Remember Me : Hitter Squad Series Novella

  Remember Me

  Hitter Squad Novella

  Blue Saffire

  Contents

  Publisher

  Words From Blue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Thank you

  Other books by Blue Saffire

  Coming Soon…

  Remember Me

  Hitter Squad Series

  Novella

  Blue Saffire

  Perceptive Illusions Publishing, Inc.

  Bay Shore, New York

  Copyright © 2018 by Blue Saffire.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Blue Saffire/Perceptive Illusions Publishing, Inc.

  PO BOX 5253

  Bay Shore, New York 11706

  www.BlueSaffire.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Remember Me: Hitter Squad Series Book 1/ Blue Saffire. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-941924-69-3

  Created with Vellum

  You define who you are, not their words.

  ―Blue Saffire

  Chapter 1

  Hello

  Dallas

  I stumble out of the stall already piss drunk. It’s been one of those nights. I never seek to find trouble but it has a way of always finding me. I’m used to it by now.

  I’m sure my father is still cursing the day I was born. Well, fuck him and the day I was spit out of my mother’s twat. They never gave a shit about me. That’s why I am the way I am.

  My life has been shit from day one. Who am I kidding? It’s been bullshit from the womb. My mother never heeded a single warning label. Bitch smoked, drank, and God knows what else while pregnant with me. My father used to say the only reason I wasn’t a crack baby was because I was too mean and ornery to be addicted to shit.

  Mean.

  That bastard had some nerve. I saw the sole of his boot to my head more times than I can count. It’s a wonder I don’t have brain damage.

  They say, hurt people, hurt people. I believe that. I actually think it might be a law somewhere. I’ve had my fair share of hurt and it came from a whole lot of hurt people.

  I’ve had one friend in my entire life. She was my neighbor’s niece. We were so young I probably shouldn’t even remember her. But I remember. I remember because she was the only one that was ever nice to me.

  She never made me feel like I was dirty or stupid. Not like everyone else. I think I lost my last bit of humanity when I lost my one friend. To this day, I remember kicking and screaming trying to get to her as she was taken away.

  She came and left every year, but I knew something was different this time. I’ll never forgive my father for not letting me say goodbye. I’d bit his ass for holding me back in that trailer.

  I watched through the dirty window as she drove away to who knows where. I guess she went back to whatever heaven she’d come from once a year. She didn’t belong in the hell stained place I grew up in.

  Those brown eyes have haunted me for years. I don’t even know why I’m thinking of her now. I have bigger shit on my plate. Like where the fuck I’m going to get Skull his money from.

  Only I would get myself into some shit like this. Hell, I shouldn’t even be out here in the open drunk. There’s a price on my head and it’s going to get paid one way or another.

  I just don’t give a fuck anymore. Maybe I’m suicidal and that’s why I haven’t found a way out of this. It’s the only logical explanation I can come up with.

  Dallas Steel-Echoes, suicidal asshole. Has a ring to it. Also sounds about right. I can’t get my shit together to save my life. Literally.

  “Dallas, you got a call,” Arty grunts across the bar as I stumble out of the bathroom.

  My brows knit. Who the fuck would be calling me here? Shit, the trouble looking for me would just show up, not call. I pull my cell phone from my pocket. I don’t have any missed calls.

  My piece of shit old lady left my ass months ago. If that’s that bitch calling, I have a bullet for her ass. All of this bullshit started because of her. Thieving ass bitch. I’ve been digging myself out of this hole since she made off, taking shit that wasn’t mine to begin with.

  I stagger to the bar to see who the fuck’s on the phone. I signal for another beer but Arty rolls his fucking eyes at me and ignores me. Fuck him. I know my limit. I haven’t reached it yet.

  “Hello, who’s this?” I grunt into the phone, surprising myself when I hear my words slur.

  “Is this Dallas?”

  I rock sideways as the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard pours through the line. I have to prop my hip against the stool beside me. Fuck the fact that some blonde is already sitting on it.

  That voice. It’s husky but soft. The type of shit that makes your dick hard. I bet the lips it’s coming from are lush and nice to watch while sucking your cock.

  “Yeah, this is Dallas. Who’s this?”

  “Anita,” she says softly. “Do you remember me?”

  My brows furrow. Only Anita I ever knew was the little girl that had once been my friend. I haven’t seen or heard from her since I was ten.

