The Hitman's Property (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Book 2)

by Tia Lewis

  Tess murmured and rolled over, pulling the pillow down to replace my arm. I looked down at the back of her head and felt an intrusive urge: stroke her hair! Watch her sleep! Lie back down and cuddle her! I shook my head and let out a yawn.

  A light rain pattered against the window, but the sky was clear and the rain only served to make the sunlight shimmer as it pushed through the motel’s blinds, a rain-specked square of light resting against the opposite wall.

  I stretched my arms, rose from the bed, and walked into the bathroom, fleeing the woman in my bed in case I could not resist the urge to lie down and cuddle her. Then I would have to deal with whatever that made me feel and that didn’t appeal to me in the slightest. At least not at this very moment when I knew Boss and the Russians were on our tail.

  Standing in the bathroom, I was butt-naked. My cock hung down like a trunk, and the light which sneaked through the half-open bathroom door reflected against my chiseled chest. I scratched the back of my neck and let out a deep sigh before I turned on the shower.

  I felt the water wash away the sex and the blood from last night, slathering the cheap motel supplied gel into my body, the shampoo into my hair until I felt almost clean. Dripping water onto the floor, I stepped from the shower and grabbed a blue-striped towel from a rail beside the bathroom sink. I wrapped the towel around my waist, my cock bulging prominently, outlined in the fabric of the towel, and walked into the bedroom.

  Tess was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled around her neck, looking down at the floor.

  “Something wrong?” I asked as I walked across the room and sat in the chair. She didn’t reply, just kept staring empty-eyed at the floor, so I repeated myself. “Is something wrong, Tess?”

  After a few seconds, she blinked and her gaze flitted to me like she’d only just noticed that I was there. She looked like a woman who’d just been slapped around the head, disoriented or concussed.

  “Wrong? I’m not sure.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I think I had a nightmare, but I can’t remember it now.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  I looked out the window, and I could see a man walking by on the phone, shouting: “I told him a small town! Is Boston his idea of a small town? What use is he to us if Boston is his idea of a small…” I passed out of hearing, as the man walked towards the direction of the motel’s office or perhaps his room. I could hear the steady hum of traffic, and somewhere far away a truck’s horn honked.

  “I guess so,” she muttered, tugging at the sheets around her legs. “I have a strange feeling in my stomach.”

  “Maybe it was the Chinese food,” I laughed, waving at the empty food containers, water spraying from my arm and falling to the carpet. I nodded at the fish and breadcrumbs still clinging to the wall from when Tess and I had the blowout. I told myself I never wanted to fight like that with her again.

  Tess looked at the wall and sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Or maybe it was last night’s excitement. My cock tends to leave women a little bewildered.”

  “Funny.”

  Tess crooked one eyebrow, forcing herself not to smile and shook her head again. Her blonde hair fell in waves down her back, and she bit her lip. She let it go after a half-second. “It was just a dream,” she said under her breath, more to herself than to me. “It’s over, now.” She looked up from the floor and into my eyes.

  “Well, today is a new day.” I deeply inhaled and exhaled.

  “Liam…”

  “What’s up, sweet thing?”

  “I can’t go back to Zharkov. I can’t.”

  So, that’s what she was dreaming about even though I assured her countless of times I would kill anyone who tried to take her away from me. Tess was mine and mine alone.

  “You’re never going back to him,” I said definitively. “I promise. No need to worry. Don’t stress yourself out dreaming or even thinking about that. Haven’t I kept my word so far?”

  “Yeah, you have.”

  “Okay, then. You’re safe with me. Remember you said ‘who wouldn’t want their own personal bodyguard?’ Well, here I am.” I smiled, trying to ease her anxiety.

  “Sorry, I can’t just stop worrying. I just have this weird feeling something bad is going to happen. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Everything will be all right. Leave the worrying to me. Your job is to just sit there looking pretty, and I got the rest.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, scratching the sheets with her fingernails.

  “Good,” I said. “Are you going to take a shower?”

