Killing You Softly

  Khara Campbell

  Killing You Softly

  Khara Campbell focuses on bringing a reality check to the genre urban literature. All stories are a work of fiction from the authors and are not meant to depict, portray, or represent any particular person Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to an actual person living or dead are entirely coincidental

  Copyright © 2017 by Khara Campbell

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  ISBN: 978-1544845890

  Layout: Write On Promotions

  Cover Design: Oddball Designs

  He rescued me. Pulled me right out of extreme poverty and the inevitable fate of becoming a drug addict like my parents. So, when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. And when he asked me to kill for him, I said yes. He's my savior, of course the answer would always be yes.

  But soon I realized, he didn't rescue me from hell, he pushed me further into the depths of it. And hell is what I will have to unleash to regain my soul. To regain my life. To pull myself up from the abyss he's thrown me into.

  *** Intended for mature audience only because of graphic violence. This is a fictional novel and the views and opinions of the characters don't necessarily reflect those of the author. ***

  Dedication

  To my sister-in-law Lavern “Missy” Nelson for persuading me to write outside the box. Thank you!

  Chapter 1

  CASS

  “Don’t take another step near me or I will throw my dagger into your chest, then do it a favor by kicking it further into the four chambers of your heart.”

  Vic freezes in place. I sneer at him letting him know he chose wisely.

  “You’re such a bitch!”

  I laugh dryly. “You made me who I am today.”

  I feel him taking a step. My dagger flies through the air, cutting him on the tip of his left ear then lodges into the kitchen wall behind him.

  “Dammit, Cass!” He touches his ear, feeling the blood on his fingers.

  “I told you not to come near me.”

  “I made one step forward.”

  I glare at him; he knows my knife clipping his ear was just a warning. I never miss my target. He trained me to never miss my target.

  “Can I move to get some napkins for the blood?”

  I nod my head. He moves to the kitchen table and grabs some napkins from the tray in the middle. “Why all the hostility and violence? I just wanted to get some coffee.”

  “Because you’re still breathing. I should have killed you in your sleep last night.” I lean against the kitchen sink and take a sip of coffee from the huge mug in my hands. I’ve been stewing in the news of his other wives for two months. One minute I feel like I don’t give a hoot about it. The next, I want to rip his intestines out, wring them around his neck, and choke him to death.

  “You would kill your dear husband?” He has the nerve to smirk.

  “Illegal husband since I’m one of five wives.” It’s not like I’m in love with my husband. I’m not even slightly jealous, but I hate that I didn’t know that I am one of his concubines. The only thing I love about Vic is him finding me at twenty-three and taking me out of poverty and preventing me from possibly following in the drug addicted footsteps of my family. And I was very close. My smoking pot was slowly progressing to the white powdery stuff.

  Vic and I met when I was a bartender in a strip club in Delray Beach, Florida. Because of my curvaceous butt and big breasts people thought I was a stripper myself, but the only rhythm I have is in the bedroom. So, stage performance was out. That night he came in the club, I served him a couple drinks and, now, here we are. He wined and dined me then three months later I was Mrs. Hamilton. Which is an alias surname because Vic has many aliases for his illegal operation. I married Vic for the status and power he provided. And, of course, because he plucked me out of my inevitable fate of becoming a drug addict, among other demeaning things. I desperately needed to get out of the environment I was living in. So, in some ways, Vic’s my saving grace. I grew up extremely poor, making friends with roaches and rats because they were in the home more than my drug addicted parents and older siblings. So, the moment Vic sought me out eleven years ago, I was more than pleased to be his little trophy.

  What he wanted from me, however, was far more. He needed a pretty face and deadly hands to help in his criminal business of robbing wealthy men blind. He hooked them in by telling them he would make them even more money with investments. The greedy ones are always the easiest. I go in dressed nicely, showing my assets, and get them to hand over the money. We string them along for months – sometimes years. And the moment they grow tired of not seeing a tangible profit – we either go ghost – or make them go ghost by killing them. That’s where my knife skills come in handy.

  On our wedding night, Vic told me all about his operation. He got into the illegal business after he was accused of stealing while working as a stock broker at a brokerage firm he’d been with for three years. It was so bad he almost went to jail for it. After getting fired and going through an extensive yearlong investigation into the matter – he was proven innocent. His superior was the person stealing client funds and false trading. The damage was already done, however. Vic vowed then that if he was gonna be accused of stealing, he might as well reap the benefits from it. And he has. He’s traveled the world over and heaped up a lot of hard earned stolen cash. You may think that I would’ve been appalled and demanded an annulment after his confession – but like I’ve mentioned, he saved me. So, when my new husband told me that he was going to have me trained to become an assassin – I didn’t retreat. In my mind, it was a whole lot better than working at a crappy strip club, living in a roach infested efficiency apartment, and having to walk over strung out hookers and druggies just to enter and exit my apartment. My life before Vic was hopeless. My family were permanent residents in drug houses and my application for residence with them there was pending. Training to become an assassin was a novelty in my eyes.