  I still remember her brown eyes, skin the color of dark honey, and dark hair that was always in all those plaits on her head. Her laughter has played in my head since I was a small boy. I never had anything to laugh about without her. Her musical chimes have been a background sound in my fucked up life to remind me what real joy is like. Or at least, what I believed it sounds like.

  “Dallas? Are you there?” she asks when I don’t reply.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I nod as if she can see me.

  “I need your help,” she says with caution in her voice.

  She should be cautious. Fucking with me only brings trouble. Anyone in their right mind would steer clear of me.

  “I can’t help my damn self. How am I supposed to help you?” I snarl into the phone.

  “You have a problem. I can fix it. I help you, you help me,” she says with more determination in her voice.

  “Oh yeah? Well, how you plan to help me, sweetness? Honestly, my cock has been pretty dry. You plan on wetting it for me?” I chuckle into the phone.

  Yup, told you I
was an asshole. Besides, I don’t know this woman. She can’t help me do shit. If I’m going to die, I’m going to face that shit head on like a man. I’m not running to no pussy to save me.

  “I can make that hundred thousand dollar price tag go away,” she tosses out the hook that catches me right in the nose.

  I’m listening. She has my full attention now. I even sober up just a bit.

  “What do you know about that?” I hiss.

  “I was contracted to collect the fee,” she leaves the words hanging in the air.

  Well shit, I’m not even worth a male assassin. What the hell? Did they plan on having her fuck me to death?

  “What would you say if I told you I could make your problem go away and put another two million into your pocket?”

  Her voice is absolutely becoming sweeter by the minute. If she keeps talking with all that sugar, I might be tempted to have a sip of the sweet tea she’s selling. I’m so parched.

  “Whatcha need to extend that hospitality, Darlin’?” I croon into the line.

  “It’s simple. Marry me.”

  I’m starting to feel like I’m being fucked with no lube. I swear all that innocence disappears as the words slip from her lips. This has to be a joke.

  No one wanted me, let alone would be willing to pay to marry my ass. This chick has to be desperate or ugly as fuck. What kind of hitter was she anyway? Calling her mark to propose marriage.

  “Think about it, Dallas. You have two days. Skull wants his money then. If you don’t pay, then I come to town to pay you a visit. We both know you don’t have what you owe.

  “If you choose option A, I’ll help make it all go away. And in the end, you’ll have a nice nest egg to help you buy the biggest train set in the world,” she purrs.

  I stumble back almost falling on my ass. The real Anita is the only person in the world that knows I once said I wanted to be rich so I could buy the biggest train set ever made. This has to be her, but ain’t shit adding up.

  “How do I let you know if I want to take option A,” I say, too stunned to process what the fuck is going on.

  “Sober up. I’ll find you,” she says and ends the call.

  I pull the receiver from my ear and stare down at it. What the fuck? I think I just walked into the twilight zone.

  I toss the phone on the bar and turn to walk away. I’m moving away from the table my so-called buddies are surrounding. Anyone of them would slice my throat for the right price.

  “Hey Dallas,” I hear hollered behind me. “Where the hell you going?”

  “To sober up,” I holler back, not even bothering to turn around.

  Chapter 2

  The Decision

  Havana

  My father thinks he’s so slick. It’s his damn fault I’m the way I am. I can’t believe he would do this to me. If he weren’t already dead, I’d put a fucking bullet in him.

  My father always taught me, never trust an assassin. We’re trained in the art of seduction, persuasion, and deception. Boy, did he deceive me.

  Too bad I’ll be the one getting the last laugh. I don’t even know how he thought this would work. One year…I can do this for one year and then I’ll be right back to doing what I was born and raised to do.

  I’m a killer. I do what killers do. I put dirt bags to ground for a price. There hasn’t been a man to date that didn’t deserve the death I handed to them. I could smell their worthlessness from the time I received their names.

  It was one of the reasons I took pause when the name Dallas Echoes was handed to me. The guy reeks of being a fuck up and an asshole, but not the kind of dirt bag that would warrant a visit from me. I do the worst of the worst, the scum of the earth. This guy isn’t in my wheelhouse. I wouldn’t even enjoy the hit.

  After some digging, I found out my gut was right. Dallas, I remembered those eyes the minute I saw them, one hazel brown, one blue. As if God realized he had created perfection and decided to add a single flaw to be humorous. Humorous because even the one imperfection isn’t enough to take away from the perfect specimen of a man.

  I looked through every picture I could get my hands on of the mark I’m supposed to be after. Picture after picture revealed the fine ass man my little best friend had grown up to be. Rough around the edges? Yes. A bit dirty? Sure. But underneath all that dirt and grime is a sexy as sin man.

