Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (love books to read TXT) 📕

body still tucked in the elbow of my arm, I yank at the bed’s blankets to form a pile. “There you go, you cute little fucking nincompoop.”

I can sense everyone’s judgmental gazes, but I don’t care. Mr. Mushroom and I understand each other. He knows that no matter what I call him, I mean it in the most loving way.

He pants, his snout widening into what resembles a smile, and lets out a high-pitched bark.

“Yes, I promise,” I say.

Again with the stares.

“Would you guys stop staring at us? He wants to make sure I stay safe.”

Riskus climbs up onto the bed, a feat that requires great effort for such a short creature, and cuddles up next to Mr. Mushroom. It’s downright adorable and makes leaving that much more difficult.

“Riskus, make sure—”

But before I can finish telling him to watch over Mr. Mushroom, he throws a fine powder over his head, and a green energy sphere forms around them, encompassing the entire motel bed.

“Holy shit,” Drax says, moving away before the magic sears his ass.

From behind the green barrier, Riskus grins, pats Mr. Mushroom on the head, and says in his squeaky voice, “Safe.”

I’m too impressed to say anything, so I pucker my lips and nod slowly.

“Well, that’s settled,” Ace says. “You two ready to go?”

“Can you guarantee one of us won’t end up part fly?” I ask.

He smirks. “No, I can’t.”

Drax opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “In and out, you hear me, Drax? Let’s find this guy and make him an offer. Once that’s done, we come back, you got it?”

His jaw hangs slack, a look that could easily be mistaken for condescension. “That was the plan.”

“And I expect you to repay me when this is done,” I say.

He frowns like a teenager told they can’t use their parents’ car. I don’t mean it—I could give two shits about twenty grand at the moment—but I don’t want him thinking he can get away with stunts like these and expect me to get him out of trouble with my riches.

Hey, I like the sound of that.

My riches.

Then again, my riches depend on this war. If the End of the Divide goes full-blown, vampires will jump at the opportunity to take absolute control of the Underworld. If that happens, all the money in the world won’t be enough to protect me.

Chapter 29

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The three of us stand in silence atop PolyKure Inc—a multibillion-dollar industry owned by San Halos’s second wealthiest man, Ronald McGuire. Jamieson is number one. And the only reason Ronald’s name is relevant—it certainly isn’t important—is because PolyKure Inc’s headquarters happens to be the second tallest building in the city.

The view is beyond words. A sense of calm washes over me as I gaze down at the city. The sun, or at least what remains of it, bounces off thousands of glass windows, making the entire city look like a giant diamond. It gives off a warm, yellow hue that makes me forget how dangerous San Halos can be. It’s almost like taking an average picture and applying a colorful filter over it, or laying on a thick layer of high gloss polyurethane over an old worn-out coffee table.

It’s magnificent.

While sitting atop skyscraper buildings isn’t new to me, it isn’t something I’ve done all that often at sunset. Being that I’m not allowed to show my magic to feebles, I soar through the clouds late at night.

It’s funny how I used to fly up onto nearly every building in the city except this one. Why? Jamieson would have blown a fuse if I were caught anywhere near this building. It’s not like he’d ever find me on the rooftop. The guy doesn’t even know I’m a succubus.

Well, half-succubus, apparently.

Then again, maybe he does know. Maybe he’s known all along and rather than saying anything, he played stupid. There’s a reason the asshole owns half the city. He may be a two-faced prick, but he’s a businessman, and he’s far from stupid despite my innate desire to perceive him as a half-brained monkey.

Below, people run around like a bunch of lost ducks, though from up here, they look more like ants inside a man-made colony.

Yellow taxis drive chaotically, zooming past parked cars and almost hitting pedestrians. Despite their unnecessary speed and obvious rage, taxi drivers are without a doubt the best drivers out there. They know the dimensions of their car and have no qualms about brushing past someone, or something, with their side mirrors millimeters away from the other guy.

That takes talent.

A cool breeze sweeps through the air, creating waves in my long black hair. I pull it all back, relieved by the weight it takes off my shoulders, and pull it up into a ponytail.

I glance sideways at Drax, and he smirks. I don’t have to say anything for him to know what I’m thinking. This is the reason I always keep several elastics on my wrists. When I want my hair out of my face, I want it out now. He once told me that keeping elastics on my arm makes me look like a prepubescent teenager wearing old-school goth bracelets. Coincidentally, this also happened around the same time I told him to go fuck himself.

All right, I may have said that after he insulted my emergency elastic habit.

“So where does this guy live?” I ask, gazing at the insect infestation below.

Every few seconds, a car honks, but from up here, it’s almost inaudible.

“On Fourth Avenue,” Drax says, pointing down in its general direction.

“Apartment building?” I ask.

He nods. “If I can get a second to talk to him—”

“Yeah,” I say dismissively. “We need to get down to the bank, first.”

“Thought you didn’t want to be seen,” Drax says.

I