Monster

Monster

Jessica
Gadziala

Copyright
© 2015 by Jessica Gadziala
All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may
not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without
the express written permission of the author
except
for brief quotations used in a book review.

"This
book is a work of fiction. the names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is
entirely coincidental.”

Dedication:

To
Crystalyn who doesn't see me

for
weeks on end when I am on a

writing
bender and somehow doesn't hate me for it.

I
don't deserve her, but am so glad she has stuck around.

One

Breaker

I'm
not a fuckin' monster.

Though
I am pretty sure you could find at least three dozen people who would
disagree with me on that.

You
see... my name is Breaker. Partly because it's my last name. And
partly because that's that I do. I break people. People who need to
be taught a lesson. People who need to be bent to someone's will.
People who pissed off the wrong men.

I
break them.

And
then I get paid for it. Well.

I'd
like to say it bothered me. That I had a moral compass that fought
against always pointing south. Fact of the matter is, I couldn't give
a fuck. You don't want your kneecaps broken or your teeth knocked
out, then don't stick your nose in the kind of business where that's
a possibility.

I
guess that makes me a heartless son of a bitch.

But,
coming where I came from, yeah there really wasn't much of a chance
of being anything else.

I
charged back up the stairs and paced around the warehouse. Long
abandoned by the the railway back in the eighties. Three stories of
red brick, mostly broken windows with the train doors long sealed
shut.

“Fuck,”
I growled, wearing out the leaf-covered cement floor, kicking a green
beer bottle and watching it crash against the far wall.

You
see... I had rules.

I'd
fuck up any man who crossed my path. Any man I got paid well enough
to rip open. To beat down. To silence forever when the occasion
called for it.

I
didn't mess with families.

I'd
bust your face in, but no way I'd take your kids to scare you into
doing what someone wants. That wasn't how I operated. There were
plenty of sick fucks out there who'd do that. For half what I charge.
But that was somewhere I drew a line.

And
I did not, under any circumstances, deal in women.

I
didn't kidnap them.

I
didn't hold them hostage.

I
damn sure never put my hands on them.

See,
the problem was, I had a woman one flight below me locked inside an
old gutted train car.

A
woman I kidnapped.

A
woman I was holding hostage.

A
woman I could be commanded to put my hands on at any time.

And
I didn't have much of a fuckin' option either.

God
damn mother fucking Lex, man.

Shoulda
turned and ran the other way when I saw it was him who had summoned
me. I knew better than to get involved with that evil bastard. Made a
name for himself by spilling as much blood as necessary to ensure no
one dared to think of him as the skinny, sniveling gutter rat he had
always been. Unfortunately for all of his enemies, he was a smart
fuck. It took him under five years to completely take over the
streets. If there was illegal activity going on, your organization
best be cutting him in or he'd be sending men after you.

Men
like me.

I
had successfully avoided dealing with Lex from the day I went into
business. Mostly because I was always moving around, taking whatever
job came at me no matter how far away it was. But also because I
tried to stay under his radar. Stay anonymous. Stay out from
underneath his thumb.

But
that all came crashing down when I walked into that damn alley a week
before and saw him leaning against a building, lighting a cigarette,
looking like some nineteen-thirties wise guy in a trench coat and
shiny black dress shoes.

I
should have run.

But,
in the end, I couldn't.

“Breaker,
Breaker,” he started, his voice oily, “we meet at last.”

“Yeah,
this ain't gonna work,” I said, shaking my head, moving back
toward the mouth of the alley.

“Oh,
but I have something of yours.”

I
felt my spine straighten, my body frozen.

No.

There
was only one thing in the world that meant anything to me.

And
if he had him...

“You
fuckin' serious?” I asked, my voice ice as I turned back to
him, my hands curled into fists, every inch of my body tight. I
wasn't hot. My anger never ran toward red. It was cold. It was
frigid. Lethal.

“I'll
give him back to you without a scratch,” he said, blowing smoke
around himself, “if you take this job.”

There
really was no choice.

“What's
the job?”

“I
need you to find, pick up, and hold onto someone for me.”

As
far as jobs went, it was tame.

“Who?”
I asked, mentally figuring it was one of the heads of the families or
some dealer who forgot to cut him in.

