Hitman's Desire: A Bad Boy Romance

by Riley, Megyn

  We plunge down the staircase. My heels clink on the metal steps, the sound echoing off the walls.

  “Who was that guy?”

  “Serpent Syndicate,” Ryker says.

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s got the tattoo.”

  Suddenly, the door to level 5 bursts open. Ryker and I snap our weapons toward the motion.

  A woman in her mid-40s shrieks with terror as she stares down the barrel of our firearms. “Please don’t hurt me. Take what you want,” she stammers.

  Ryker and I both relax. I flash my badge. “FBI, ma’am.”

  The woman exhales and takes a good look at Ryker. Her eyes gleam as she leers at his magnificent form. “Are you sure you don’t want to rob me? Take anything,” she flirts. “Anything at all. Just be gentle… Or not.”

  I roll my eyes. “Take the elevator, ma’am.”

  She backs out of the stairwell, and we continue our descent. When we reach the first floor, I crack open the door and peer into the lobby. It’s the usual traffic of people coming and going. A few people are standing in line at the checkout counter with rolling travel bags. There is a man on the couch, reading a paper and drinking a cup of coffee.

  I spy an exit at the end of the hall that leads to an alley. Ryker and I conceal our weapons and spill out into the lobby. We head passed the concierge, down the hall to the exit. Then push through into the alley.

  It’s dark and cold. A mercury vapor light overhead bathes the alley in an orange glow. Steam billows from an exhaust port. I check both directions. It looks clear. But dumpsters and stacks of trash make great hiding places. We keep our weapons ready, clearing the alley as we go. The smell of rotten garbage wafts from the dumpsters. We snake through a maze of alleyways and emerge on East 73rd Street. Ryker flags a cab and we slip inside.

  “Where to?” the cabby asks.

  “The Lexington Hotel on West 61st Street.”

  “Look, I have got to let someone know what’s going on,” I say.

  “No.”

  “I can trust Murphy.”

  “Can you?” he asks, skeptically.

  “He was one of Dad’s good friends. You said yourself, the shooter was Serpent Syndicate.”

  “So. He could have been freelancing for any number of individuals… or agencies.” Ryker pulls the two photos from his coat pocket—one picture is of him, and one is a picture of me.

  Shit.

  “Someone’s got a contract out on you too,” Ryker says.

  11

  Scarlett

  I’ve heard rumors about the Lexington, but I didn’t think they were true.

  We enter the lobby and it’s just as opulent as the Belvedere. Almost instantly, a concierge greets Ryker. He’s an older gentleman with white hair, wearing a tuxedo.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Stone. The usual suite?”

  “Yes. That will be fine.”

  “Do you have any luggage today, sir?”

  “No.”

  The concierge hands Ryker a card key. “You know the rules, but should I explain them to your… companion?” His gaze falls on me. He clearly doesn’t recognize me, and that concerns him.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll explain everything to her.”

  “Excellent. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Stone.”

  The concierge leaves and we stroll to the elevators. Ryker seems oddly relaxed. Unguarded.

  I am a ball of nerves.

  “What rules? No smoking? Pool closes at eleven?” I ask.

  He shoots me a look that says he’ll explain later. We wait a few moments in silence for the elevator, then ride up to the 49th floor.

  Ryker doesn’t bother to clear the hallway. He doesn’t exercise any caution when stepping off the elevator. He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. My palm hasn’t left the grip of my gun since the Belvedere.

  Ryker slides the card key into the slot, and the access light flashes green. He pushes through the door into the lavish suite. This is definitely nicer than the Belvedere. And the Belvedere was nothing to sneeze at.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Laying low,” Ryker says. “I gotta formulate a plan.”

  “A plan for what?”

  “Surviving.” Ryker strides to the window, scanning the area. “We’re safe here. At least, for now.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “We weren’t followed. And nobody in your office knows where we are.”

  I scowl at him. I know he thinks there is a mole in the FBI, but I find that hard to believe.

  “This is a safe house, of sorts,” he says. “No hits are allowed on the property.”

  “If this is safe, why did you come to the FBI for protection?”

  “This isn’t a permanent residence, if you know what I mean. A guest like me can only stay for 48 hours at a time.”

  “And people actually play by the rules?”

  “Yes,” Ryker says. “The mob is an organization who’s survival is dependent upon rules and codes of conduct. There is a certain honor among thieves.”

  “So, no one associated with the mob can commit an act of violence on the property?”

  “Correct.”

  “And I thought those rumors were bullshit.”

  “There’s a lot about this life that you don’t know,” he says.

  There is a long moment of silence.

  “Why is there a contract on me?” I ask. “Why am I being targeted, specifically?”

  “What are you into?”

  “I’m not into anything.”

  “Who are you investigating? What trials are you testifying in? Who have you pissed off?”

  “That could be any number of people.”

  “Whoever put the contract on you knew we were together. They knew I was in protective custody. Do the math.”

  “You think someone in the Bureau leaked the information?”

