Broken Bastard (Killer of Kings Book 2)

by Sam Crescent

  His cell phone started to ring again, and he glanced over at it.

  “I think you need to get that. It could be important.”

  Bain reached out and took the call.

  “She works for the media? Are you fucking for real? You didn’t read the fucking security detail plans?”

  Bain all but yelled down the phone. “I’ve been watching his ass for two weeks straight, and nothing was out of place.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’d been standing by his side as part of his detail for the past six years. At Killer of Kings you always expect the unexpected, and this Scarlett woman is an extra fucking detail.”

  “Don’t worry, she won’t be a problem.”

  “I already know that you’ve got her, Bain. I thought you were supposed to be a professional.”

  “Fuck you, bastard. You came to me, remember that.”

  “I came to you because you’re damn skilled at what you do, and Viper put in a good word for you. Killer of Kings doesn’t do sloppy. Get rid of your problem and handle it.”

  The call disconnected, and Bain stared at the cell phone. This was one of the reasons he didn’t do this shit for real.

  “Is everything okay?” Scarlett asked.

  He nodded and turned toward her. “Just a problem at work.”

  Taking a seat opposite her, he stared at her.

  She finished off her sandwich, and then her hands rested on her thighs. The rope was tightly wrapped around her waist, securing her to the chair.

  He couldn’t trust her, and now he was tired. Bending down beside her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and began to unravel the rope.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I need a shower, and I’m not going to leave you here.” He released her bonds, and then helped her to stand up, brushing the crumbs down her body.

  Taking hold of her hand, he started to move up to the next floor to his bedroom, which also had an en-suite bathroom. He grabbed a wooden chair, placed her in it and tied her up once again.

  “Seriously? You’re going to take a shower while I’m here?”

  He took a step back and removed his shirt. Her gaze traveled down his chest, taking in every single piece of ink he’d had decorated on his body. “You like what you see?” he asked.

  The ink he’d used to cover up every single scar he’d gained as a child. Only Viper understood what he’d gone through. It was strange this connection he had to the other man. Together they had come out of their nightmare, and yet it had never really left them. There were still moments when Bain woke up sure that he was about to wake up to a stick slammed across his back.

  Shaking off the feeling, he removed his pants and boxer briefs until he was fully naked. His cock was long, hard, and there was already pre-cum at the tip, but like so many times he ignored it.

  Glancing over at Scarlett he saw that she had averted her gaze. Running himself a bath, he made sure there were lots of relaxing bubbles. He was getting older, and with his age there were a few aches and pains he had to take care of.

  A nice long bubble bath was one of the few luxuries in life that he allowed himself, and right now, he needed to relax. He already felt the beginnings of a migraine, and within an hour he’d be useless as the pain took over.

  It was kind of funny, or at least to him it was. He was a hardened killer that was often brought to his knees by the pounding inside his head.

  “Do you want a bath?” he asked, looking toward her. She was now staring at him. “I don’t mind you having the water after me, but I’ll be here as you wash. I’ll see you naked.”

  He watched as she swallowed, her hands rubbing against her thighs.

  “I would like a bath, please,” she said.

  See, he wasn’t a total monster.

  Chapter Three

  She’d only had sex with two different men in her life, both assholes, but neither of them looked like Bain. His body resembled a sculpture chiseled out of marble, hard and cut. His cock would give any man penis-envy. She tried not to stare, but he was so brazen and confident and very nice to look at. Her chair was poised right outside the open bathroom door, so she could see everything from his tight ass to the trail of hair leading to that monster cock. His body was a living canvas with tattoos all the way down his arms and torso. She supposed she could look away, but she didn’t want to.

  For a killer, it surprised her when he began adding scented bubbles to his bath. Bain’s bathroom had an original claw-foot tub. She’d always liked antiques over modern décor. Once he stepped in, he groaned and sank into the water. He was so big, he barely fit his body into the cramped space.

  This house reminded her of her grandmother’s old place with the decorative crown moldings and hot water radiators. Scarlett had spent a lot of time at her grandmother’s home until she died. Those were some of her best childhood memories. And it was a long time ago.

  “This is good stuff, Scarlett.”

  It was odd how this murderer seemed so personable. He must be a sociopath. He had spoken with Alexei briefly in Russian before casually pulling the trigger—no warning, no emotion. She hoped he didn’t do the same to her without notice. Maybe next time he fed her, she’d die with a sandwich in her mouth and bullet in the head.

