Claimed by The Killer Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Funny, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)

This isn’t how I was supposed to meet my forever man… as he stands over my dad’s bed, a gun in his hand.

Luke is here to tie up a loose end. To take my dad’s life. It’s wrong. He’s here to hurt Dad. So why can’t I fight these feelings?
When Luke sees me, he changes his mind. Now we’re on the run. Me, Dad, and this stranger.
I can’t deny the need I feel when he kisses me, even if I should hate Luke. Until this point in my life, I’ve liked how invisible I am to men, but Luke is different.
Soon I notice things between him and Dad—a mystery they’re keeping secret between them. The closer we get, the more certain I am that he’s hiding something.
Is there another reason Luke spared our lives? Can we outrun the mob? Or is this going to end in disaster?

* Claimed by the Killer is an insta-everything, standalone, insta-love romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



“This should be easy compared to your other jobs,” Massimo says.

I do pull-ups on the rooftop gym of my apartment building, the sun cresting over the city. My body is strong and ready to do what is needed. Ready to take a life. It’s been my job for a long time.

“He’s an accountant, been working with us for a while. We told him he was doing the books for a laundromat franchise, but he’s started digging deeper than he should. He lives in the burbs with his daughter.”

“How old is she?” I ask.

“Twenty, why?”

I lower myself slowly, talking toward the phone on loudspeaker. I like to make my sets last a long time, lengthen each movement so I can feel my muscles crunching and tightening.

“Better for an adult to find her dad dead than a kid.”

“Are you getting sentimental on us, Luke?” Massimo says. “The last time I checked, we’ve never missed a payment, and we’ve always respected your rule.”

He says rule with derision. As if it’s a small thing to tell them I’ll never touch a woman or a child. Do I believe I am better than the killers who cross that line?

“The pay is the usual.”

The usual is twenty thousand, plus a bonus six months later when the police can’t catch anybody. I try not to let morality niggle at me. I’ve become good at shutting that voice down.

“Okay,” I tell him. “Have you got the details?”

“Yep. The layout of the house. A couple of our guys have been following him. We’ve got a rough outline of his routine. It should be pretty straightforward.”

Dropping to the ground, I land in a crouch and then roll my shoulders. It’s late winter, the air icy despite the sun, cooling the sweat that slides down my hulking body, rivulets of it slipping between my ab muscles.

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“I’ll send the details now. Don’t wait too long on this.”

It might seem reckless, talking with Massimo on loudspeaker out here, but this is my private gym, rented from the building manager. I let the other residents use it when I’m not here, but when it’s time for me to make my muscles burn, this is my world.

Returning to my apartment, I shower, turning the water up hot and letting it sluice all over my heaving form.

Later, Massimo sends me the details.

Andrew Stone, forty-two years old, average height with a telltale birthmark under his left eye. He’s got a full head of almost completely brown hair, despite his age. Nothing like my silver.

Soon, it’ll be time to do what I have to, the only thing I know. It’ll be time to crack open that dark place inside and let the demons out. It’ll be time to kill.

I get my tools ready, deciding to use the syringe for this one. I’ll use my alarm-disabling device, pick the lock, slip into the house, and stalk down the hallways.

I’m agile and sneaky, despite my massive size. He won’t even know I’m there.

Then it will be too late.

Grabbing the garden fence one-handed, I haul myself over and land deftly on the lawn. This seems like a different world to the one I inhabit, with rows of flowerbeds, the mowed lawn, and the three-bedroom house as though taunting me with things I’ll never have.

I don’t want any of those things, I remind myself. I don’t want a family or a future or any of that regular crap. Killing’s in my blood. I’ll be doing this until I’m dead.

I stalk around the edges of the garden, ready to make a sprint for it if security lights blink on. In my experience, people are far too trusting of security lights.

Oh, it was a cat…

Then there I am… gun in hand, finger on the trigger.

Andrew is a silly man. He hasn’t installed a security light, and I’ve already used my wireless jammer to disable his alarm. Most people don’t know these things exist, naively trusting in their alarms to protect them from the bad things.

Sometimes I wonder. Am I a bad thing?

As I pick the lock to the back door, my mind strays there. I’ve only ever killed people involved in the mob life. I’ve worked for the Italians for ten years. It was the Bratva before them.

A hired gun. Murder for loan. Somebody else would’ve done it. Are these excuses? I can’t think like this. Only the mission. Only the blood. Nothing else matters.

In the house, I move quietly, my feet wrapped in cloth material to mask my footsteps and hide the shape of my shoes. I’m wearing a mask, only my eyes showing. It makes me feel like a different species, not a man at all. The angel of death.

Up the stairs, taking them slowly, my heartbeat steady.

Killing isn’t a complicated thing. What makes it messy is when men lose their focus and act out of impulse. Rushing to get the thing done.