Gettin' Lucky Read online

  Gettin’ Lucky

  Sean Moriarty

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Mia

  Chapter 2

  Mia

  Chapter 3

  Mia

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Mia

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Lucky

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Mia

  Chapter 12

  Mia

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Mia

  Chapter 15

  Mia

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Sean Moriarty

  Banging Reaper

  Copyright © 2016 by Sean Moriarty

  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 publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Published by Sean Moriarty

  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.

  Copyright © 2016 Sean Moriarty

  * * *

  Editing and Formatting By Izzy Sweet

  ISBN-13:

  978-1533264206

  ISBN-10:

  1533264201

  Cover by Aria http://resplendentmedia.com

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my better 3/4ths

  Chapter One

  Lucky

  “The little cunt is gonna be a good fuck before I put a bullet in her head,” Conor growls out.

  Conor wouldn’t shut the fuck up if I paid him a million dollars to, and he loves to tell me what he is going to do to the people we have to take out. I’m going to eat this steak like a fucking bum sucking a prostitute’s tit. Or—Bitch loved me shoving my cock down her throat. Puking is all part of the show. He’s a disgusting fuck, and I only go near him when we are forced to work together on a hit.

  He’s also a fat fucking greasy piece of shit who is really, really good at his job. He has no qualms about getting his hands dirty, and if he gets told to rape a victim—male or female—before he kills them, he does it. Fucker is rumored to have shot his uncle in the back, and then in the head execution style for fifty bucks. He’s not a nice guy, and he sure as fuck doesn’t have any fucking ethics in killing. They send him in for a message.

  Daniel O’Riley, the boss of our outfit, sends me in when he wants to send a message as well. I’m the one who gets in and gets out without there ever being a spec of evidence. I’m the quiet killer, and I sure as fuck don’t rape—and I don’t do kids—ever. Both of those are strictly off my list of services. Daniel pushed that line once, and when my father pushed back, it was quickly dropped. Dad’s gone now though. A year ago he had a heart attack that took him down to the dirty fucking potato farms of hell.

  “You get the son and his girlyfriend. I’ll tie up the daughter three minutes after you enter, and then we will deal with Mario and his sloppy cunt together,” Conor rasps to me. His fucking voice is the shit of nightmares.

  “Just kill the fucking girl, asshole. Daniel didn’t say dick about fucking raping her,” I say back to him

  We are parked about a block and a half from the house we need to enter. This is personal and business for Daniel. This dego fucking wap from the fucking vinelands of Italy has stepped on Daniel’s toes too many times. First it was working under our fucking noses in the skin trade, and then he started hitting our business up for protection money. Mario Carcinelly is as slimy as they fucking come. He uses his ties to the Italians up north as a business card. Fucker is trying to expand down here to the midwest, and that means it’s time to put up the ol’green, white and orange.

  “Conor, no more talking. If I smell your breath one more fucking time I’ll put a bullet through your neck and out the side, snapping the fucking spinal cord and paralyzing your shit breath once and for all.”

  I really don’t like Conor.

  Grinning at me that nasty fucking rotted teeth smile. “Lucky, Lucky, Lucky, the patron saint of death. You even try it and I’ll send you down to see your father nice and quick like. Then I’ll fuck your cunt of an ex-girlfriend nice and slow as I slice her pretty throat.”

  I slide my pistol from the harness on my chest and point it directly at his forehead. “This is the last time I work with you, fucking unintelligent raping pig.”

  Shaking his head with a ghoulish grin, Conor leans forward, pressing his forehead right against the barrel. “You will do what the fuck Daniel tells you to do.”

  He motions for me to get going as he leans back and reaches down into the bag sitting between his feet. Pulling out a black ski mask, he begins rolling it down, over the top of his ugly head.

  I want to say something else but the fuck is only going to piss me off more right now, and I need to be on my toes with this one.

  The information we have is sketchy at best, and sketchy might be too much of a word for the actual information we have on the house. Mario, his wife and his young stepdaughter are supposed to be in there. The son from his first wife and the son’s girlfriend might be there, but might not.

  We have been waiting since about eleven tonight to see if anyone’s moving, and to get a sense of who’s all inside but it hasn’t helped. Fucking Daniel and his goddamn temper. Soon as the fucker discovered where Mario is, Daniel has to fucking pounce. Make a fucking mark—mark his goddamn territory like a fucking dog.

  I step out of the black BMW and pull my black leather coat tight around me. It’s as fucking cold as the stripper who took my virgin heart. She fucked a fifteen-year-old me and then took every single dollar I could get my hands on. She told me I was her boyfriend and never talked to me again.

  I’ve been doing this job for six years. As soon as I was discharged from the army with a broken leg at twenty-two, I have been killing people for “Uncle Daniel”. I was killing people for my Uncle Sam too though. I went through boot and then got myself picked up by the Army Rangers. How I made it past all those security checks, and the background shit with them was a miracle.

