Motown Showdown (Motown Down Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2015 K.S. ADKINS

  Published by K.S. Adkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: K.S. Adkins 2015

  Other works by K.S. Adkins:

  The Detroit After Dark Series: Available now!

  Brutal

  Brawler

  Berserk

  Ballistic

  8 Mile & Rion

  Convincing Bet

  Motown Throwdown (Motown Down #1)

  Kill a man, and you are an assassin. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a god. ~Beilby Porteus

  The couple moaning one stool over didn’t bother me. In fact, I was enjoying watching them make out (and believe me I was watching) wishing I had someone to exchange saliva with. The intoxicated chica threw back vodka sodas like she was going to wake up dead tomorrow. If she only knew death was waiting…PS, I’m death. The older gentleman giving her a tongue bath loved his Guiness, laundering money and her fake tits. Yuk.

  I envied these two, truly. In a crowded bar, they said the hell with it and got down to business. To forget your surroundings, any looming responsibilities and let your pheromones rule sounded heavenly to me. Sadly, I didn’t have those luxuries and in about oh, five minutes neither would she.

  She was a job, nothing more. They all were. A job. Remember I said that.

  Breaking the kiss to take a piss, she gives him a saucy smile and makes her way to the bathroom. Exiting my stool, I follow silently entering the bathroom behind her. As soon as she closes the stall, she makes a phone call to who I assume was her husband. Personally, I didn’t really give a shit and seriously hoped she wasn’t planning on taking one because my stomach wouldn’t tolerate it. Checking my watch, I wait for her to flush, tighten the suppressor on the end of my 9mm before climbing up on the toilet and balancing on the toilet paper dispenser. Short girl problems…Raising my right arm up and over, I take aim and fire one round directly into the top of her head.

  Quick. Painless. Efficient.

  Quietly she sunk to the floor and sprawled out peacefully. Careful not slip and get my boots wet (been there), I exit the bathroom and the bar through the back like a phantom knowing, I won’t be remembered. Confirming the kill via text (because smartphones are an assassin’s best friend) I haul ass to where he is.

  His call name is Gadget, and he’s my purpose.

  Okay fine, he’s the guy I’ve been in love with since I saved his tight ass six years ago, but whatever. If you asked him, I was a nuisance, a pest and a royal pain in his tight ass. Personally, I don’t dispute any of those claims but nothing short of death would stop me from protecting him. Gadget has my heart and doesn’t even know it. I mean how could he? Considering we’ve never actually met in person.

  In my line of work, hitters stay out of each other’s way for a reason. Rub us wrong, piss in our territory and we will straight kill you (We’re assholes like that). The way this works is, in essence, hitters are independent contractors but are ‘handled’ by another. We call this person a ‘handler’. All that meant was a job came in, he would field it for you, get you the intel and pay you when it was finished. Over the years though, hitters didn’t like having handlers, did not appreciate getting handled, it took two hitters getting cocky that changed the game. In this business, we cannot afford rogue activity. So in an effort to control the situation, I created the wire. In a nutshell, an online network for hitters and their handlers to communicate.

  Once the kinks were ironed out, and they saw the benefits of listening to their handlers, the wire became a hitter’s hotspot. So when word came down that a handler wanted his own teammate terminated, the wire went electric. None of the members knew what to think. If a handler could order a mark on his own guy, none of us was safe. This order caused a splinter effect. Who would break away and take the hit? Would hitters team up? Who could be trusted? We have few rules in the game, but the biggest was, you don’t kill your own.

  So my next mark wasn’t a mark at all, it was saving Gadget’s life from his own handler, call name Pilgrim.

  Hitters make good money, or most of us wouldn’t even consider being a part of something like this. But when big money’s involved there are always a few that will. My handler wanted Gadget killing for our side. I wanted him killing by my side. For as long as we both shall live…

  You should have died when I killed you. ~John LeCarre

  The woman was a force to be reckoned with, always has been.

  Her call name was Camo and every hitter, if he was worth a shit, has heard of her. In this business not fearing her would be a mistake you only made once. Because if you were her target, you were already dead.

  Six years ago, my partner and I got in on the game. Both of us wanted to make a difference, each of us had different reasons why. Pilgrim, my partner, was injured in an op overseas. While his head was in the game, his body wouldn’t allow him to be a player. I met the guy when I was getting out of college and him the military. We got to talking at the bar, one thing led to another, and we found ourselves looking for an investor. We found one, linked up with others in the game and shit took off. Pilgrim was the brains; I was the hired gun. We found out fast that word spreads. Our results spoke for us. We both agreed that hits weren’t enough so through our investor we expanded our reach. Services offered ranged from missing children, abducted women and even PI work. If it paid well and we believed in it, we took it. Money wasn’t an issue for us; we weren’t cheap and overhead was low.

  However, to stay alive in this business you trusted your partner with your life.

  I couldn’t prove it, but I had a feeling mine was trying to get me killed.

