The Encaisseur E-Book

Jessica Mée

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Tiran, personal assassin to the Saint Lucian Criminal Lord, invites two of the most respected and viciously known criminals into the oasis and secrecy of his aunt, Leanna Cedil's secluded home, one of them once known as the Reaper.

Le Encaisseur runs into the woman that Tiran calls Aunt Cedil and is immediately entranced by her. Everything she does is an enigma to him. She is nothing he expected yet everything he expects from a woman. She completely envelopes him in her heat and warmth, burning his darkened soul with her light. He knows where he belongs and what he has to do.

Leanna Cedil has lived a life of seclusion inviting only those she trusts and knows into her oasis. To say that she was furious that persons without her consent had breached fortress was an understatement. She was immediately soothed by the towering dragon who swiftly devours and responds to her very soul. Blood will be spilled. Satisfaction will be rendered. A new Head will rise and bonds of friendship will be recognized.

Leseprobe

Jessica Mée

The Encaisseur

Saint Lucian Vice #1

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Chapter One

Tiran briefly flickered a look at his Rolex Datejust, two-toned, gold fluted bezel with a Jubilee bracelet and sighed. It was already three in the morning. His grip tightened on his steering wheel, his maroon, Infiniti QX80 4WD, sped smoothly around a corner. His lights flashed, bringing to life the tall bamboo trees, the rocky cliffs that seemed to loom over him from the moon’s light, the concave corners, shadowed by Caribbean wildlife. He leaned forward; vaguely remembering a wooden shack nestled in those corners. For once through the hills of Canaries to Soufriere he would like to see a boa constrictor roaming free, perhaps slithering across the road or along the roadside. Most of the snakes he had seen were already captured and tamed snakes for the amusement of tourists travelling to Soufriere, on vacation.

Tiran sighed from the disappointment. Perhaps another time but he never knew with these guys when he would be sent this way again.

He brought down his air conditioning and glanced in his rear view mirror. The lights from the two pursuing, silver Range Rover FFVs glazed over his golden brown eyes. Glad they were following well, he thought in amusement. His aunt will be pissed when she saw the gifts he brought for her tonight or he should say this morning. He shivered when he recalled her usually ice cold glare when she would stubbornly refuse to be dragged into any suspicious activity. She was as clean as an ice maiden when she placed her foot down but as soft as a marshmallow when she had people depending on her. Right now he was calling on all of God’s good will that the latter part won this war.

Tiran never expected in all of his years that he would have to bring his work home or to his extended home but she was the only he knew that he could rely on, in discretion and loyalty. When his aunt, Leanna Cedil, made up her mind, there was no changing it. All she required from him was absolute honesty and loyalty in return. To be honest, he had not been honest with her at all. If anything he had done absolutely everything in his power to keep the truth hidden from her. His amber eyes hardened like to two pinpricks of jewels as the moon’s light, lit on his .22 pistol with polished silver barrel and silencer, with a black handle. He imagined it was still warm from its recent use.

Earlier tonight, he had gotten the call to end the new Black Gang just emerging from the Marchand area.

“These fucking kids are a fucking nuisance Tiran. Eventually they will stumble upon something that will lead directly to us and I can’t allow this,” Stephen Carielle had hissed gruffly over the phone. Tiran had suddenly felt the warmth of his breath. He could picture the massive, chocolate dark skinned, head of the Saint Lucian Cartel sipping his amber colored brandy from his glass. His fingers seaming to be ever so gentle to hold the fragile glass yet ever so strong to snap your neck if he so desired. “Finish them off and make certain the police think it was an in house massacre. It’s hard enough making all our business associates look like clean, law abiding citizens. I can’t have these kids running around, hijacking our products, rebranding them and selling them as their own- so fucking stupid to be selling them in their own surrounding neighborhoods! Fucks Sake!”

Tiran had smiled. What more could he do but just smile because Stephen was quoting exactly what he had said only a few months ago to Stephen but of course Stephen had seemed amused by the whole situation. Granted back then, The Black Gang had not been so foolish enough to be selling their stolen products to the very own surrounding neighborhoods. It would be only an amount of time before the cops traced the drug to the neighborhoods and the Gang itself. As stupid as they were, no one would believe that they had the capacity to smuggle in this huge amount of drugs into the country without a heavy hitting partner. These boys were low hitters and low hitters always got caught.