  I’m Vic’s American wife. I accidently found that out when I overheard a recent phone conversation he was having. He also has African, Japanese, German, and Italian wives. How he kept that secret from me for so many years pisses me off. And to find out such news by eavesdropping on a conversation. All of us wives, I’ve learned, serve the same purpose. Pretty face – deadly hands. His illegal operation is worldwide.

  “You’re my favorite though,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. Maybe he’s telling the truth, he’s here with me in the states at least seven months out of the year. He smiles, which makes me want to cut his lips off so I can use them later to wipe myself after I use the bathroom then delight in watching them flush down the toilet.

  After applying some pressure to his ear to stop the bleeding he asks, “Now, can I make myself a cup of coffee? Or do I have to shoot you to do so? Better yet, I can get Neil to do it.” Vic always carries his gun. And if I had gone with my plan to slit his throat while he slept next to me last night – he probably would’ve pulled his gun out on me first. And Neil? He’s my husband’s faithful bodyguard who is watching us from his position by the back door. The man is never too far from Vic. And a royal pain in my butt.

  I push away from the sink and make my way to dislodge my dagger from the wall then I head to the kitchen table and take a seat. Vic goes about making his coffee. I know he wouldn’t shoot me, but Ne
il may have – not to kill. Suffering a bullet wound isn’t something I want to deal with if it can be avoided. I got shot once, five years ago. The bullet grazed my right leg when I moved to duck under Vic’s desk. One of his now dead associates wasn’t too pleased about how Vic was handling business and decided to take matters into his own hands. Apparently, Vic wasn’t giving him his full share from the schemes. During the hostile meeting the porker pulled out a gun and fired. How he possibly thought that was a good idea, was beyond me. The painful healing process after that wound is something I don’t want to repeat again.

  “Are you ready for the ghost today?” Vic makes his way over to the table where I’m sitting.

  I give him the evil eye. “Aren’t I always?” Yeah, this is our normal. We don’t talk about regular couple stuff. You know, ‘how’s work at the office?’ ‘Do you need me to stop at the store to pick up some milk?’. Instead, we chat about how I’m going to kill a wealthy bastard.

  Growing up the way I did, I learned early on to be numb to my feelings, or how to turn them off and on – which helps in what I do for Vic. The killings don’t bother me the way they did years back when I first started. I remember the first time I sliced a guy’s throat and seeing his red purplish blood shooting out of his neck. I threw up all over my Jimmy Choo pumps. I loved those shoes. Now, I walk away like it’s nothing. Just another day in my life. But sometimes I get this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that this life isn’t for me anymore…

  “Can you try not to be so gruesome this time? It took Drake hours to clean up and dispose of the last body.” He sips his coffee.

  I don’t know exactly what it is, but, for the past year, I’ve grown extremely annoyed and have come to despise the man sitting next to me. Like I’ve mentioned, I don’t love him so we don’t have a lovey-dovey type of relationship. It’s purely physical. Yes, the sex is amazing. And living the life of the rich and famous is great, so for years I’d been comfortable. He gives me what I want, I give him what he wants. However, something has been egging at me for a while now. And finding out about his other wives only adds to my strife.

  Nonchalantly, I reply, “Sometimes I get bored with just a simple cut, you know that.” I place my mug onto the table. “There’s an art to cutting that I like to indulge in every so often.”

  He chuckles. “The knife has been your weapon of choice since the beginning.” He looks nostalgic. He’s probably reminiscing about my two years of training. Military style. When I think back on it myself, I’m amazed I survived it. I really thought I was going to die from exhaustion the first month. “You know time is of the essence when doing these jobs. I can’t afford to have you locked away from me, dear. And even though I have connections in police departments, I like not having to call in a favor.” He smiles. Okay, so there’s something else I like about him – his smile. Sexy as sin. At forty-six the man is as yummy as ever. Six feet even. Olive complexion. Straight black hair. Striking green eyes that remind you of being in an evergreen forest and looking up at its splendor. He’s strong with a muscular build not bulky. An American born and raised, but he has an accent that’s a mixture of different cultures, something he picked up in his world travel. SEXY! I may be a trophy wife for him. But he is also a trophy husband for me. “You almost got caught the last time,” he says with concern.

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t let that happen.” Despite my disdain for the man, I know he has my back. Love? We’ve never uttered those words to each other in our eleven years. I know he cares though. “Which is why Cage acted as a distraction. And Drake was able to do the cleanup after I left.” Cage is my personal bodyguard when I’m doing a job. And Drake is the disposer, I’m sure you know of what.

  “Your safety is my concern. Always. So, stick to the plan; get in and out seamlessly and keep it clean.” He takes a sip of coffee.

  How clean can cutting someone’s throat and watching them bleed to death be? But I understand what he’s asking. Sometimes, I not only cut the victim’s throat, I kind of get creative, tattooing intricate marks on different parts of their body, which leaves a lot of blood for Drake to have to clean up. Oh well, I’ll just stick to plan today.

  “Okay,” I oblige.