  I remember Dallas’s father. He was an asshole and a dirty bastard himself. It’s no wonder Dallas grew up the way he did. I just never thought his name would find me. Hell, he’s lucky it did.

  He’d be dead in a week if it hadn’t. I roll my eyes at the lame job. Once again my father’s fault. He’s killing me with this bullshit. I can’t get a single decent hit.

  I could once book double digit millions for a single job. Now, no one will answer my calls. I’ve been frozen out of the circle and this shit is going to get hot if I don’t get some damn money soon.

  I don’t understand what my father was thinking. To leave me out here with nothing and no way to take care of myself. If I don’t go through with this bullshit he’s left in my lap there’s bound to be a price on my head.

  “Shit,” I mutter, tossing a vase across the room.

  My chest heaves, my eyes bounce around my home office. The mortgage is due. The two thousand dollar mortgage. I can’t keep going like this. These cheap jobs are going to have me living in a box.

  Literally, my finances are the least of my worries if I keep taking these jobs. It’s frowned upon for a hitter of my stature to go on these rogue hits. They’re the type of work that can expose too much.

  Still, I have to do something. How am I supposed to pay the boys? My father fucked us all. They’re going to start asking questions soon. I don’t have work for them and I’m running out of money to cover up what my father has done.

  It’s been two months and I’ve tapped out all of my resources. My eyes burn with tears I’ll never shed. I’m so frustrated. I’ve never had to rely on anyone. Now, I have placed my future in the hands of a certified fuck up.

  If Dallas doesn’t take the bait, I’ll have no choice but to kill him and collect the weak ass ten grand. His ass owes more than that. I owe more than that.

  For years, my father tried to get me to use my real estate license legitimately. That’s only a front, but it looks like I may have to show up at the office for an honest day’s work soon. We’re all going to have to figure out how to settle in to our cover lives.

  “Son of a bitch,” I huff.

  “Boss,” I turn to see Aisha staring down at the broken glass on the floor.

  Her brows pinch in concern. She’s the only other person I’ve told about my father’s betrayal and fuckery. When the boys start asking questions I need her to be on her toes. She’s a shit liar, but with the right instructions she’ll be able to help me hold them off a little longer.

  “Yeah,” I sigh, rubbing the tension out of my forehead.

  “Mr. Echoes has been in his trailer for two days,” she says after lifting her eyes and clearing her throat.

  “You said he tossed all the alcohol the first night. Has he had a drink since?”

  “No, ma’am, not from what I can see on the camera,” she replies.

  I shoot her a stern look. We’re almost the same age and grew up like sisters. She shouldn’t be calling me ma’am. I blow out a breath.

  Good, he has made a decision.

  “Tell the boys to pick him up. Under no circumstances are they to kill him,” I say sharply.

  “Is force allowed?” Aisha asks.

  I roll my eyes. Telling the guys they can use force is like ordering a kill. Dallas is a big guy, but they’ll beat him to within an inch of his life.

  “No, I don’t want a single hair harmed. They bring him in as clean as possible. Tell them exactly that. They’ll understand.”

  I wave her away turning for the wall of windows in my office. Folding my arms across my chest, I inhale a deep breath. I love this house. I love my l
ife. I’ll do anything I have to, to keep it.

  “Good luck,” I mutter to myself. “Bastard has me by the balls. Dammit, Augustine, why’d you do this?”

  Did you hate me after all?

  Dallas

  I’ve been sober for two days. Two days and nothing. I have one more day before all hell breaks loose. I feel like I’ve been played. Not a drop to drink and that bitch hasn’t shown up.

  “Let me get a bottle of Jack,” I say to the store clerk, pointing to the fifth of whiskey.

  If I’m going to die, I’m going out my way. My last attempt to get my hands on that money fell through this morning. I’m fucked. I might as well get lost in the bottom of a bottle.

  I toss the last of my cash on the counter and snatch up the bottle. The clerk shoots me a disgusted look. He can kiss my filthy ass.

  I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. I haven’t been this dry in months. I feel twitchy and it has nothing to do with the death dealer coming for me.

  I step outside and screw the cap off the bottle as I head for my car. The squeal of tires pulls my attention just as I lift the bottle to my lips. I’m frozen with the bottle tilted toward my mouth.

  A white van stops in front of me and the back door slides open. A big motherfucker jumps out, staring me down with his arms folded in front of him and a gun clinched in his right hand.