“Do not fucking smile Tiran! I fucking know your pretty boy face! Get the job done!”

“Aye, Aye Capitan,” Tiran had said in amusement. Before he hung up the phone he heard Stephen Carielle’s growl from his mocking tone.

There was no need to hunt down the gang’s trail he had always known where they were. He had been keeping a steady track of them and their movements. Their pants were barely wet. They had been smart enough to track down and learn their shipment codes, knowing when Stephen’s shipments were coming in and when they were leaving. Stephen had thought them promising. Knowing Stephen, Tiran knew the old man had been planning to allow the boys to steal as much as he would allow them to and then the moment would come to put the squeeze on them, thereby owning the very john’s they wore. All Tiran had seen was a threat. Their leader was an idiot who was as far gone from the very product he sold.

He had simply driven through one of the most dangerous neighborhoods known and packed on the outskirts. Tiran had pulled on his black leather gloves and taken a last look at his appearance in his rear view mirror. He was wearing a black, turtleneck shirt and black slacks. On his feet was a pair of black dress shoes. He regretted to have them worn on this errand but he had to get this job done before he met up with the other heads of the Organization. He slipped out of his vehicle, locked and had the alarm put on. Casually, he strolled through the neighborhood of Entrepot, his handgun, tucked in safely at his waist.

A young woman dressed provocatively, in a lace, skin tight dress and high platform, fuck-me heels stood on the sidewalk awaiting a ride from her partner, he supposed. “Looking good Beautiful,” he kissed casually. She blushed and smiled. He strolled by, his pants in his pocket as he went around the corner leading to Marchand. He gave a casual wave to a few SSU officers with rifles at their sides. They nodded at him and carried on with their conversations. Gingerly, he moved among the littered trash at the side of the stadium. When he got an opening into an alley he slipped in like he had never been there on the road; a forgotten specter.

A little higher up, one of the officers glanced down the street, saw the streets empty. A styrofoam cup rumbled across the road, the lamp poles filtering every nook and cranny of the road with light. The young man in black who had just greeted was simply forgotten from the sudden calmness that greeted the streets. He turned and laughed with his other fellow officers.

Tiran wound his way through the alleys of the Marchand Boulevard, slipping cleanly through the wooden houses which were so closely built that he wondered how could there be any privacy. He bent his head beneath an opened wooden window. Light filtered from the wooden interior from the house or what he would like to call- a shack. Inside, he heard a woman laughing, supposedly an elder woman from the patois he heard being spoken. Tiran cursed his nose when he bypassed a small nylon bag tightly sealed hanging from the side of a window.

In these parts of the neighborhood, Tiran clearly remembered reading that majority of these homes did not have bathroom facilities. Honestly, any government in power, he felt should have this entire boulevard broken down and rebuilt so persons could have better living facilities in the city. To allow persons to be living in these situations in a time like this just seemed inhumane. With a sigh, as Tiran closed in on the gang’s meeting place, held directly in the center of the boulevard, the one place they believed that no one would dare to come for them. Except he had and that would be a very clear unexpected visit from him.

From a small hole in the rear of the shack, Tiran peered into the well lit room. He perused the seven men sitting around the fairly small table. He smiled amusement as they discussed their product and moving up in the ranks. He imagined that’s how starting up would be. He noted their leader, known among these pants as Ruff Man, sitting at the supposed head of the table, his dark, thick locks piled high above his head. Tiran wondered how he was capable of carrying this huge weight and how he was even capable of moving around. Why on earth would anyone have this hindrance especially in this kind of business? Ruff Man was known to have one abused wife, presently sporting a black, swollen eye and was known to have a few children in the neighborhood and several mistresses or bed warmers littered around the neighborhood. Another piece of scum he was more than happy to rid the world of.

At this moment, life could not be better. He spotted the closed door behind Ruff Man. Tiran shrugged, rolling his shoulders ever so slowly, he twisted his neck from left to right, stretched his mouth and glanced up at the clear, dark sky, littered with stars, flickering down at him. They all seemed to wink in his direction. Beautiful Ladies, he thought wryly with a soft smile. He stood, stretched his legs then made his way around the wooden shack. There was not a sound of his approach in his movements. He paused just as he was about to make the turn to the front of the shack. His hand lifted his gun from his waistband as smoothly as if it was the most natural movement to him.

