’s not all. First, I’m going to torture you for information, and then, when I get bored of you, I’ll fill you with so many holes you’ll resemble a cheese grater. If I do it just right, it will take several, excruciatingly long days for you to die. Sound like fun? He then violently kicked the chair that I was tied to, and it rocked on its legs for a moment, threatening to tip, but somehow managed to right itself. Dumortier was not impressed. His foot then lashed out and sent me sprawling towards the floor, breaking one of the chair legs in the process. He then went completely mad, screaming and swearing in his caustic French accent. The man was quite creative about it, too.

What do you do for a living, Lois Reeves?

Finally. Here was the question James had warned me would come. Now that it had, I felt only relief. Two week’s under Alain’s roof had been a lifetime of agony, and I think it had aged me ten years. Not that it mattered. It looked like I didn’t have too long left in this world. My eyes fluttered prettily in their sockets as I twisted them to meet his. The man was a fucking paradox. How could someone who looked like an angel be such a complete and utter bastard? I wondered what had happened to drive him to such lengths. He was a cross between a serial killer and a terrifying psychopath, and that was being kind. Blinking, I watched him carefully and made some kind of non-committal noise behind my gag. There wasn't much else I could do.

Break her legs.

That gave me a reason for concern, and even my opiate-laced brain suddenly woke up and took notice. This was going to fucking hurt, and we'd barely started. The bastard could have given me a little warm up punching session before going straight for my femurs, surely?

When the two goons from the rear of the room began moving forward menacingly, I wondered for a moment if I should start praying, but I didn’t. Looking up at Alain from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he intended to do next. What did you do as an encore to that? Perhaps I’d be hung, drawn and quartered. I’d heard that was quite good fun.

Kiel, I think I might shortly be coming to join you. Tell them to light the fires, and roll out the welcome mat, sweetheart.

Chapter Two

Two weeks ago

---

W ell, today’s the day. My fast-forward training programme in all things BDSM had been hell on very fast, Bugatti-style wheels, but I had managed to get my submissive training badge, much to James Leveritt’s disgust.

This past week he had tried every trick in the book to try and get me to abandon this mission, but it didn’t matter what stunt he pulled because I was ready for him. Today, he was getting a little frustrated with me.

"Why are you so determined to see this through? You must know by now that there’s little chance you’ll come out alive. I haven’t been fucking with you. Alain is the worst kind of monster you’re ever likely to meet, and he doesn’t take prisoners. I know you’ve read the file, Lois. I know that you know that there’s a good chance you’ll be going to your grave as soon as you enter Carte Blanche’s doors. Don’t do this. Let Sharkey clean up her own mess. This is not your problem."

Oh, but it was. James, stop it. There's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. Taking another bite of the buttered toast in front of me, I smiled at him to soften the blow. Thank you for everything you've done for me this week, Sir. I know I can be a bit slow on the uptake, but you've been exceptionally patient with me, and I really appreciate it. Dragging my coffee mug up to my lips, I inhaled the bitter, nutty aroma and took a careful sip. It was still steaming hot, but it felt good to be allowed to sit at the table, mostly because I'd been crawling about on the floor all week.

James sighed and gave me a dark look. Why are you in such a hurry to kill yourself, Lois? You're far too young to be diving headlong into a seedy sex party with a guaranteed coffin at the end of it. Have you honestly thought all of this through? While I don't confess to know what you're going through right now, or even how you're coping, I do know that eventually it won't be as bad as you think it is right now. Don't sign your own death warrant without giving yourself a chance to recover.

Poor James thought I was suicidal after my partner Kiel’s death, and that I was looking for an easy way out. I guess that was a reasonable conclusion, given the enormity of what I was about to take on, but it wasn’t correct.

That's not what this is about, James. Besides, I don't intend to die. I will kill Alain Dumortier. One way or another, I'm not leaving CB while he's still alive.

And what makes you think you'll succeed where all others have failed? James raised an eyebrow, and his gaze was punishing. Thankfully, I'd had a week to get used to it, and this time I barely even flinched.