  Shit isn’t adding up. Actually, for the last few months it really hasn’t been but I’ve had jobs to complete leaving me no time to approach him or investigate. Pilgrim was sending me out on jobs that were not our usual. Another problem was I hated computers and did not possess the patience to sit behind one. Then she showed up while worry for my sister and doubting my partner divided my attention. When Camo is near I lose focus because my focus is her. But she’s been on my ass for eight days and has yet to approach.

  If she wanted to kill me she would have, hell she could have. Honestly, when she first found me, I assumed it was to kill me. It was no secret I didn’t exactly follow the rules. I played the game my own way, followed my own code. As jobs came in, and she followed to watch from a distance, I realized she wasn’t going to kill me. Instead, we formed a bond that was impossible to explain. The two of us shared a link, we both felt it, knew it existed, neither could explain it. This sparked our unconventional relationship. In reality, it’s not really a relationship at all, more like a bear watching over her cub. No man wants to be the cub in a relationship but I wa
s, and Camo was a mean momma bear. Since the day she saved my ass I’ve been hooked on her and I didn’t even know what she looked like.

  She was the best in the business, the hitter each of us aspired to be and from day one she’s looked out for me. Why? No fucking idea, she just did. She’s even killed for me and again, I didn’t know why. Hitters are competitive, loners and out of necessity, paranoid. But Camo wasn’t like us, she was…more.

  Because of our nature, hitters give each other a wide berth.

  Face it, to kill people for pay there is something wrong with you. We all know it and stay out of each other’s way because of it. Although her identity has always been a mystery no one can solve, I have the ability to sense her. When she’s close by I feel the buzz in my veins, recognize our connection, and I love it as much as I hate it. Where I had the ability to get lost in the shadows, she had the ability to blend into her environment.

  Hence the name, Camo.

  Every hitter has a way, a unique style and hers; I was never able to get a lock on. Word on the wire (when I used it and seldom did) was Camo had been a hunter since she was a kid. If that was to be believed, then she was taking jobs while breaking in a training bra.

  If I was keen on listening to bullshit (which I wasn’t), I would not have bought into her first kill(s) being at the ripe old age of thirteen. A thirteen-year-old girl liked makeup, boy bands, and gossip. Okay fuck, that’s not exactly true either because my sister was never into any of that shit. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not picture a pubescent girl taking human life. You’ve seen her work, you know what she’s capable of… Yeah, and denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

  But, it really doesn’t matter when she started or how because today she was stone cold, efficient, untraceable, protective and fuck me, hilarious. She didn’t need to brag, people bragged for her. Camo has the skill and the kills to prove that she was elite. Hell, our own police department used her, the government too. Not that you’d see that shit on the news. Camo was the threat you never saw coming or going. Up close, from a distance, none of it mattered.

  So this afternoon while I was with my sister and despite not being able to get a visual on her, I felt her. Since I started down this road I wanted my sister Kandace oblivious, but I couldn’t avoid her anymore. I missed her too much, and she wasn’t stupid. Plus, the vibe I was getting from Camo wasn’t murderous it was curiosity and urgency. Camo was a very curious female, always had been. She was also smart, lethal and patient. She knows should she come within one hundred yards of my sister intending to do harm, I’d be within my rights to kill her with my bare hands. Hitters never fucked with each other or any members of their family, no exceptions. Yeah, there were rogues out there willing to kill anyone for the right price but that wasn’t the majority. Those hitters didn’t stay in the game long. I knew this because she eliminated them personally (for sport). It was also no secret that to Camo this was a game. A game she took very seriously. She was competitive no doubt, but this is the only area where we differ.

  For her, it was a game, for me it was a way of life, a chance to right wrongs.

  Tomorrow I’d give her the opening she’s been waiting for, and unless she wanted to finally stop playing around and spread for me, it was time for her to go before one of us gets killed. Because when I was offered the job of killing her, I turned it down. Pilgrim went nuts of course, because she’s our competitor but whoever ordered the hit was either crazy or greedy. Someone was paying big fucking money to take her out.

  But in the hitter’s game there was always someone willing to take the job no matter the risk.

  It just wouldn’t be me and anyone foolish enough to try would die by my hands.

  No one would harm my… shit, what was she? Friend? Woman? Kryptonite? Ruin?

  Didn’t matter, in my mind she belonged to me. I protected what belonged to me.

  He was a sight to behold. Big, brown, and broody. A stone cold killer in designer jeans. Sometimes he’d shoot to kill, other times he’d shoot to maim but, in the end they all died. Gadget always got his man (or woman). You wouldn’t see him and think ‘killer’ until it was too late. But God damn he wore killer really well. He wore everything well, and I knew each time my heart rate spiked I wanted him to wear me too. Like a Camo onesie.

  A restaurant, how…first datish.

  And smart, if truth be told. From the safety of my car, I watch him eat through the window. Gadget eats like a man, no… a wolf. Yeah, like that. He tears into his food, and I wonder if he was grunting while he did it. Gage ‘Gadget’ Kane was a dark man, tall, built and delicious. Everything about him was dark. His skin, his eyes and his demeanor. The day he joined the wire, I zeroed in on him immediately. He didn’t have military training, in fact, his fathers were respected lawyers, and he had majored in business at Wayne State. Not exactly the training for a killer but to each their own. I never went to college. Hell, I barely graduated high school but based on his transcripts he was smart, like Harvard smart.