Perhaps it was, he thought slowly. He turned the corner, lifted his gun and pulled the trigger. The first guard fell to the ground. The other only turned to look in his direction when Tiran pulled the trigger and he too fell with a thud. Tiran walked over to the bodies. He barely registered the hemorrhaging wounds at their skulls.  Tiran only knew that they were dead. He saw the keys, collected them and walked up to the door. Still there was not a sound from him. The keys slid smoothly from the guard’s pants, his feet moved as surely as if he had lived in this moment his entire life. He knew every rock, every pebble and every pothole.

Tiran unlocked the door and stepped into the room. He did not even register the rest of the persons in the room. Simply walked over to Ruff Man and held the gun to the back of his head. Silly Ruff Man should have had one of his cronies sit at the entrance of the door. He should have had another crony sit with his back to the door, not him. The room seemed to have gone into a dizzying spiral of confusion then rage.

The first at the table to open his mouth, Tiran reached to the other side of his waistband and pulled out his other .22 pistol with attached silencer and pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor as surely as the others went dead in silence.

“Nobody Move,” Ruff Man shouted. His cronies looked at him their hands already holding their own pistols. One even had a shotgun. Tiran knew he would have to go next.

Tiran leaned forward. His arm sliding around Ruff Man’s neck, a smile came to Tiran’s lips when his wrist brushed the thickness of a bulletproof vest. At least the idiot had had the sense to wear a bullet proof vest. He knew Saint Lucians well, Ruff Man was going to die tonight and he sensed Ruff Man knew it too. Ruff Man trembled as the slow realization hit him when he saw the looks on his cronies’ face. When the first crony, released the safety, Ruff Man lifted his gun from his waist, Tiran allowed him. He knew Ruff Man’s only objective would be to defend himself. With his other arm, Tiran smoothly lifted his gun and in one effortless motion just as the shotgun holder was lifting his, Tiran pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor never having released a single shot.

One problem out of the way…

The first shot was fired. Ruff Man took a heavy hit in the chest but Tiran guessed they didn’t know Ruff Man was wearing a vest. Ruff Man jerked from the shot and fired his own shot. Crony two fell, blood gushing out of his chest. Ruff Man fired again, Tiran fired- “Motherfucker!”- “Shit!”- “Ruff Man, you fucking son of a bitch!”

Ruff Man jerked against him and Tiran knew he was gone but barely registered the blood flowing over his arm, barely seen over the dark material of his shirt. He held on to the weight as cover and finished off the rest. Six and Seven drooped to their knees and crumbled to the floor. Tiran released Ruff Man and cleanly walked out of the room. He left the door open, light filtering out into the darkened allies. Before he left, he maneuvered the two dead guards, facing towards the open door. No one dared open their windows to peak but Tiran knew the police officers he had seen were already on their way. That was the way out of the Boulevard. There would always be no witnesses.

He wound his way once again through the alleys already knowing in which direction he would be heading as his escape route. He came out through Waterworks Road, his guns tucked at his waistband and strolled out onto the streets glancing up at the street lamps…

Tiran blinked, clenching the steering wheel as he turned onto his aunt’s estate in Dacretin. How on earth did he find himself in this situation? He had not a clue. The large imposing house loomed up like a beacon of light. It always did that for him and just about anyone else who came to the house. When he spoke to his aunt about it she always said that it was The Spirit. She was by far one of the most spiritual persons he had ever met. Everything about her was so beautiful and vibrant. There was not a person she smiled on who did not feel the effects of that smile or what she would like to call The Spirit.

He stopped at the gigantic gates, leaned over and entered the security code. The gates swung open and for some reason, though he was driving in with two bombs behind him, once he entered those gates he was finally able to relax, relieving a tension he never knew existed in his bones.

Chapter Two

 “Let me handle this,” Tiran explained to Elvin Ramelin, LeObscurantiste, second head of the Saint Lucian Cartel and his wife Fiona. Seth Lendoff, Le Encaisseur, third head of the Cartel was standing not too far off, casually lounging against the window seal with his jet dark cat, named Syberia clutched in his arm. The feline looked fast asleep in its master’s arms. The light cream curtains fluttered into the room, the warm breeze drifting into what his aunt liked to call the lady’s room. The room was furnished with plush cream floral couches; the flowers the colors of soft pink and peach; the wooden curls at the arms of the couch, gleaming with a deep red varnish. The center table and book stand gleamed with the same rose wood and design.