  “You speak English well,” she said.

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my first language.”

  “But the Russian. It sounded native.”

  He chuckled, rubbing the suds over his strong arm up to his shoulder. “I speak a lot of languages. At least six that I can think of offhand. It’s necessary in my line of work, something we were taught.”

  “By those same men who starved you?”

  “Exactly, so you can imagine I got the dialects down pat fast.”

  She only knew English. Learning new things took time and money, both things she didn’t have in abundance. Now she’d never get a chance to do any of the things on her bucket list. Scarlett wiggled in her seat to test the bonds, but they were secure, even digging into her waist. It would be the perfect time to escape, but she’d have a real opportunity soon enough. When he’d offered her his dirty bathwater, she’d only agreed because it meant he’d have to untie her.

  “Do you live here alone?” she asked.

  “Just me. That’s how I like it.”

  She copied his earlier questions. “No wife? Kids?”

  The water sloshed as he shifted positions, but she could still only see his shoulders and the back of his head. “Hell no. Family would be a complication. I hate complications.”

  How could anyone not crave a family, stability, the all-American dream? Didn’t everyone want the white picket fence? Even after what she’d been through in relationships, she still dreamed of that elusive happily ever after. Some days that hope, even if unrealistic, was all that kept her going.

  Bain must be lonely. He wasn’t young. He was mature and weathered—all man. Her thoughts began to drift into uncomfortable territory. His shoulders were broad and corded with muscle, his intricate tattoos trying to reveal his secrets. What stories would they tell?

  What is wrong with me?

  He was her enemy, the man who would probably murder her, not her knight in shining armor. She’d always had the worst taste in men. Now that she was old enough to think objectively, Scarlett blamed a lot of her poor decision making on her deadbeat father. Desperate for acceptance, part of her forever tried to gain his approval through the eyes of men,. It was the only reason she could be attracted to Bain, thriving off his compliments and yearning for his affection. She knew it was wrong and twisted, but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe he’d see something special in her, unlike his other victims, unlike Alexei Semenov.

  “So you’ll just stay by yourself forever? That sounds lonely.” Scarlett tried to convince herself she was just calming the beast, befriending her captor so he’d have pity on her. But that was a lie. Bain interested her—the reporter, the victim … the woman.

  “You’
re not married,” he said.

  “That’s not by choice. My past relationship didn’t exactly work out according to plan.”

  “If you’re so worried about being lonely, why didn’t you make it work?”

  Scarlett didn’t want to talk anymore. She felt her body stiffening, closing from the inside out. It was easy to block out the past, but it was always there, eating away at her. Soon there’d be nothing left.

  Bain turned around and looked at her. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

  “Not anymore.” She refused to look him in the eye.

  “Soft spot?”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s why I like to be alone. People always disappoint. The only person I trust is myself.” He rolled out his shoulders and settled back into the tub. “Now, tell me why you didn’t make it work.”

  She narrowed her eyes, even though he couldn’t see her. “I said I’m done talking.”

  “Actually, you’re not. We had an agreement, you and I. You know the consequences if you piss me off.”

  Tears stung her eyes. He couldn’t make her talk about herself. Then again, if she wanted to live she had to humor him. She could lie, give a good story to appease him, but she was all about the truth. It was why she became a reporter in the first place. She started by helping families being taken advantage of by unethical landlords and women struggling to recoup child support from absentee fathers. She wanted to make the world a better place.

  “I told you why I didn’t make it work. My last boyfriend was abusive. I couldn’t live like that,” she said.

  “But you wouldn’t be lonely.”

  She shook her head. “There are things worse than being lonely.”

  He ran his hands over his scalp, the short buzz cut making a scraping sound. “Exactly my point.”

  Was he referring to the men who’d abused him? “You said you wanted to tell your story. What’s your reason for living here alone?”

  “If you’re talking about a woman, it’s not possible for me.” He rose to his feet, the water rushing down his hard, muscled frame as he stood. This time his back was to her, each muscle hard and defined. He reached for a towel, first drying his face, then wrapping it securely around his lower half. She studied the artwork on his torso as he moved. “I was one of the oldest boys in the compound, and because of my looks, they trained me to seduce women. It’s all a blur now, the fucking, the killing. I really don’t want to remember those days.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “You asked why I’m alone.” He walked into his bedroom. Bain twirled her chair around, with her still securely on it, as he left the en-suite. “That’s why. I was forced to be with so many different women for so many fucking years that it numbed me. Emotions, love, everything—it’s all gone. Why would I choose to be with a woman now? I just need to be left alone.”