  Her lips twitched, and she forced another smile; it was the smile of a person deciding to smile because she didn’t feel like frowning. It brightened her face nonetheless.

  “Are you saying I stink?”

  I grinned. “Yeah, you smell like me. But that tends to happen when I’m licking all you’re your body and fucking you senseless for half the night.”

  Tess blushed.

  “Now, get your sexy ass in the shower.”

  She pushed the sheets away and stood up on the mattress. She stood butt-naked before me, her perfect petite body beckoning me, begging to be grabbed. “Why don’t you come and make me take a shower?” she said, opening her eyes wide in that vulnerable, sexy-ass way.

  “As you wish,” I growled, licking my lips.

  I stood up from the chair, and let my towel fall to the ground. My cock sprang up, already rock-solid, already prepared to fuck my dirty little English woman. A flush spread over the top of Tess’ chest, up her neck, and to her face. Her knees started to tremble, and I could tell she was ready.

  Tess giggled. “You’re so hot, you know that?”

  “Prove it,” I growled, standing at the edge of the bed.

  “Mmm, yes sir,” She let out a moan and got on her knees in the bed. She seductively crawled on the bed with her dazzling blue eyes never leaving mine and made her way to me. Her eyes then went to my erect cock. She opened her mouth and began slowly licking up and down my shaft.

  “Whose cock is this?” I moaned as she gave me head.

  “Mine.”

  “Hang on,” I said, resting my hand on the roof of the Mustang.

  I had already put the black duffle bags and the suitcase in the trunk and was about to climb into the car when I looked across the Wanderer’s Pillow’s parking lot to the industrial-sized trash bins. Now that it was daylight, I saw that the bins were overflowing, flies buzzing in the air around them. The rain had stopped, but puddles gathered around the bins, and in the folds of the trash bags, reflecting the sunlight.

  “Hang on for what?” Tess said, looking across the roof at me.

  I reached into my pocket. I wore my signature black jeans, boots, and T-shirt. Tommy might have been a pain in the ass, but the man could deliver. I pulled out the wad of cash from my pocket, unrolled it, and took out three one-hundred dollar bills.

  Tess’ eyes widened when I brought the money out in broad daylight. She looked around the parking lot frantically.

  “Is that a good idea?” she asked, craning her neck left and right.

  But the parking lot was almost empty now, most of the guests having already vacated. Only two cars remained; two rooms displayed drawn blinds and sported Do Not Disturb signs. I thought we were safe. The guests in those rooms probably wouldn’t be up for hours. If Tess and I hadn’t woken them up, nothing would happen that I needed to worry about.

  “Anyway,” Tess went on, “if you have that much cash why didn’t you just pay your Fixer guy? Wouldn’t that have been easier than owing him money?”

  “No, because this would not have been enough. He wants more money than what I have. Besides, it might come in handy, and I would rather not walk around with no money at all.”

  “I guess.” When she saw that it was safe, she stopped glancing around and stared at me. “Well, what are you doing now?”

  “Looking for someone.”


  “Who?”

  I watched as what appeared to be two trash bags rose up, and a man rubbing his eyes with his dirty hands appeared. The trash bags crumpled and an elderly homeless man stood up, throwing his dirty blankets to the ground. He rested an elbow on a trashcan and started whistling a tune. I remembered his face from last night when I was in Tommy’s car.

  “Him,” I said.

  Ignoring the puzzled look Tess gave me, I walked across the parking lot to the bins. I had to give it to the old guy. There was no way that I could’ve slept in that smell. It was like walking into a room and being hit with wave after wave of sour smells like decaying fruit, urine, and wet dog. The scent crept up my nose and down my throat, making me nearly gag. The old man smiled at me like he hadn’t just woken up surrounded by filth; like he had woken up in a five-star hotel, surrounded by servants to attend to his every need.

  “Morning,” I said and held out the one-hundred dollar bill. “I want you to have this.”