  “I know so. It’s the only explanation.” Ryker’s eyes stare into mine. “Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  My mind is racing. I don’t know what to think. I know the people in my department. They’re all good agents. I can’t imagine any of them would be working with the mob. But I’ve been a poor judge of character before. I thought Cole was a good guy, before I caught him cheating. I would’ve said he was honest and trustworthy. I wonder who else I could be wrong about?

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Think. Has anyone acted even remotely suspicious?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve had my hands full taking care of my own caseload. I hardly notice what anyone else in my department is doing.”

  Ryker moves to the window and looks out over the city. He’s quiet and deep in thought. I gaze at his broad shoulders. My eyes fall down to his slender waist and great ass. But that’s not what I need to be thinking about at the moment.

  “What’s your involvement with the CIA?” I ask.

  He glances back to me. The look on his face says that he’s not going to tell me anything.

  I scowl, frustrated at his lack of communication. “You need to give me your weapon,” I say.

  “I thought I gave you my weapon back in the shower.”

  “Funny. But seriously. It’s against protocol. I can’t have a witness running around with a weapon. Much less one that’s been used in a homicide.”

  Ryker looks at me with those seductive eyes. My knees go weak. He steps close to me and gently slips his hand around my waist. His hand finds the small of my back and pulls me closer to him. “You and I are in this together. Whether you like it or not.” His lips are inches from mine. I feel his hot breath. His sculpted chest presses against me. I can’t help but swoon. I’m weak. I’m a horribly undisciplined person. There is just something about this guy I can’t say no to. His full lips draw closer. My heart beats faster. His lips smash into mine. My attempts to resist are futile. I engulf him, completely.

  My mind wanders, and my panties get moist again. He slide
s his hand down, cupping my ass. I’m distracted and thinking about things I shouldn’t. That’s why he can slide his hand up and snatch my handcuffs from their case, clipped to my waist.

  With one swift move, he jingles the cuffs and ratchets them around my wrists. For a moment, I’m excited. I think he’s going to cuff me to the bed and fuck the shit out of me. But then I realize he has no such intentions. He pulls my wrist above my head and wraps the other cuff around the bedpost. He clicks them into place. Then he digs in my pocket for my keys.

  “You won’t be needing these anytime soon,” he says as he stuffs the keys in his pockets.

  “You bastard.”

  “That’s what you like about me.”

  “You are kidnapping a federal agent. You realize that?”

  “Pfft. Whatever,” he says. “Like I haven’t done worse.” His blue eyes fall over my body. Then he kisses me. His full lips melt into mine. For an instant, I think I might just get fucked again after all. But that’s just wishful thinking.

  “It’s for your own safety.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  He just smirks. “Don’t go anywhere. And don’t make any phone calls. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Where are you going?” I growl. “You can’t just leave me like this.”

  He stares at me with those luscious blue eyes.

  “Anybody could come in here and do anything they wanted to me,” I say, seductively. “I wouldn’t be able to stop them.”

  His eyes narrow, and his face tenses slightly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my statement made him a little jealous. He moves closer and glides his fingertips along my calf. They trace up my inner thigh. A spark races through my body when he tickles my core.

  His lips dive to my navel. His tongue slides down to my waistline. My skin peaks with goosebumps. My heart flutters and my body heats up. I can’t believe how quickly this man can turn me on. There are people trying to kill us, and somehow that makes it even more hot. What is wrong with me?

  Ryker unbuttons my pants and slides my zipper down. Then he starts tonguing my cotton panties. His thick fingers slide into my waistline and he pulls my pants down over my hips. Then his hands glide down to my ankles. He snatches the fabric and pulls my slacks off. He tosses them across the room.

  I spread my legs, inviting him to ravage me.

  He starts again on my inner thighs with his tongue. My skin tingles with his touch. His silken tongue slithers up to my panties, which are dripping now. He pushes the frilly cotton aside, exposing my center. I feel his hot breath on me. His tongue darts into my slickness, dancing around. My body is on fire. I writhe and convulse as his tongue casts its magical spell.

  I can’t believe he’s had me a dozen times already and he still wants more. I can’t believe I’m letting him.

  I clench down around his expert tongue. He rises up, encircling my nub. Meaty fingers slide inside of me. A passionate mist of sweat covers my body. His tongue flicks and darts frantically. His fingers plunge my depths. He brings me to the edge of another mind-blowing orgasm. Then he stops.

  WTF? My eyes glare at him.

  He grins.

  “Finish the job,” I command.

  “What? I thought you said this was never happening again?” he says, innocently.

  “I misspoke. It’s happening. Right now.”

  “Bossy,” he smirks.

  “When I know what I want.”

  “Oh, you want this?” he says, grabbing his massive package.

  “It’s mine, and I want it.” Shit. That just slipped out. Where did that come from?

  “Last time I checked, sweetheart, it was mine. And I’ll put it where I want.”

  “I meant to say, it is temporarily on loan.”

  “Oh, so you want me to make a deposit?”

  “Pretty please?” I say in a girly voice, like I’m asking for a pony. But what I want is a stallion. I flutter my eyelashes.

  “Just so we’re clear… I’m only good at two things. Fucking and killing. Anything else, I’m just not capable of.”

  My heart sinks a little. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “What else would I want from you?”

  He shrugs. “I just don’t want you developing feelings.”