“Alex
Miller.”

“Who
the fuck is Alex Miller?” I asked, knowing there was no player
in town with anything close to that kind of name. No, it was all
about the street names. Alex Miller sounded as government as
possible.

“Someone
I need to have a conversation with. Has thus far eluded my men. So I
figured I would call in some outside help.”

“Lucky
fuckin' me,” I said, shaking my head.

Lex
shrugged a shoulder, reaching into his pocket and handing me a piece
of paper. “That's the address. Middle of the night is probably
best. And, not to tell you how to do your job, but you're gonna want
to be fast. Shit apartment above some shit Chinese restaurant, but
it's got all kinds of makeshift security.”

Great.

Makeshift
security.

“And
for this, I'll get...”

“Ten
thousand for the grab. Two grand each day after until I take care of
things once and for all.”

Well,
at least I wouldn't be the one doing the killing for a change.

“And?”
I prompted, brow raising.

“And
you'll get him back in the same shape I got him in.”

“Fine,”
I said, moving toward the mouth of the alley. “You know where
to drop the money,” I yelled, not even bothering to look over
my shoulder.

Only
thing was, I never caught sight of Alex Miller. Whoever the fuck
lived in the (shit) apartment above the (shit) Chinese restaurant
didn't come out for three days in a row. The shades were pulled. The
lights kept low. No noise. No nothing from inside.

I
couldn't see any of the supposed makeshift home security I was warned
about, but that wasn't to say it wasn't in place.

I
shrugged into my leather jacket, slipping on matching gloves, and
made my way up the old rickety fire escape.

Three
AM.

The
light inside the room had gone out almost two hours ago. It was time.

I
crouched down at the landing, pulling a lock pick out of my back
pocket and getting to work on the door.

Thirty
seconds for a normal lock.

It
took me twenty.

So
much for security.

But
even as I thought that, turning the knob, I realized my mistake. A
bottle crashed to the floor. Alex fuckin' Miller put a bottle on the
doorknob.

That
was one way to know if someone was breaking in.

I
took Lex's advice, not wasting any time, and throwing the door open.

I
flicked on the light, charging into the small space.

And
froze.

Just
for the barest of seconds, before reaching for the gun tucked in the
small of my back, a big nasty looking Desert Eagle, and aimed it.

At
her
.

“Where
the fuck is Alex Miller?” I demanded, my voice loud enough to
boom off the walls.

The
girl was half frozen, one foot on the floor, one leg still cocked on
an angle on her bed.

And
she was fuckin' gorgeous. Like I needed any kind of distraction right
then.

Maybe
just over five-seven, slim, long legs, dark brown hair cut to brush
her shoulders, mussed up from sleep. Her face was feminine, delicate.
Soft chin, plump lips, a nose that tipped up ever so slightly at the
end, and wide dark brown eyes, skin like porcelain, but rosy in the
cheeks.

She
had on a pale blue lightweight tee and a pair of black yoga pants.

The
girl took a noticeable breath and swallowed hard.

“I'm
Alex Miller.”

Fuck.

I
should have known there was a catch.

Of
course he wanted to screw with me.

“You
fuckin' shittin' me?”

At
this, her brows drew together.

“Who
are you?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Fuck.

I
was scaring the bitch.

On
a sigh, I slipped the gun back into my jeans, pulling out the needle
instead, laying it flat against my palm, out of sight.

“You
don't need to know who I am. But I need to know for sure that you're
Alex Miller.”

“There's...
ID in my purse,” she supplied, her eyes moving toward her purse
on a desk next to a laptop and pile of notebooks.

That
was good enough for me. “Sit,” I told her and her ass all
but fell onto the bed.

I
walked over to the purse, turning halfway to keep an eye on her as I
rummaged through. Finding typical scatterbrained women shit: mints,
three different chapsticks, a nail file, hair ties, and, finally, her
wallet. I flipped it open, seeing her license with a picture of her
with much longer hair staring at the camera at the DMV. And, sure
enough, her name was fuckin' Alex Miller.

Jesus
Christ.

I
sighed, throwing her shit back into her bag, seeing a toothbrush and
paste shoved into a pocket of the side, wrinkling my brow, then
slinging the long strap of the bag over my shoulder.