  Over the years I realized Gadget had one weakness, his sister. Her name was Kandace, and she was gorgeous. It took some digging, but I figured out that they were birthed by surrogates. Their fathers were an interracial couple (and adorable) and chose to have two children. Gadget was black (or rather milk chocolate, in my opinion) and Kandace was white (like snow white). Personally, I thought their blended family was amazing, and clearly he did too because he was very protective of them.

  She became a doctor; he became a hitter.

  Both were exceptional at their chosen professions.

  His fathers nor his sister had any idea.

  From day one there was something about him. Some of us are cocky, aggressive and have this heir of superiority that comes with the job but, not Gadget. Out of all the operators in the network, he was most like me. We liked killing. We also prevented our marks from killing others. If you think Detroit has issues with crime from watching the news, try living here. It’s not all poverty and sporting events. In fact, a lot of very wealthy, very shady people are responsible for our problems. These people want the city crippled, unable to fight back because it gives them an opportunity to take control.

  This is where we come in.

  I am a paid killer. But I do not, will not slay the innocent. The bitch in the bathroom? She wasn’t innocent, she was married to a dirty judge. A judge for the family court system who ironically enough knew his wife abused his children and allowed it. To prove a point I took her out first, so he could sweat a bit. The concerned citizen who hired us needed time to get her affairs in order to take over guardianship of those kids. Kids she loved and wanted raised right, with love and protection.

  I respected that. Because sometimes people like me that do what I do, are all you’ve got left.

  When my phone rang, it shook me of my thoughts and brightened my mood. “Thank you for calling the Happy Hitter where every shot counts, how may I help you?”

  “I got info,” he says on a laugh. “Six are in, talk of teams now.”

  “Not good,” I mumble watching him drink coffee through the window.

  “Guys are running scared, but some are considering. Word on the wire is, which side is Camo taking?”

  “Really not good.” Which it wasn’t because my allegiance would be a huge deciding factor in Gadget’s safety and my final termination of his handler and partner, Pilgrim. Dirty rotten piece of shit…

  “I’ll sign in tonight,” I tell him packing up. “Keep everyone guessing, maybe it will buy him some time.”

  “Pilgrim’s in the wind. Watch your ass,” he says. “And his.”

  “Always,” I say before hanging up.

  That’s my Bobo for you. He’s sixty-two years old, full of piss and vinegar, loves his granddaughter and internet porn. Actually, I’ve debated hooking him up to a polygraph to see if he loves porn more than me but I was afraid of the answer. After my parents had been killed, he got me out of the deal
, and I made sure he never regretted it by being awesome. We also teamed up and got revenge on the bastards that killed them too. My dad was a hitter; Bobo was his handler when he retired from the game. My mom was a paralegal but supported this one hundred percent, she loved the life. I was thirteen when it happened and though I was raised to respect firearms and how to use one, with Bobo at my side, avenging my parents were my first kills.

  But obviously not my last.

  Approaching Gadget was going to have to wait which sucked, and there would be pouting involved, write that down. Pulling back out into traffic, I flew home to my loft and started digging. To get him on board, I’d need all the ammunition against Pilgrim I could get.

  And to get him to fall madly in love with me, I had to start by wowing him with my brilliance.

  I call this Step One.

  “How did you not see the threat?” she growls into the phone. “He was right there, Gadget. You have to pay attention to detail! Had I not been there---“

  “I would have killed him too,” I tell her simply. I knew there was another threat, I also knew he was close. But I also had it under control. “Thanks for stealing my thunder, Camo.”

  “Stealing your thunder?” she yells and I pulled my ear away from the phone. “Try, saving your ass!”

  Months ago I got a call from the elusive and filthy rich, Bet Lennox. She called the agency asking for a specific favor, a hit on herself. The woman had lost too much too quickly; she had never recovered from it. My partner, Pilgrim, gave her my number, and I called her. I told her to take seven days to make sure she wanted to die. If in fact she was serious, which I suspected she was, I told her I’d do it. I would have done it too, but I didn’t have to. Instead, she hired me to eliminate the threat to her and her numerous businesses. The woman deserved a second chance, and I was glad that she got one.

  You got people suffering all over the world. Disease, poverty, abuse, and even devastation. She was the latter. What she didn’t know then was that those years ago she used the money from her tragedy to fund us. From the start, she believed in our cause. Pilgrim and I had this noble idea, to save those who could be saved while ridding the world of scum. We heard about the game, how it worked and wanted in. So Pilgrim and I essentially ran two businesses. In the event of cases like Bet’s, we worked outside the wire. Not every case was a bag and tag; some were cases like hers. From day one we excelled at all of it. On occasion, you’d get the whack calls from scorned exes and shit like that, but it was Pilgrim’s job as my handler to filter those. Since I did the field work, I had trusted him with my life. Waiting on Camo to show got me thinking about happily ever afters, how some got one but many didn’t.