I’ll get the job done, Sir, or die trying. Call me a masochist, but I couldn’t resist adding the last part.

He threw his hands in the air, just like I thought he would, before saying, That’s what I’m afraid of, Lois. For crying out loud, you’d exasperate a meditating sloth. Honestly, if I thought it would do any good, I’d try to shake some sense into you.

It won’t. Let’s just concentrate on the upcoming auction. What is Alain looking for? James frowned at me, but I knew he’d answer the question, eventually. Tapping his pen on the table repeatedly, until the sound nearly drove me insane, he made me wait for an age before he finally spoke.

It's easier to tell you what he isn't looking for, so we'll start there. He doesn't want a walk over. Dumortier likes a challenge. He doesn't think much of the timid girls or the ones who are full of plastic enhancements. He won't tolerate any disfigurations, and the bastard will check your teeth, too. Let's say he wants the ‘real deal.' That's a girl with a great body and a decent mind, in case you were wondering. He wants someone he can corrupt. I guess you could say he wants a challenge. While you will have to technically ‘obey' him in the auction room, you don't have to be overly polite to him. Let him know there's a little steel beneath the façade you present, and you'll intrigue him. Most of the girls' simper and fawn over him, because they know he's loaded. You'd be better advised to do neither. When he's trying to measure you up, look like you're doing the same. Assess him from top to bottom, narrow your eyes and look calculating. Don't talk much, either. The less he gets out of you, the better. That way, you'll trigger his curiosity. Leave him wanting more. Oh, and for God's sake don't let your gaze linger on him for a minute. Let him think you're completely unaffected by him, and it will drive him wild. James smiled thinly. Think you can do that?

I snorted. I don’t find very many men attractive, so I can’t see it being a problem.

James smiled, but the action didn’t reach his eyes. He gave me a wry kind of glance, and it was clear there was plenty he was not telling me. What was I missing here? Trust me when I tell you it will be a problem. You can barely control yourself around me. This time the smile was genuine.

You're a complete and utter bastard, Mr. Leveritt. You know I find you horribly attractive and there's nothing I can do about it. Unfortunately. I sighed melodramatically.

Well, you’re only human – what can I say? He winked at me.

Throwing my pen at him, he dodged it effortlessly. I rolled my eyes and picked up another.

Fine. Ignore Dumortier, look pretty, and don’t talk crap. Does that just about sum it up? I battered my eyelashes at him for effect.

There was another reluctant smile, although he quickly squashed it. Lois, he said in his sternest tone, this is not the time for wisecracks. But yes – that's pretty much it, in a nutshell.

Looking down at my notes, I wondered what I should ask next. I had so many questions it was difficult to know where to start. Perhaps I should order them in the timeline that I would need them. That seemed as good a plan as any.

What do I need to know about the auction? Now I had some hints on how to attract Dumortier’s attention, I’d need to know what was expected of me when I was under the spotlight.

Well, you’ll be naked, but you already know that. If you do get picked to go to CB, you won’t see clothes for a while. The only thing the girls wear are silly little scraps of lace or sexy costumes, worn purely for entertainment value.

Duly noted. What else? Give me something I can use, James.

Fine. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? He dipped his head and rubbed his eyes, and I wondered if he was stalling. Taking another swig of my molten coffee, I almost regretted my question. I knew I wasn’t going to like any of what James was about to tell me, and that it would be infinitely better if I went into the auction blind. That way I wouldn’t have one thousand and one awful scenarios running riot through my brain. The trouble with that plan was that if something was sprung upon me that I couldn’t cope with, I could say goodbye to any chance of killing Alain Dumortier. Considering I had made that man’s demise my life’s goal - that was going to be a problem. So I needed to know roughly what to expect, and figure out a way to deal with it.