  “For me?” The old man asked, forming a smile with a few missing teeth. “You’re not going to tell me to buy food or clothes with it, are you? I hate it when people do that.”

  “I don’t care what you do with it, old man. Just take it.”

  The old man extended his hand slowly, as though he was afraid I was going to pull the money away and scream, “Got you!” But I held the money still, and the old man yanked it from my grip and looked down at it with beaming eyes.

  “This is too much,” the man said after a moment, squinting at the money. “People usually give me coins and a few dollars… But one-hundred dollars? This is way too much. Let me guess. This is hush money because I heard you yelling at that man in the red car last night.”

  “Nah. Well, maybe.” I smirked. “Take care of yourself.”

  I turned around and walked back across the parking lot to the Mustang. As I walked, I saw Tess’ mouth had fallen open. I was almost at the door when she walked forward and threw her arms around me. I kept my arms at my sides, not entirely sure what to do, and before I could decide she had withdrawn and was looking up at me with something like pride in her face—though damned if I knew what that looked like.

  I’m proud of you, brother. Despite everything, I’m proud. I heard my brother’s voice say.

  “That was really sweet of you, Liam,” Tess smiled. “Sometimes, I forget you’re a ruthless hitman.”

  I held in my smile and walked past her.

  “Let’s get going, Tess. My money ain’t gonna save itself.”

  I climbed into the driver’s side of the car and closed the door. She climbed in next to me, still giving me that look like she couldn’t decide what I was. It was as though she had to fill out a leaflet which asked, ‘Is the man beside you a) a devil or b) an angel or c) a combination of both and she couldn’t quite decide what to pick.

  I turned the key and smiled as the Mustang’s engine growled into life. I pulled away from the Wanderer’s Pillow, and we joined the flow of traffic and made our way along toward South Boston… toward the Drunk Harpy.

  “You don’t seem nervous,” Tess said, resting her feet on the dashboard of the car. “Shouldn’t you be—I don’t know—gripping the steering wheel and muttering, growling and psyching yourself up?”

  “If you do something enough times, Tess, there’s only so much psyching up you need to do.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure if I believe that. Sure, you’ve killed before. But you’ve never walked into your old hangout spot armed to the teeth to take back your money which your employer stole…” She stopped, taking a breath, and then said: “Have you?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I’ve never done that.”

  In the car in front of us, a boy and a girl have turned around, playing with action figures on the backs of their seat. The girl—a red-haired, freckle-faced kid—looked up, saw me, and waved and smiled. I nodded awkwardly, and the girl went back to her game.

  “So you must be a bit nervous, then,” Tess said, waving at the girl and then lowering her hand when she saw it was too late.

  “I feel like you’re trying to make me anxious when I should be focusing,” I laughed gruffly. “Asking me if I’m nervous over and over. Do you want me to die in there?”

  Tess gasped. “No! Absolutely not. Sorry.”

  “Remember what I told you your job was?”

  “To sit and look pretty.”

  “Exactly.” I winked at her.

  She let out a deep sigh and placed her hand on my arm. Man, did she know how hot just putting her hand on my arm made me? I felt like grabbing her again and fucking her like I did last night when her eyes were rolling back in her head, and she was screaming, begging and cumming. But if I thought about pussy too much, my craft would suffer.

  “I’m coming for my money, Tess. I’m on a fucking war path, and there’s no turning back now.”

  “I hear you,” she whispered.

  Tess fell silent for awhile as we cruised along with the other cars toward South Boston. I drove until we were about three blocks from the Drunk Harpy and stopped at the end of a cul-de-sac, which was empty apart from three parked cars and a cat that roamed up and down at the head of the street.

  “We haven’t been followed by police or anyone else,” Tess said. “So I think that’s a good start, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I answered, adjusting the rear-view mirror and watching the traffic at the end of the street. The pedestrians ignored us, not even bothering to turn their heads and look at the beat-up car. “It’s a hell of a good start, seeing as we’re still breathing.”

