Hook

Hook THE KARMAELEON TRILOGY BOOK ONE STELLA KNIGHTS Copyright © 2023 Stella Knights Published June 2023 All rights reserved. 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. All similarities or resemblance to actual persons, either living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. This eBook is licenced for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author. Contents 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 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 About the Author Connect With Stella Knights This book is dedicated to my sisters. Though this is a work of fiction, there is truth amongst the pages of this story. I look forward to living in a world where the predators live in fear instead of their victims survivors. Karma: How intent and actions influence the future of an individual Chameleon: An animal with the ability to blend into their environment, observe their prey and take them down in one swift motion Karmaeleon: A hellbent individual that blends in, stalks, and delivers karmic justice to the apex predators that live amongst us. Chapter One ‎ Hook. To ensnare and catch. To entice and captivate. To bait and entangle. In other words, my job. Not the job I wanted to have, but I learned from a young age that sometimes one has to do some dirty work to achieve their goals. Which brings me to where I am tonight. A high-class bar in some overpriced hotel on a Caribbean Island. I’ve travelled overnight to be in the same location I was told he would be. It’s amazing the kind of information you can get from people if you use a friendly smile and a sexy dress. Like schedules, phone numbers, or even incriminating stories. I guess the world is starved of courteous gestures, or maybe they just can’t believe that behind my innocent face, I have ulterior motives. So, now I wait amongst the crowd under dimmed lights while someone plays a classical tune on the piano in the corner. Every so often, my eyes sweep the room, noticing an increasing number of men in suits walk into the bar area. I’ll know it’s him when he arrives. I’ve stared at his photo long enough to memorise every detail, every imperfection. Most people miss these small details, but not me. I’ve learned to study them and use them to my advantage. And tonight, the man I’m looking for has a tiny scar just above his chin from a skiing accident years ago. Or at least that’s the story he told his wife, friends, and family. Too bad for him, I know the truth from my sister’s diary. When he came closer, still not taking no for an answer, I smashed him with an ashtray, accidentally cracking one of his perfect teeth and splitting his chin open. Sipping the last of my gin and tonic, I swirl the ice in my glass. Nonchalantly, I scan the room again, pretending to look at everything while really looking for him. A group of men weave their way through the crowd towards the bar. One of them holds a folder embossed with the same golden insignia that is from my mark’s medical practice. To others, this is an insignificant detail that means nothing other than a badge of authority. But for me, it means my source was correct about my mark’s whereabouts, and now it’s time to get to work. The nerves along my spine tingle as my eyes finally spot my target walking into the bar. Dr Chris Cahill, revered psychiatrist. Tall, blond, attractive, and charming. Catnip to most pussies. He smiles at his colleagues as his eyes dart around the room. Most women would melt with one flash of that million-dollar smile. But not me. I’m immune. I know too much about what lies behind those gleaming white teeth and stylish façade. Some men slap him on the shoulder as he moves through to the crowd, cheering him on, probably for being such a master of the universe. I can only assume they are fellow psychiatrists who have fallen under the spell of his aura as they watched him deliver the keynote speech tonight. “Hello, beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?” A stocky man steps close to me, blocking my view. With a firm voice and roll of my eyes, I reply. “No.” He gets the hint and walks off while I get back to watching Dr Cahill move across the room. He pauses for a photo, putting his arm around the shoulder of a fawning younger man. If they only knew that his persona was meticulously crafted, with, of course, a lot of help from his family’s name and a rather large trust fund to fall back on if things don’t work out for him. I shift my legs and swivel on my stool, trying to appear aloof as he strides closer to the bar. Once again, he poses for a photo just a few feet away from me. Can his smile be anymore fake? His palpable arrogance makes me cringe, but I stay focused. I can’t get caught rolling my eyes or making a face now that he’s this close. He must be lured in and caught by me tonight. Leaning on the bar, Dr Cahill motions for a drink from the bartender. He’s so close now, I can smell his cologne, a spicy, citrus scent. As he waves his hand, his watch slips down his wrist and I see it. The other tiny little scar I needed to find. One that only