Having completed a week's training under the supervision of dominant/special agent James Leveritt, I was feeling a little better about my submissive abilities, but I knew there was a hell of a lot I had yet to learn. Could I play my part, convincingly, for long enough to get Dumortier close to me? It was probably a slim chance, but one I had to take. No one had been able to infiltrate his little group of friends for years, and with good reason. The man was a sick, depraved, and utterly twisted sex addict. He had a tight ring of security that surrounded him at all times and rarely left the confines of his underground club – Carte Blanche. Oh, and he also happened to be a psychopath. Good combination, right? Out of all the men and women I'd been contracted to kill in the past, none had ever been so deserving of death as Dumortier. This time I could almost make it personal if I wasn't a consummate professional of course.

Come on, James. Out with it. If the man didn’t speak soon, I was going to assume the worst, and I was nervous enough already.

Flinging his head back against the wooden kitchen chair, James sighed and said, Curiosity killed the cat, Lois. Watching the tempting bulge of his Adam’s apple as it rippled up his neck, I had to quell the urge to crawl over to him and kiss it. The attraction that flowed between us was something I had never had to deal with before, and sometimes it was so powerful I was almost mesmerised. The trouble was, James was well aware of the fact.

I snorted. I very much doubt it. They wouldn't have nine lives if that were the case. Cats are an amazing combination of cunning, skill, and grace. If you feed them, they'll demonstrate a reasonable affection for you, but they never let you get quite close enough to discover their innermost secrets. They're a bit like assassins in that respect, aren't they, James?

James narrowed his eyes as if trying to decipher what I meant by that statement. When I wasn't forthcoming with any more information, he pursed his lips, and then looked away. I thought I'd be questioned on it, but surprisingly there was no comment. Instead, he began telling me exactly what I wanted to know.

Dumortier won't be there at the beginning. He'll send his goons in to see if there's anything worth his time and effort. He's a particularly fussy man. No plastic, no blondes, and no tattoos are some of his initial stipulations. If you pass those criteria, you're also required to be stick-thin, drop-dead gorgeous, and have no discernable accent. If you manage to get past that lot, you also need to be incredibly sexually responsive, not mind a bit of pain, and not break into tears at the earliest opportunity. He has no time for those, so just keep them to yourself. Of course, to make things doubly entertaining, you’ll have no idea who his men are, so just bat your eyelashes and moan at every guy that squeezes your tits or slaps your ass. That’s normal behaviour for you girls, right? James winked at me, so I threw another pen at him, which he managed to dodge again.

You do remember I’m an assassin, right? I kill people who annoy me for a living. I glared at him.

Ah, but not ones who’ve been teaching you how to be a good submissive, nor ones who you’re already half in love with, I think. This time James held his hands in front of his face as the entire box load of pens went flying in his direction. The law of averages meant that at least one of the damn things had to hit him.

Let’s focus on work, shall we? I said, smiling sweetly while ignoring his earlier comment. Is the initial assessment just a touchy-feely party, or are there more fun and games to look forward to?

You'll be up on stage, under bright spotlights, with your arms tied above your head and your mouth gagged. They usually rope all of you together by your feet so you won't be able to use those, either. The men get up on stage with you in groups, and they have their fun. Their fingers will be everywhere, and you'll need to be wet, else it will hurt. If you think that's going to be a problem, use lube beforehand. They'll tug on your nipples, examine your clit, sink their little paws inside every hole you possess and watch you squirm. That's all part of the game. You'll get spanked and slapped, stroked and pinched, and there'll be some hair pulling. That's stage one. If you make it past that, then you can buckle your seat belt because things are about to get interesting. He raised his eyebrows at me in challenge. It was a look that said, you don’t want to hear this, but I did. I needed every advantage I could get in that room, so I wanted to know every last detail and scenario that might befall me. I guess I just wanted to be prepared.

And? Giving James a long-suffering look, born of a week of listening to his sarcastic sense of humour and rotten jokes, I waited for him to return to the subject at hand. I knew from experience that this could take a while.

Are you hungry? There's a fantastic little bistro just down the road. They serve a wonderful full English breakfast, and I don't know about you, but I'm starving. He patted his washboard abs affectionately and then grinned at me.