  Daniel likes that my morals about killing someone else are pretty damn flexible—well except for children, I won’t do that fucked up shit.

  The gun metal pushing against my ribs is freezing cold as it gets bound to me, and since I’m only wearing a black t-shirt beneath, I don’t have much in the way of keeping the metal warm.

  I can see my breath puff out as I walk to the sidewalk on the same side of the street as the house. This fucking neighborhood is in the really well-to-do part of town. Old money and new money mix here, and you can see it in the houses. But on a cold fucking December night like right now, the lights are few and the weather is pushing everyone and everything inside.

  It’s been a shit year; I’ve been doing a fuck ton of jobs with Conor this year. The fucker seems to be becoming more and more unhitched as we work through all the damn people Daniel has decided to have a grudge against. For a long time he was so fucking smart, but I think the syphilis has gone to his brain now and it’s made him fucking insane with paranoia. Daniel that is—Conor has always been a sociopath like this.

  I know my father was Daniel’s fathers right-hand man, and that made Daniel walk on egg shells with the organization. Well, fuck, let’s call it what it is—a mob. But since my dad died, Daniel has become more and more aggressive, and increasingly paranoid of the other gangs out there. I don’t know why my dad held some control over Daniel, but if dad was the only thing keeping Daniel in check… this city is going to go to shit real soon.

  I pull down my black nylon mask as I hit a set of shadows, and ease myself off of the sidewalk towards the covering trees and overgrowth. This neighborhood is for the rich and uncaring people, the ones who don’t seem too concerned about security.

  I don’t like this one bit.

  A big guy like Mario should have tons of guys hanging out right now around his house, but he doesn’t. He has two guys on the outside that I can see, and both have lit cigarettes. Morons. Smoking kills their night vision. Each time they take a long drag, the cigarette flares and the heat brightens enough to write a death warrant with their names on it. I name them Fat Guy and Stick Man. They both talk to each other for a couple of minutes, quietly laughing about something.

  I watch for a little longer; Fat Guy is my target. Conor gets Stick. I slip my pistol back into the holster, and pull the tactical knife from my belt. I can’t afford too much noise.

  As they walk away from each other, I slow step and come right behind the fat one just as he turns the corner of the house. I’m thankful that in this freezing fucking weather there isn’t snow or a bunch of dead leaves on the ground. Slow step, slow step—and I’m pushing the thick long blade through the side of his neck as I rock our bodies forward, towards the ground. We land with a dull thump but nothing too bad. Pulling the blade back out, I swipe it clean on the guy’s coat.

  Conor better be doing his fucking part, I grouch to myself as I make my way around the house.

  I don’t doubt he will do his part, I just want this to be over with. I hunch my tall frame over and quietly walk fur
ther around the house. I am so done with working with Conor, I have to try and reason with Daniel. I don’t need this fuckstick around to do the job, never have and never will.

  I haven’t felt right since my father passed, but it’s not my conscious or anything like that. The people I kill don’t bother me. Someone is going to do it, so why not me? And why not make really good money doing it? No, the feeling is more towards Daniel and his maniac henchman, Conor. Daniel has had me carry out lots hits, a bunch of drops, carrier shit, and escorts. But these jobs have all been real low-level shit, nothing like the stuff I was doing before.

  There’s also the fact that on every fucking job I get assigned, Conor has to tag along too. Like he has to babysit me or something. I have pulled off much bigger and much more difficult hits on my own than this shit. I have been doing big hits for the mob for some time now, and for the Rangers before this shit. I’m no stranger to killing, I’ve had blood on my hands for years. Daniel was calling me his favorite hitman… So what the fuck happened? I don’t know. But fucking Conor seems to be a part of it.

  I shake my head from the wool-gathering and focus on the job. I stand up from picking the lock on the sliding glass door located at the back of the house. The entire back of the house is made up of windows, uncovered windows that allow just anyone to look inside. I don’t see anyone inside the darkened rooms—which is a nice. I really don’t want to start killing as soon as I step inside.

  I know Conor is coming through the front door right now as I slide mine open. There is a giant pool covered with one of those winter coverings behind me, and I can’t help but wonder how much this three story house must have cost Mario.

  The sun room is much warmer as I slide the glass door shut behind me. There’s another door that leads into the house, and I can see thanks to the faint light coming through it. The next door is unlocked, thankfully, and I ease myself further into a hallway. Here the lighting is subdued, coming from a dim hallway light, and I stick closely to the shadows. Creeping silently and slowly, I open doors, checking each room that I pass. From what we could tell, Mario’s son and his girl should be somewhere down here.

  I reach the second to last door before the stairs when I receive my first glimpse of the targets.

  There they are, asleep in a large room on an almost too large bed.

  It’s hot as fuck now that I’m further inside the house, and I can feel sweat sliding down the center of my back. I see the guy, in his early thirties, sprawled out across the bed with an arm thrown over a voluptuous and very naked blonde. He’s on his stomach, and she’s on her back. Both are snoring lightly so I try to make as little noise as possible.