  Neil walks in on cue, handing Vic a folder. The man is like an obedient dog. He’s been Vic’s bodyguard for eons. I don’t know what I’ve done to offend the man, it always seems he doesn’t like me. Perhaps he favors one of the other four wives over me. After handing Vic the folder, Neil walks back out the back door, standing at his post, giving us some privacy. Vic slides the folder over to me.

  “Info on where you will bump into Kent today is in the folder. Cage will be your shadow and, of course, Drake will be there to take care of the rest when you’re done. Kent’s met you a couple times so your disguise has to be the complete opposite of the others.” None of Vic’s clients has ever seen the real me. I’m always wearing a wig different from my coarse natural brown hair. With colored contacts and the magic of makeup, I become a totally different woman whenever I choose. The only distinguishing factor is my African American race. But even makeup can change that sometimes. I also use fake Caribbean or British accents. Perfect for the job.

  “My disguise is ready and everything will go smoothly,” I assure him. I sip my coffee, enjoying the aroma.

  I watch Vic’s eyes rake lustfully over me. My kinky hair is a tousled mess along my shoulders and back. I have on a red silk pajama slip that I only pulled on before heading out of the bedroom because I didn’t want Neil lusting after his boss’ wife. Honestly, the man looks like he doesn’t blink unless Vic tells him to. So, he probably wouldn’t’ve have been bothered by my nudity. Vic would’ve been livid though, if I came downstairs in the nude with Neil ever present.

  After a few seconds of companionable silence, Vic asks, “What’s with the knife to my ear?”

  I arch my brow at him, ignoring his question. I need to know the answer to my own nagging question. “Am I your first?”

  He smirks. “It was pretty obvious that I had a lot of experience when I bed you for the first time, dear.”

  I cut my eyes at him. "Am I your first wife, jackass!"

  He leisurely takes a sip of coffee, letting my question linger in the air.

  "Fifth."

  Air wheezes out of my mouth. Thankfully, I’m not choking on my coffee. I may be pitiful, but a part of me hoped I was his first. I haven't fully analyzed my feelings about his deception and the whole five wives thing yet, being the first may, in my mind, have meant that I am special. But why should I care, right? I nod. Not trusting myself to verbally answer. My dagger on the kitchen table is speaking to me to use it to stab Vic in the eye. Bastard! I mean really, the man is a con artist, why should I be surprised he withheld such information from me? I am though.

  He reaches forward and slides my weapon away. He knows me well. "I meant what I told you earlier. You're my favorite. I spend more time with you in the states than I do abroad."

  "And that's supposed to make me feel special?" Yeah, I know, contradicting my thoughts. I don't know why I'm letting this get under my skin. But, dammit, it kinda is. I mean, shouldn't I feel some type of way? I don't think I'm capable of love, so I know I'm not in love with him. Definitely fully in lust. Being married to the man for eleven years, he's grown on me. We live together, we sleep together. And we enjoy each other's company. We have regular date nights. Which is, if I'm honest, something I look forward to. I've been his faithful American wife. Maybe that's why I'm so pissed. I could've been enjoying being in the arms of someone else instead of being his naïve lackey.

  For the past year, I've felt a shift in our relationship. He's now been taking phone calls away from me. Being a little more secretive about his whereabouts. We don't have a "normal" marriage, but he used to freely divulge that info. And it's been a while since we've been on a date. The sex is still – pull my hair, slap my behind – amazing. I guess that's a conciliation.

  “You’re number one
in my heart, Cass.” He pushes his chair away from the kitchen table, sliding it back easily against the granite floor. I watch him. He’s shirtless, wearing only long pajama bottoms, revealing his toned chest, abs, and arms. He walks around to where I’m sitting, stopping behind me. His large body leans forward, his breath, minty and mixed with coffee, sweeps across my cheek. “The others only placate me for the purpose of my business. You are my real wife in every sense of the word. I care for you more than I do any of them. I have you screaming my name more than I do them.” His big hand slides down my arm then over to cup my heavy breast. My breath hitches. “And God did a damn good job when He made you with all this chocolate.”

  I have to admit there’s a weakness I have for my husband…non-husband. And when he says things like that – can you really blame me? I feel moisture pooling between my legs. My nipples are so tight they hurt.

  “Let’s go back to bed. I’m ready to eat my breakfast, in bed.” Vic nips me on my neck, causing a moan to escape from my lips.

  Oh gawd! The mug in my hand slips from my grip, tumbles over, and spills its contents onto the table. I don’t have time to think much about it as my eyes close, enjoying the feel of Vic’s lips and tongue on my neck.

  “Unless you want to give Neil a show. And you know me, I don’t want anyone enjoying the glorious sight between your thick thighs, only me.”

  Moments later…

  “And this is for throwing a knife at me,” Vic grunts as he mercilessly pounds into me. And all I can think about is that I need to throw more daggers at him if this is my punishment. I’m sure Neil is tired of hearing me holler his boss’ name from his post downstairs.

  Chapter 2

  CASS

  Later that day, fully disguised, I accidently bump into my target, Kent, in a popular hotel restaurant here in Atlanta. After watching his habits for weeks, I knew this was the best place for the coincidence. And him living in our state of residence makes it even more convenient. Flying across the country for these jobs can be a drag sometimes.