Seth stretched out his legs and turned to the trio. He glanced around the room, admiring the attention to detail, the polished silver tea tray that stood off to the corner on a gleaming rosewood, large chest. The large shelf he noted was filled with every romance novel anyone could possibly imagine. There was cream and lace everywhere and he had to admit it was a very relaxing room. No doubt in his mind, this was a lady’s room.

“She did not know we were coming?” Seth asked. From the look on Tiran’s face, Seth knew the answer to his question. Tiran was only a few years younger than him. Seth liked him. He had known the man ever since he joined The Organization and had a liking for the way, he worked, his attitude and his sense of humor towards everything that he came across. Best way to handle life Seth always thought. He was trustworthy and consistent. Seth had been looking to see if he could get Tiran under his branch away from Stephen Carielle before the old man’s temper got the better of him. This would have to be done in a very delicate manner.

“I will take you to your guestrooms for the night,” Tiran said indicating for them to follow him as he led them through the house.

“This is a very beautiful home…” Fiona gasped as she took in the intricate detail of the wood trimmings and the ceiling. Her husband took her hand in his and nodded.

“My aunt always has the house constantly aired out and cleaned so all rooms are always ready for guests. Not that she has many of them but she likes to know that constantly her home is cleaned,” Tiran said in amusement. “There is a pool in the west wing. I will show you guys tomorrow. This house has many surprises; absolutely no difference than being at a hotel.”

Seth chuckled, “I take it you come here every time you are sent on a mission south and you are granted an allowance for your stay, meals and recreation?”

Tiran turned sharply to Seth, a smile stretched across his lips, “I don’t know what you mean,” he stated.

The trio with him laughed…

After he had situated his guests to their rooms, Tiran found his way to his aunt’s room. He silently opened the door and walked into the room. He stripped himself of his shoes and shirt. Aunt Leanna, turned in her bed restlessly. She always knew when someone was in her room. He could sneak up on his targets. They never saw him coming but he could never accomplish that with her. He paused.

“Tiran…” came the long whisper from her sleep then she turned back into her deep sleep.

He continued his way to her two large windows to the long bench beneath fluffed with cushions like a bed. He pictured her sometimes sitting there, looking out over the grounds when she was in one of her moods. Tiran leaned back and lifted his long legs on the softly cushioned bench with a sigh. He opened both windows and drifted into a soft, dreamless sleep.

*             *             *

Leanna Cedil stood looking up at the tallest man she had ever seen. His large gold brown chest rose like a wall before her. He held a black cat to his chest that stared back at her with just as much interest as his master was looking down at her. His deep dark eyes stared down at her like a feline pinning down an unsuspecting prey. Leanna flushed, her simple cream cami held tight over her tightening nipples and her small shorts fluttered around her behind. Her bare feet curled into the cold tiles. She peered down to see him in a pair of loose dark slacks that slung low on his well toned, muscle tapered hips. He was just as bare feet as she.

She opened her mouth to speak. No sound came out. Tiran is here. Her mind raced. This stranger had clearly just awoken from a comfortable sleep. The stranger is a guest; A guest of Tiran’s. “Tiran’s friend?” she squeaked as she looked up at him and saw that he was looking down at her with clear interest.

Seth nodded, peering a little closer at this woman before him as her mind raced to put things together. Her eyes drifted from one corner to the room, putting information together as to what was happening around her. To her credit she had just found a stranger in her home and she had not immediately freaked out. Instead she was assessing the situation and figuring out solutions. Good woman. Beautiful woman… Seth added as he took in her massive hair of dark night curls that seemed to engulf her entire face. She was not short in the least but at his height she might as well be five feet.

“Good morning?” she said still a little unsure of herself.

Seth nodded again, “Good morning. You are still unsure of your deductions. Trust your instincts.”

“Trust the Spirit,” she corrected and Seth smiled quizzically down at her.

“The Spirit…” he whispered. “You’re Tiran’s aunt?”

Leanna nodded and his deep dark eyes widened a little but then peered a little harder at her. She wished like at any moment she could disappear into the wall just to escape the intensity of his gaze. Her hand nervously went to her bedroom door behind her. It was like standing beneath a microscope… so grueling…

“I take it, he hasn’t spoken to you as yet?”

Leanna shook her head, her curls gently stroking her neck and shoulders as she went along. “No… He is still asleep. I was just heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.” Leanna’s gaze flickered nervously around his shoulders.