Chapter 1

He had no mercy. He had no feelings. He had no sympathy for his victims. Once he set his eyes on his target, there were no second thoughts.

He spared not the slightest pity for Robert Hassell, hotshot divorce lawyer and obnoxious blabbermouth. He squinted through the lens of his sniper rifle from one of the countless windows that decorated the New York skyline. He knew that Hassell headed to the Starbucks outlet that sat ignorantly opposite him every morning at eight o’clock.

He glanced at his watch, then at the locked door behind him. Janitor closets were unpleasant, but it was his best bet for now. He returned his attention to the streets.

Where the hell is this guy?

Three minutes, fifteen seconds after eight, Robert Hassell appeared around the corner, carrying a briefcase and speaking furiously into a Bluetooth headset. He smiled at the advent of his target, his victim to be. Typical New Yorker, busy with himself.

He had planned how he was going to gun him down. He prepared himself for the perfect execution.

Hassell entered the doorless café and stood in line for his usual double-shot espresso. There were three people ahead of the lawyer.

He could wait.

He watched the customers place their others, pay up the money and leave, happily sucking on their drink and satisfying their thirst or hunger, whatever it was.

Then it was Robert Hassell’s turn.

He zoomed in on him and observed his movements. Place the order, wait for the serving, then reach into the pocket, open the wallet, draw a few dollar bills, hand it to the cashier –

He pulled the trigger and was thankful for the muffler.

Just as Robert Hassell’s money touched the cashier’s, he fell forwards, dead.

He smiled and dismantled his equipment. Time to go.

Dylan Stoker’s mission: accomplished.

---

She was an extraordinary beauty. No one had ever seen such deep yet brilliant blue eyes before. They made her look innocent and trusting. And she had such a beautiful smile.

Barton Freelander was sixty and Seattle’s most prolific entrepreneur. No, not entrepreneur, but tycoon. He owned exclusive properties throughout the United States, a real estate tycoon, in fact. Everyone compared him to the great Donald Trump. But he only smiled and said humbly that he was always taking lessons from him.

He was a divorcee, and he was a woman-cavorter. He loved them. And he loved to fly down to his favourite Vegas casino every weekend to gamble and drink the night away, and pick up a woman or two along the way.

Those women loved his charm and money. She was one of the ladies who pushed to get his attention. But it wasn’t his money or his bodily pleasures that she was after.

He picked her up, or rather, she picked him up while he was heavy on liquor and dazed in the frenzy of the spinning roulette and the rattling of the dice against it. Hours later, she was in his suite, the most expensive and exclusive suite in Las Vegas.

He pushed her onto the bed immediately and began to undress her. But she playfully pushed him away and said she can’t concentrate if they both stank like dead skunks. He giggled like an overexcited six-year-old and sneaked into the bathroom to prepare the bath.

While he busied himself in the bathroom trying to get the right temperature for the water, she strapped a black leather strap to her right thigh and waited for his call.

Once in the bath, he didn’t bother with modesty. They took a tumble in the water for a while until she pushed him against the mosaic wall and slipped several pills into his mouth. “For better results,” she whispered in his ear. He giggled and swallowed it.

The effect was instant. His eyes widened with excitement as he surrendered to her smooth caresses. Then she covered his mouth with hers fiercely, and kissed him hard.

The excitement was too much for Barton Freelander.

His heart failed him. He slid into the water, his eyes wide open and his hands clutching his chest, pleading for help.

But all he got from his ‘lover’ was a cold stare and a cruel smile.

Another victim executed perfectly by Kara Sarris.