Just as I’d thought, the bastard was trying to change the subject. He was utterly exasperating. Seriously – the man could give an aspirin a headache.

And? Even though I knew I wasn’t going to get the answer to my question, I tried to persevere with my line of questioning.

And there're eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, beans, bacon, sausages, more toast, and a cup of tea thrown in for good measure. He gave me his boy-next-door-look, which would have worked if I had only known him for five seconds.

James, we don't have a lot of time. What's Dumortier likely to do to me if I get through to stage two? Guzzling the rest of my mug of coffee, I then slammed it down on the thick, oak table – with the hope that it might ease some of the frustration I currently felt. James had left me hot and horny most of the week, and while I'd seen to his needs, he most certainly hadn't seen to mine. There had been a method in his madness. Apparently, Dumortier was unlikely to grant me an orgasm unless the circumstances were exceptional. He liked all of his girls to be very needy and desperate to please. After a week of torment, I was all that and more.

I’ll do you a deal, Lois. If I tell you the ‘in’s and out’s’ of stage two, you have to suck my cock and accompany me to breakfast.

Banging my fist down on the table so hard, my coffee mug jumped up in the air, I almost screamed. These were the constant games we had been playing all week. While I knew in the back of my mind he was just trying to prepare me for life under Dumortier, it didn't make me any less irritated. Still, two could play at this.

Throw in an orgasm for me, and you have a deal. I smiled my sweetest, butter-would-not-dare-to-melt-in-my-mouth smile.

Uh, uh, uh, Lois. You’re supposed to be controlling your urges, remember. By the way, your deal expires in three, two…

Fine! I’ll take it. But just so you know, when I’ve finished severing Dumortier’s head from his body, I’m coming back for yours. This time, my smile was evil and full of glorious intent.

I’ll look forward to that.

You’re a sick bastard, of course you will, I retorted.

I’m not the one who’s actively searching out death. James’s eyes narrowed in on me, and I felt myself shrinking under his gaze. I refused to back down, though. Sitting up straighter in my chair, I glared back at him and didn’t utter a word. If he thought he was getting me to talk about that, he was much mistaken. Smoothing my chestnut locks carefully back into place, I studied the wall in front of me.

I bet the therapist had some fun with you, Ms. Reeves. James went back to tapping his pen against the table. I wanted to scream.

You have no idea. I hadn't spoken to my therapist for the first three weeks following Kiel's death, which left him more than a little frustrated with me. The only reason I eventually did begin talking, was because I knew I wasn't going back to work until he gave me the go ahead. Even then, I only revealed what I had to. My private life was precisely that – private.

There was the sudden scraping of chair legs, and James leaned back and stretched out his arms. A full pack of abs strained against his black t-shirt, the slogan of which read, ‘It's only illegal if you get caught.' That was relatively tame for James. The man had some corkers in his arsenal. The best one I'd seen had a red arrow pointing towards his crotch, upon which read, ‘Free pony rides.' The worst thing about that t-shirt was that none of it was true. After a week of being tormented by James's mouth and fingers, I'd have killed for a ‘pony ride,' so to speak, but apparently, he didn't do stuff like that. Anything for the job was okay, but anything else was off limits. Go figure. You could look for a man like that all over the world and never find one. It was just my luck that when I finally discovered someone I wouldn't mind having sex with - he didn't want to know. Life was great like that.

What are you going to do if you find Dumortier attractive, Lois?

I won't find Dumortier attractive. I'm very fussy. You're an aberration, but it's unlikely to happen again, so don't panic. Believe it or not, I'm a big girl. I can keep my focus, jump up and down on his cock, and still kill the bastard without shedding a single tear. It's what makes me such a wonderful human being. If my tone was slightly sarcastic, it was James's fault. The man had made me very frustrated this past week, and I sometimes got cranky when I didn't get what I wanted.

The corner of James's mouth nearly turned upwards, but then thought the better of it. Don't let him get to you, Lois. The man is a beast, and I know this from experience.

What kind of experience?