  “Well, don’t you think highly of yourself?” I’m trying really hard to keep my eyes from misting up.

  “So, we’re on the same page? This is strictly sexual?”

  “Just because a guy tickles my clit in the right way doesn’t mean I’m going to fall in love.” I try to convince myself of that as I say the words.

  I don’t know how this happened, but in a day of knowing this man, he’s gotten under my skin. In truth, maybe there was a part of me that was hoping this impossible spark could turn into something. But I know that’s nonsense. Maybe my clit is hardwired to my heart? Maybe all a guy has to do is ring the bell. If that’s the case, I’m definitely in trouble.

  “Good,” he says. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Aw, so you do care?” I say, sarcastically.

  Ryker arches an eyebrow at me.

  “I need to take care of some business. I’ll be back.” He marches toward the door.

  My jaw drops and my eyes blaze at him. “What good is a fuck buddy who doesn’t fuck you?” I yell after him.

  He marches out of the room and slams the door behind him.

  “I hate you!” I scream.

  I instantly start to struggle with the cuffs. They dig into my wrist. It’s no use. I can’t get out of these things. My eyes scan the room for something to pick the lock with. But at first glance, everything seems to be out of reach. At least I’ve got my gun. If anybody other than Ryker walks through that door, I’m going to empty an entire magazine into them.

  12

  Ryker

  I’ve got to make a phone call. But I’m not about to make a call from the hotel room. With the way technology is today, anyone could trace the call. I ditched my cell phone before I went to the FBI. And, unfortunately, I don’t have a burner on me. I need to pick up a prepaid cellphone that can’t be tracked. But it’s after hours, and I’m not going to go looking for a prepaid cell phone right now. Until then, a payphone will have to do.

  The Lexington’s safe area extends a block from the hotel. Killing someone on the sidewalk as they leave is definitely against the rules. But it doesn’t preclude someone from following you once you leave. Then whacking you outside of the safe zone. That’s one of the down sides of staying at the Lexington. If someone knows you’re there, they just have to wait it out.

  I go through the kitchen, grab a server’s coat, and pick up a box of supplies from the storage area. Then I use the service exit and step into the back alley. There is a delivery truck parked with its loading bay doors open. Two men are unloading supplies and hauling them into the kitchen. I scan the alleyway for watchful eyes. Then I set the box down by the truck and sneak down the alley. There are many ways to get in and out of the Lexington undetected, and I know them all.

  On the street, I catch a cab. I keep an eye out, making sure that we haven’t been tailed. I don’t want to use a pay phone in front of the hotel. I’d be telegraphing my location. Pay phones are hard to come by these days. Nobody really uses them anymore. Everybody’s got a cell phone. After driving around mindlessly for 20 minutes, I find a payphone that works on the corner of 46th and 12th Ave.

  I pay the cabby and tell him to wait. I give him an extra 10 spot. But the fucker leaves the instant I step away from the car.

  This fucking city.

  I drop some change into the slot and dial the number. After a moment, a man answers the phone. It’s probably Petey, or Paul. They sound so much alike, I can never tell them apart. They both have double digit IQs.

  “Let me speak with Big Nick.”

  “Sorry. Big Nick is busy.”

  “Petey, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Who’s asking?”

  “Petey,
it’s Ryker. I need to speak with the boss man, now. It’s important.”

  “He’s in a meeting. I ain’t supposed to interrupt him during meetings.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re supposed to do. You’re going to walk in there and get him on the phone.”

  “You gonna make me? Tough guy?”

  “Petey, I like you. But I will come for you, and your whole fucking family. You know I will.”

  There is a long pause.

  “Hang on,” Petey stammers. “Let me see if I can pull him away.”

  I stand there on the street corner, looking out over the harbor. The lights from across the river glisten on the surface of the water. I hear the call of seagulls and the distant horn of a ship entering the harbor.

  After a few minutes, a gravelly voice picks up the phone. “Ryker. Where are you?” It’s Big Nick Capello.

  “I’m safe.”

  “I’ll send a car and some muscle to pick you up. Bring you in.”

  “No.”

  “You refusing my hospitality?”

  Nobody refuses Nick Capello.

  “Somebody just tried to kill me,” I say.

  “Word is you hit Falco. Without authorization. I imagine lots of folks want you dead.”

  “What about you?”

  “You work for me quite a bit,” Capello says. “Everyone knows that. Makes me look bad. I gotta shit storm to deal with because of you.”

  “I didn’t kill Falco.”

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know. Dominic Finn, maybe. He was next in line.”

  “Finn’s taken control of the family,” says Nick. “He wants you dead.”

  “Of course he does.”

  “He also wants a war.”

  “Let me guess. You either hand me over to him, or kill me as a peace offering?”

  “I don’t need a war, Ryker.” Nick pauses. “Look, I like you, kid. You’ve always done right by me. “But if I gotta choose me, or you, I’m always gonna choose me.”

  I grit my teeth.

  “I’ll give you 24 hours to positively ID Falco’s shooter. You come up with concrete evidence, I’ll provide that to Finn. And I’ll have your back. You got my word on that. But after 24 hours, I’m sending people after you.”