Hitman's Desire: A Bad Boy Romance

by Riley, Megyn

  Ryker

  When I arrive at the pier, four men in ski masks are stuffing Scarlett into the back of a black Lincoln town car. Two men jump in the back seat with her, one on either side. One man hops into the driver’s seat of the Lincoln. Another man hops into the driver’s seat of a black Chevy 300. The two cars spin their tires. Plumes of white smoke billow into the air.

  I leap out of the cab and draw the Uzi. The two cars are heading in my direction. I empty an entire magazine at the Lincoln—mostly aiming at the tires and the engine block. But the car doesn’t slow down.

  My cab squeals away in a panic, and I’m left alone in the street. The back tinted window of the Lincoln rolls down, and a machine gun juts out through the window frame. A torrent of bullets blast like a string of firecrackers.

  I dive for cover behind a parked car. Bullets pelt the sheet metal. Windows shatter, spraying fragments of glass.

  Engines roar as the two cars scream past me. A nonstop hailstorm of bullets whip through the air. The two cars squeal around the corner and vanish into the night.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I grumble to myself.

  My heart is pounding. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. My eyes scan the area. I see Murphy writhing on the concrete. I run to the pier and kneel down beside him. He’s struggling to breathe. His shirt is soaked with blood. It looks like he’s taken a shot in the chest and two in the stomach. His lungs are filling with fluid. He can’t move his legs. My guess is one of the bullets grazed his thoracic spine.

  “Who did this?” I ask.

  He gurgles and moans.

  “Who did this?” I growl.

  He reaches for my shirt and grabs a fist full of fabric. “Find her,” he groans. Then his hand goes limp and falls to the concrete. His hand leaves a bloody stain on my shirt. His last breath leaves his lungs and his body is still.

  An eerie silence falls over the pier. It’s quiet, except for the lapping of the waves against the shore. I reach into Murphy's pocket and take his badge and credentials. You never know when they may come in handy.

  I don’t have much to go on, but I have to find Scarlett. I have to get her back. No way am I gonna leave her to those animals. She’s a gorgeous woman, and a federal agent. If she was taken by one of the crime families, they will show her no mercy. I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do to her.

  I stand up and stagger back down the pier toward the Avenue. The adrenaline rush of the moment is starting to fade. I feel a stabbing pain in my chest. I look down and see my shirt is blooming red. And it’s not just the stain from Agent Murphy's hand.

  I’ve been shot.

  I clutch my wound, putting pressure on it. Blood seeps between my fingers. I hear the echo of sirens. My head is starting to feel light as I stumble across the Avenue. I need to clear out of the area before the cops arrive. This would be a hard situation to explain.

  I can’t go to a hospital. All gunshot wounds are reported. The place would be swarming with cops by the time I got out of surgery. But if I don’t get medical assistance soon, I’m not going to make it.

  I wobble down the sidewalk, trying to flag down a cab. But none of them stop. Nobody wants to pick up somebody who’s painted in blood. Nobody wants to clean up the mess after the ride is over.

  My legs are getting heavy. It feels like I’ve got ankle weights on. My vision is starting to blur and fade. I look like a drunk, listing side to side. I take a few more steps before I collapse on the sidewalk.

  Black spots of discarded gum tar the pavement. Hot steam wafts out of the sewer grates with a stench that can only come from a combine sewer system. The ground smells like a bum pissed on it.

  So, this is it? This is how I go out? On the sidewalk in front of a Korean deli?

  15

  Ryker

  I wake up with a blinding light shining down on me. Have I died and gone to hell? It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and focus. I recognize Doctor Bancroft hovering over me. He’s an older, English gentleman with grey hair and glasses.

  “How did I get here?”

  “A really nice Asian man dropped you off. Sung-ho. He’s sent quite a bit of business my way over the years. It seems you passed out in front of his deli. He said a bloody man on the sidewalk was bad for business. I can’t say as I blame him. His deli is the best in the city. I always get the RaBokki when I go there.”

  “How bad is it, Doc?”

  “Oh, it’s a very good. Red pepper paste, ramen, and rice cakes over a vegetable medley.”

  “No, Doc. Not the RaBokki. Me!”

  “Oh, right. It’s not good. You’ve lost a lot of blood. And Sung-ho says you are going to have to pay to have his back seats reupholstered.”

  “Tell him to send me a bill.”

  I’m laying on a gurney in Doc’s basement. It’s got all the standard amenities of an operating room. A monitor for vital signs. A tray with a slew of surgical instruments. An anesthesia cart. I’ve got electrodes pasted to my chest. There’s a blood pressure cuff on my right arm, and a pulse ox monitor on my fingertip. I’ve also got an IV running into my vein.

  Fortunately, there is a bottle of scotch nearby.

  Doc is digging through the wound with a pair of forceps, looking for the bullet. It hurts like hell. I take a swig of scotch, straight from the bottle. It doesn’t do much to dull the pain. He injected the area with lidocaine to numb it up a bit. And he gave me some kind of narcotic for pain. I’m not sure what it was. It doesn’t seem to be doing as much as I’d like.