A bad experience. Lois, are you sure you don’t want to talk about Kiel before you go? This was a typical James manoeuvre – he enjoyed deflecting questions he didn’t want to answer by asking some of his own. Since I didn’t want to answer his, either, I figured I’d play the same game.

Do you want me to suck your cock or not? I batted my eyelashes and then winked at him.

Ah, now we’re talking, Lois. You know how I like it. Get down on those knees and start begging.

Chapter Three

The bistro was simply called ‘Carmichael’s’ and James was right, they did serve a decent fry up, which made a welcome change from toast. Within half an hour I had a massive plate full of all things meaty and tasty. The bacon smelled particularly divine.

See, I told you it was good. James smirked at me and dug his fork in.

You've been trying to fatten me up all week for Dumortier. Are you pleased with the results so far? Apparently, Alain liked his girls with a bit more meat on their bones than me, and my six-pack of abs might alert him to the fact that I was not all I seemed, so James had been having enormous fun feeding me all things fried and sugary this week. Unfortunately for me, the man was a rather wonderful chef who had trained professionally in Paris, and I couldn't help but eat everything that was put in front of me. Although my weeks' stay with James had been rather demanding, I couldn't fault the perks that accompanied it. Three square meals a day with snacks in between, and then there was his rock hard, chiselled body that I quite often got to appreciate without clothes. If we could have added in the occasional orgasm, I would have been in heaven, bar his awful sense of humour. Still, no one was perfect, right?

You’ll do. At least you have some reserves to fall back on, should Alain play nasty.

Play nasty? I frowned and looked up from my plate, wondering what the hell James meant.

You don't want to know, Lois. Besides, you'll find out soon enough. Just remember that when your life reaches its lowest ebb ever, and believe me, you'll have that moment somewhere in CB, I told you not to do this, not once but several times over. You only have yourself to blame. James poked his knife at me accusingly.

I ignored him and sank my fork into a thick slice of bacon, which I then liberally smeared with Heinz tomato ketchup. The experience wasn't quite orgasmic, but it was a close-run thing. I needed to share this thought. Typically, James read my mind and beat me to it.

No, that is nowhere near as good as a decent orgasm, and if we’d had sex, I’d have blown your mind.

Talk is cheap. Why haven’t we had sex, by the way? I was very curious about the answer, although I was loath to show it. Concentrating on my breakfast, I sat there wondering if he would answer or deflect. My money was on the latter. He kept me waiting for ages as he savoured a bite of his thick, Lincolnshire sausage until it got to the point where I was ridiculously jealous of the damn thing, but finally, the man decided to open up, sighing heavily as he did so.

There are several reasons, if I'm honest. Firstly, I don't have sex with colleagues. Secondly, I don't like having sex with people that are shortly going to be buried six feet underground, and lastly, you're not over Kiel. At the moment you're floundering about, and you have no idea if you'll make it through the next week, let alone year. It's as if someone's chucked you out of an aeroplane at thirty-six thousand feet, and there's no parachute in sight. You are lost. Until you come to terms with that death, you will continue to stay lost.

I have come to terms with it, not that it’s any of your business, and I do have a goal. I’m going to assassinate Alain Dumortier in cold blood and then get the hell out and retire.

You haven't and you won't. If by some chance of fate you are successful in your mission, you'll go straight back to Sharkey and ask for another hair-brained assignment that will hopefully get you killed. He put his hands in the air then, knowing I was about to start yelling at him and said, Look, do you want to know about stage two or what? This is our last day together, so let's not argue.

Growling at him, I said, I would be less inclined to argue if you said slightly less inflammatory things, James. Eyeballing him, I let him know how I felt, but it didn’t make him the least bit uncomfortable. The man was so bloody infuriating. That was probably why I liked him so much.

Placing his hand across the table, in a handshake offering, he then said, Truce?

Frowning, I shook his hand. There was nothing to be gained from arguing, and I wanted him in a good mood. Truce, I affirmed. Now tell me what's going down in stage two of the auction. My curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I needed to know.