  “Okay, well… what happens now?”

  “What happens now,” I said, “is that you wait here sitting ‘pretty’ while I go and get my fucking money back.”

  “Liam, do I have to…”

  “Yes, you have to wait here. You really think I’m going to let you come with me? That’s suicide.”

  “But you’re committing suicide going back to the very people who want you dead.”

  “I said wait here, and that’s final.” I didn’t leave any room for interpretation. My voice was flat, commanding but not cruel. “Besides there’s three reasons why you can’t come with me. The first is that I don’t want to be distracted. If you’re right inside the Drunk Harpy, I’ll only be thinking of you the whole time, wondering if some fucking bastard has gotten to you. I don’t need that shit when I’m working.” Tess went to interrupt me, but I pushed on. “The second reason is that I don’t want you to get hurt. The third reason is that I need a getaway driver. You want to be useful, Tess? Be helpful here by staying behind the wheel and waiting for me to come back out with my money. Understand?”

  “You’re starting to sound like you care about me,” she muttered.

  “I’ve always cared,” I looked away from her, out of the window at a small tree whose leaves had started to turn brown early. “Just tell me you’ll stay here.”

  “I’ll stay.” She tapped her fingernails against the dashboard. “I’ll stay here, and I’ll wait for you.”

  I kissed her on her forehead, opened the driver’s side door and climbed out. I was about to close it when Tess exclaimed: “Liam!”

  “What? Why are you shouting?” I asked, leaning down, and resting my hand on the door.

  “I just want you to know that I care about you, too.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tess. You really want to do this now?

  She nodded. “Just in case you…”

  “Die? Nah, I have to get back to my sweet thing.”

  Tess blushed.

  I continued. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, baby. Lock the doors.”

  I closed the door and went around to the trunk, opened it, and browsed the tools of my trade. I touched the side of my jeans to make sure that my pistol was still there, and it was. It was time to go to work.

  4

  Standing opposite the Drunk Harpy, I felt memories building up, rushing into my head and pressing against my forehead like they wanted
to break through and onto the sidewalk.

  Sun reflected off the cars that cruised past the bar, but I was too distracted to pay much attention to them; my gaze shot through the traffic and to the fucking bastard, Samson, who stood gleefully smiling and smoking a cigarette at the door. I wouldn’t be shocked if he were thinking of his next get rich quick scheme. I stood under a nearby tree, shrouded in the shade, with the black duffle bag slung over my back.

  I focused on Samson and the memories. Mrs. McGreevy came into mind.

  Thinking about her my heart race. I had to whisk the painful memory of her death away because I knew Samson had his Desert Eagle pistol stuffed into the back of his jeans and there wasn’t room for error. And I knew, too, that he was more than capable of using it. He was the kind of guy who would laugh at your jokes more often than not. But he was also the kind of guy who would shoot you right through the eyes if you made him jump or interfere with his ability to make a quick buck. He was obsessed with making fast money and illegal gambling and chose to prioritize his get rich quick schemes over his own family. Over Mrs. McGreevy. So, I decided then and there that I would kill him first if it came down to it.

  I stepped aside as an old woman limped past me.

  “Thank you, young man,” she croaked, her narrowed eyes darting around watchfully.

  “No problem, ma’am,” I said, smiling.

  I remembered back when Samson and I were on the job together in a dirty-ass crack house.

  The walls were covered in long, dried streams of urine and in the corner, there was a bucket overflowing with shit, shit dripping down the sides in beads with flies buzzing around it. Bodies laid all across the needle-scattered, dirt-encrusted floor, the addicts moaning softly under their breaths, and their arms were pockmarked with needle holes. We were on the job to shake down the dealer, a man named Cory who supplied heroin direct to over a dozen crack houses in the neighborhood, making sure all these moaning and writhing drug addicts remained addicted to his product. I had just walked into the kitchen of the crack house when I felt something like a heavy metal bat drop on my head. Before I could react, I was on my knees, blood matting my short jet-black hair.