  My face twists, and I grunt as he digs the forceps deeper. “Did I do something to make you angry?”

  “I’m being as delicate as I can. But if I don’t get every fragment out, you are going to be in a world of hurt.”

  I grimace again. Then take another swig of scotch.

  “Please be still.” He takes the bottle of scotch from my hand and takes a swig. Then he hands it back to me.

  He digs a little deeper and latches onto the bullet. He pulls it back out through the entry wound, and I feel like I’m about to pass out. I can take a lot of pain. But this is definitely getting close to my threshold.

  “Ah, there we go.” The bullet clinks as he drops it onto a metal tray. Doc disinfects the wound. It stings like all hell. It feels like he’s pouring molten lava into my chest.

  “You’re quite lucky, you know.”

  “Lucky is not getting hit.”

  “Lucky is still breathing, my friend.” He sutures and dresses the wound.

  I’ve known Doc for a long time. He’s one of the few people I can trust. He’s patched me up on more than one occasion. This little makeshift room doesn’t look like much, but Doc is a miracle worker. He’d still be one of the top surgeons if he didn’t have a drug and alcohol problem. I don’t know if I’d really call it a problem. He’s functional. He’s actually better with a few glasses of scotch in him. And he sure as hell has made a good living taking care of people like me. You can’t just walk into a hospital with a gunshot wound without getting asked a lot of questions.

  Doc is like Switzerland. Neutral. A lot of different organizations use his services. Like the Lexington, there is a gentleman’s code—no violence at Doc’s office. No hits allowed. Though, I don’t think that gentlemen’s code is as strong as it used to be. But good doctors are hard to find. Doc never reveals information about his clients. And no one wants to take the risk of accidentally killing Doc. Then everybody would be screwed.

  “Word on the street is you killed Vic Falco.”

  “The street is wrong.”

  “I didn’t think you were that stupid. You need to lay low for a few days. If you start hemorrhaging internally, you could bleed out.”

  “I don’t have a few days. I’ve got to find her, or she’ll be dead soon.”

  “Did you just say she?” Doc yanks the bottle from my hand and takes another swig. “Please don’t tell me you’re getting shot over a woman?”

  I take the bottle back a
nd gulp down another mouthful. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “It always is. Take my advice and walk away. Women are like buses, Ryker. A new one comes along every 15 minutes.”

  “This one is different, Doc.”

  “So, you think you’ve found a unicorn?” he says, mocking me. “The perfect woman?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I can see it in your eyes, you silly fool. But let me remind you, unicorns don’t exist.”

  “This is coming from a man who’s never been married.”

  “And, as you can see, I am old and happy.” Doc smiles.

  I chuckle, but it hurts to laugh.

  “Laughing is strictly forbidden,” he says, sternly.

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Who’s the girl?”

  “She’s an FBI agent,” I stammer, sheepishly.

  Doc arches an eyebrow at me. “Well, I think you’re going to need a CAT scan. You’re clearly brain-damaged.”

  “I never claimed to be smart.”

  “Do you know who’s taken her?” Doc asks.

  “I don’t know. There is a contract on both of us. Serpent Syndicate tried to make good on it. So did the Iron Fist.” I dig into my pocket and pull out the pack of matches that I took from the assassins at the Lexington. The matches are from a bar on 49th Street. Red State. It’s a cold war, Soviet era themed bar. It’s popular with the Russian gangsters. And there are always plenty of gorgeous Eastern European women.

  Doc recognizes the matchbook. “Red State. That’s a hang out for the Iron Fist. But what do the Russians want with you?”

  I think about this for a minute. “Dominic Finn has been trying to establish a partnership with the Fist. But Falco wouldn’t hear of it. They run the largest heroin operation in the city. My guess is Finn hit Falco, took over the family, and partnered with the Iron Fist. They bring in the heroin. Finn moves it on the street.”

  “But why frame you?” Doc asks.

  “Finn and I have a bit of history. Putting the squeeze on me is just icing on the cake for him.”

  “So, you think Finn’s got the girl?”

  I nod.

  “Why? Kidnaping a federal agent is just going to stir up a hornet’s nest.”

  I ponder things a moment, trying to put all the pieces together. “This is what I think. Dominic Finn has Vic Falco killed. He needs a scapegoat. I’m that guy. The Commission wants justice because protocol was violated. They put out a contract on me, and the girl. Scarlett’s got several high level mob guys under investigation. If she dies, those cases go away. Everybody from here to Kansas takes the offer. I mean, the money is good, and the recognition is even better.” Then it hits me. “But… If Scarlett is killed, this fucks things up for Finn.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Finn must have a mole in the FBI. He takes Scarlett because he wants to know if his mole’s cover has been blown. He’s going to torture her until she talks. Then he’s going to kill her,” I say. “It’s what I would do.”

  “You know I can’t get involved in this. I stay neutral.”

  “I understand. I’m not asking you to.”

  “I will say, however, I did make a house call last week. There was a gentleman Finn needed kept alive. At least long enough to extract more information from him. Finn had gotten a little overzealous in his torture methods.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Doc says with a wink. “I’m merely speaking to myself.”

  A slight smile curls up on my face.