You want me to tell you now? James looked around him in mock horror.

I rolled my eyes. No one is listening to us. We’re not that exciting, I said. Now if I had a butt like Kim Kardashian and I started waggling it around the place…

Noooo, wailed James in horror. You’re perfect just as you are.

Nearly falling off my chair, I was a little taken aback by that remark. Thankfully, I quickly recovered. Why James, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

Don't let it go to your head. I'm only being nice to you because you're going off to get yourself killed tomorrow. His jaw hardened.

Sighing, I shook my head and groaned. James, hurry up and deliver your side of the bargain before I hit you. The look I gave him was dry.

Before you try to hit me, he countered.

I kicked him in the shins under the table, and he swore.

Lois… his warning tone was back in place, but he was hardly going to show me who was boss in front of all these people. Shifting my chair back a couple of inches so he couldn’t get his own back, I smiled sweetly, and said, I’m waiting.

Just you wait until I get that pretty ass of yours back to base. It won’t know what has hit it.

It will, and it might even enjoy it. Looping a strand of my chocolate brown hair around my finger, I gave him a flirty pout.

Lois… he warned again.

Just get on with it, James. I may have grown accustomed to the fact that I was never going to have either sex or a relationship with James Leveritt, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease him to the ends of the earth whenever the opportunity presented itself. When I finished this mission, I intended to stalk him until he saw things my way - and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. All I wanted was a little taste of the man. Surely he could give me just a little flutter in the sack? Twenty minutes of his time should be more than adequate. Just a taste. He’d been doing his damnest to make sure I craved his body all week. I was the direct product of his machinations at the end of the day.

James narrowed his eyes at me, and for a moment I wondered if he'd read my mind, but then he said, So, stage two of the auction. Let me see. Tapping his fingers against the table which was marginally better than the annoying pen, he appeared lost in thought for a while. I didn't dare disturb him, as we were now on the subject that I had been dying to hear about, so I finished my second breakfast quietly while he decided what he would and wouldn't tell me. I knew that I would be getting an abbreviated version of events, but anything was better than nothing. Chugging down a whole glass of orange juice, followed by yet another cup of steaming hot coffee, I tried my best not to fidget as I waited. It wasn't easy.

Okay, so let’s say you get through the initial round. The first thing they’ll do is untie you all, and the successful ones will be led away to private rooms. This is your first indication that you have an interested buyer. At this point, don’t get your hopes up. There’s a good chance it won’t be Dumortier.

What happens if it isn’t? Will I still have to go through with the charade? I hadn’t considered that outcome. It was entirely possible someone else would buy me, and escape probably wasn’t going to be easy – even for an accomplished operative like me.

Well, that depends. James frowned. We can trace you, send in a team, and have you home in twenty-four hours – but I don't think you'll want us to do that. He looked at me questioningly as I quickly tried to add the dots together. It didn't take long.

What you’re saying, is that if I’m unsuccessful the first time and want another chance at Dumortier, I’ll need to serve my ‘sentence’ as a slave. How long is a normal contract, anyway? I suddenly went cold at the thought of being some sadist’s plaything for three years or more. Was that too heavy a price to pay to get another chance at Dumortier? I would need to think long and hard about it.

We’ll only negotiate for six months or a year at most, but Lois, that’s a hell of a long time when you’re at someone else’s mercy. Even if they’re not a complete bastard, you’re going to suffer in that time – both mentally and sexually. Are you sure you’re up for that?

Exactly how much did I want to kill Dumortier? Enough to waste away a year of my life? I blew out a long breath of air. Then I smiled.

I’m up for that. I nodded my head sharply. If the buyer in question turned out to be a monster, then his life expectancy wasn’t going to look good, but that was his problem. As long as I made it look like an accident, I didn’t think anyone would mind.

As per usual, James read my mind. "That means that even if the guy is a total nutcase, you can't kill him. If he does disappear under ‘mysterious' circumstances, Dumortier won't consider you suitable in the future. He does a thorough background check on all his girls. At the moment we're