  This guy likes women with huge tits and bleach blonde hair, but from all the shit I’ve heard about him he also likes to knock them around a little too much. His perversions can be seen by the bruises on her stomach and ribs, dark inky spots marking the blows. This fuck likes to make sure she looks pretty by avoiding the face. Fucker hides the shit below the breasts so there aren’t too many questions.

  I wouldn’t mind working this fuck over for a bit before I do the hit, but I don’t have time like that.

  I push his face deep into the large fluffy pillow, and shove the knife deep into the left side of his neck. I’m pushing forward hard and ripping shit up in there. I pull the blade back out before slamming it down into the now-stirring-blonde’s chest. Neither make a sound. I don’t like having to kill a victim like her, but she just had the bad luck of being in the wrong house.

  I leave the bedroom quickly and head up the stairs. There’s a guy in the hall living room once I reach the main part of the house, but he has a bullet through his forehead. His brains all over the white couch.

  Jogging up the stairs, I hear a very quiet hiss. Conor is exiting a room with a gleeful grin. He must have found the daughter.

  We both walk quietly to the door at the end of the hall. Pulling my pistol from its holster, I ensure the silencer is nice and tight on the barrel.

  Raising his hand up, Conor gives me a countdown of three before we both push the door open. We both sweep the room from center to our respective sides. There, in the middle of the room, is Mario and his wife. She’s blonde and probably my age—late twenties, early thirties. Like father like son, they both have a thing for blondes with big tits.

  The couple is sleeping heavily as we walk around the sides of the bed. I have Mario’s side; Conor has the woman’s. She is sleeping on her back so Conor just slits her throat, holding her body down as it goes through its death throes. She probably never even knew what happened.

  I nod my head at his motion to get on with my part. First, I pull up my mask and take a long deep breath. Conor already has his off. I put the barrel of my pistol against Mario’s knee and squeeze the trigger.

  The screaming is immediate, as is his thrashing around. I punch the man in the throat with some force, and let out a breath of relief as all the noise quiets down. He goes from screaming - to gargling -to now choking.

  The man’s eyes are scanning every part of his room as he searches for his tormentors. I slap him across the face with the silenced barrel of my gun. He stares at me hard, eyes locking on me, slowly beginning to find his breath.

  I put the barrel to his forehead and say the three words I was instructed to say before I kill this fuck. “Daniel says hello.”

  Mario’s eyes go wide with anger right before I pull the trigger. The metallic whap of my pistol ends my part in this job.

  I look to Conor and he has his hands mauling the dead chick’s tits.

  I want to gag and puke right there, that is just fucking Conor though.

  “Get your shit together you sick-fuck!” I growl out loudly to him. He looks up with a grin, showing he has absolutely no fucking shame.

  “What? You want a feel too?” he asks as he walks towards the door and out into the hall.

  I follow him to the daughter’s room, and I am fucking struck stupid for a moment as I peer over his shoulder, getting my first glimpse of the bound and gagged girl.

  She looks kinda young but she’s fucking beautiful, and I mean beautiful. Her hair matches my own, black as night, and her bright blue eyes are startling to me. Her cheeks are bright pink though, and she has tears streaming down her face, rolling down the duct tape that’s been slapped across her mouth.

  Conor grins at me as he extends his hand towards the shaking girl. “You can go first, Lucky, my boy—if you want.”

  I stare hard at him for a long moment, and my absolute hatred is about to spill over. I can barely get the word past my teeth. “No.”

  “What? You want sloppy seconds? You want your dick in my cum?” he asks with a laugh.

  He knows I don’t do the rape shit—or really anything beyond killing women. I don’t like that shit.

  “I’ll kill her, there is no reason to torture her or hurt her any more than we have to,” I say as I look at the girl.

  “You fucking pussy. Fucking loser pussy,” Conor says loudly to my back as I shove him to the side and put the barrel to the girl’s forehead. “Well, go ahead.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart, but trust me this is a kindness.”

  Her eyes scream in terror at me, and I know she doesn’t understand what I mean about this being easier. If Conor has his way, we would be here for a day just torturing and abusing her.

  She suddenly jerks her head back and then her eyes go completely wide as I almost pull the trigger. Something doesn’t feel right to me so I whip around and see Conor standing there with his own pistol aimed at my chest.

  I feel the two slams into my chest before I hear the blasts from his gun. It sends me back, and on top of the girl, as I bring my own pistol up and shoot at Conor. I hit him in the shoulder—not the head I was aiming for—as he dives out of the bedroom and into the hall.

  Fuck me.

  Fuck me, it hurts so fucking bad, right in the middle of my chest—right where my heart is. My vest saved my life.

  I stand up from the girl and try to get out into the hall, but a bullet tears a corner off the door frame. I slam the door shut and take in my surroundings. There is a door leading out to the back balcony. I yank the sobbing girl to her feet and push us out and into the cold air. I see stairs leading down to where the pool is to my right, and I see that the balcony leads off towards the left to a dead end.