  “Where is he?”

  “I can’t say. But he did just take over a new building. It’s quite a sight to see.”

  “Come on, Bancroft.”

  “I took an oath, and I will not violate it.”

  “Scarlett could die!” I growl.

  “I’m sorry, my dear boy. But if I were you, I would look for clues at Red State.”

  “You want me to walk into a known hangout of the Iron Fist? While there is a contract out on me?”

  “No. I want you to forget about the girl. But I have a sneaking suspicion you won’t do that.”

  16

  Scarlett

  “I hope you like pain,” Dominic Finn says.

  I’m handcuffed to a chair, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a stunning panoramic view of the city. I’m in a posh apartment on the 56th floor of the American Terrace building.

  Dominic Finn is not the type of gangster to take someone to a seedy warehouse and beat the crap out of them. He’s brazen enough to just do it in his own apartment. Now, as head of the Falco crime family, he’s virtually untouchable in this city.

  Dominic strolls around me. His stride is slow and deliberate. His dark eyes survey me. They linger a little too long on my breasts. He’s a good-looking man. Well-built, dark hair, and olive skin. I’d think he was cute if he didn’t have me tied to this chair, threatening to inflict massive amounts of pain.

  “I am a federal agent,” I say, defiantly. Like he is going to get in big trouble for this.

  Dominic chuckles. “I know.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You know, you are much better looking in person than you are in your pictures. And your pictures are pretty hot.”

  My brow crinkles. “What pictures?”

  Dominic hands me a manila folder with a slew of 8x10 photographs contained within. Grainy, black & white surveillance photos, taken with a telephoto lens. My eyes widen, and my jaw drops. My heart races. He has dozens of photos of me in an elevator with Ryker. Doing things that were only meant for the two of us to see.

  “Your boyfriend is a lucky guy.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh, so you are a whore?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart. That’s definitely on my to do list.”

  “Well, you’re never going to get the chance,” I protest.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  I glare at him.

  “How are you going to explain your little escapades to your coworkers at the Bureau?” Dominic grins. “Fraternizing with a known assassin… I would expect you’d lose your job over something like that. These kind of photos could follow you around for a lifetime. You might never be able to land steady work, outside of a strip club or a porn set.”

  I cringe. I’ll lose my job for sure if those photos get out. But that’s the least of my concern. Murphy is dead. And I want revenge.

  “What do you want?” I ask, my tone defiant.

  “I have agents in the Bureau. I want to make sure their identity hasn’t been compromised.”

  “I don’t know who your agents are. If I did, I can assure you, I’d kill them myself.”

  “I hope, for your sake, you don’t know who they are. But we’re going to have to find out if you’re telling the truth.” Dominic smirks. “You know, I saved your life.”

  “How so?”

  “Everyone wants you dead. The Commission put an open contract out. But I think you might become an asset.”

  “You’ve lost your mind if you think I will ever help you.”

  “Oh, I think you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for. After all, it runs in your family.”

  I furrow my brow at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your father was a great asset to our organization.”

  I clench my jaw. My face flushes red, and the veins in my forehead bulge. “You lie.”

  “I may be a lot of things, my dear. But I’m not a liar.”

  “Say another word about my father, and I will kill you myself.”

  “Look at you talking tough.” Dominic grins. “I think that killer boyfriend of yours is rubbing off on you.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Well, that’s good. I was wondering how things were going to work out between you two, seeing how he killed your fa
ther.”

  My jaw drops. I’m speechless, and my eyes mist over.

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Dominic smiles. “I love being the bearer of bad news. How does that feel, fucking the guy who killed your old man?”

  I feel sick to my stomach. “You’re full of shit.”

  “You don’t look so good. Are you feeling okay?”

  “You’re a son-of-a-bitch, you know that?”

  “Oh, sweetheart. You haven’t seen the worst of me yet.” Dominic leans in and whispers in my ear. “I’m going to take you to my exclusive club. And there, I’m going to sell you to the highest bidder.” He stands back and folds his arms, triumphantly. “Do you know what mob guys will pay to have their way with an FBI agent that looks like you do?”

  My eyes burn into him. Tears stream down my cheeks.

  “Night after night, I’m going to sell you, over and over again. And during the day, you’re going to work for me at the Bureau.”

  “And what if I refuse?”

  “Sweetheart, I think you’re mistaken. You seem to be under the impression that you have some kind of choice. But you don’t. You either agree to the terms I give you, or you die. It’s as simple as that.”

  I scowl at him.

  “I’ll call off the dogs. I’ll let the Commission know that you work for me. They’ll cancel your contract. All will be right with the world.”

  I despise this man.

  “I’ll give you some time to think about it. But even if you refuse, I’m still going to whore you out before I kill you.” Dominic seems completely thrilled with himself. He strides toward the door. Then he calls back over his shoulder. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a friend of yours who wants to try and talk some sense into you.”

  Dominic pulls open the door, and I can’t believe who enters. My eyes widen, like saucers, when Cole steps into the room.

  My whole body tenses. Rage burns inside of me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to save your life,” he says.

  “How long have you been working for the mob?” I ask.

  “A few years now.”