  “People can change, recover from unspeakable horrors. I’ve seen it. I know it’s possible.”

  He put on black boxer briefs that hugged his hard ass and strong legs. Scarlett watched him walk about the room from the closet to the dresser. He finally tugged on a pair of navy jogging pants but didn’t put on a shirt. She tried not to be too obvious as she snuck in peeks of him. Would he be as hard as he looked? Bain settled on the corner of his king-sized bed, staring at her with such intensity that her words caught in her throat.

  “You have no idea the horrors I’ve lived, sweetheart. I promise whatever you’ve been through is a cake walk compared to my shit life.”

  “There’s good left in everyone,” she whispered. Scarlett wouldn’t let him drag her down. She’d been fighting depression for too many damn years. She was barely a shell of woman, fragile and empty. She wanted to think positive, to improve herself and move upward—and she firmly believed Bain could do the same.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Those bastards said I was handsome, irresistible to women. That’s why they used me.” Bain stood and approached her, grabbed the edge of her chair and dragged it back to his bed. He sat back down on his mattress, only a breath between them now. “All that’s changed now,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Bain took her wrist and placed her palm on his chest. His skin was so firm and warm, her pussy throbbing from just that one touch. “Feel me. Really feel me.”

  She wasn’t sure what point he was making until she began to smooth her fingertips over his chest, his shoulders, and then his face. With a gentle caress, she traced all the ridges of old scars she hadn’t really noticed until now. He was covered in them. To say she was shocked would be an understatement.

  “Not so handsome anymore, eh? I try to hide this shit with ink, but it’s not the physical scars that bother me the most. They’ve fucked up my head so bad that killing’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

  She swallowed hard. “I think you’re perfect.” The words slipped from her lips before she really thought better. It wasn’t a lie. Bain was the roughest, scariest man she’d ever seen, but also irresistible and hardcore in a way that made her body light up for the first time in her life.

  Her hand was still on his cheek, his rough stubble tickling her fingers. She noticed the thick scars under his eye, and she was tempted to kiss it better.

  Whatever she thought they’d shared—a moment, a breakthrough—was gone when he bolted to his feet as if her touch scorched him.

  He paced back and forth, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a two-minute mile. What had she said to upset him? Had she pegged him wrong? Was he ready to kill? Maybe he was about to prove her wrong once again, just as Jerry and Michael had. She didn’t want to believe it, but maybe some people were beyond redemption.

  ****

  He’d fucked up. Bain knew he shouldn’t have brought the witness home with him. He should have just killed her off site and dumped the body. It didn’t matter if she disappeared, as long as it didn’t lead back to him. All his efforts had been for the benefit of Killer of Kings—he refused to look like an unprofessional. Bain wasn’t sure why Boss’s opinion mattered so much. It shouldn’t.

  Now this girl was pushing his buttons, testing him, making him feel things he shouldn’t. Boss had made it clear she had to die. He expected Bain to follow through and clean up the potential shit storm that could develop from taking a hostage. But he wasn’t ready to follow that order. In fact, he didn’t like orders at all. It’s the main reason he worked for himself all these years, taking solo contracts, but never committing to anything long term. He couldn’t stand being smothered, having any human lord over him.

  “Your turn,” he said. Bain needed to move onto something new. He desperately needed a distraction from his traitorous thoughts. And his fucking migraine was growing in intensity, messing with his head.

  “For what?”

  “The bath,” he said. “You wanted to go after me, right? The longer you wait the colder the water gets.”

  She frowned. “Fine.”

  He squatted down next to her chair and began to undo the tight knots. She rested her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. No more touching. “Okay, you have ten minutes.” He dropped the ropes to the ground.

  When his phone started ringing downstairs in the kitchen, he ignored it. He knew it was information on his next hit, even though he’d asked for a text, but Boss would have to wait.

  “You can go get that,” she said, standing up. “I’d rather undress in private anyway.”

  “Yeah, not going to happen. I wasn’t born yesterday.” He sat down on her chair, his legs splayed as he rested his elbows on his knees. “Get undressed. I already told you I’d see you naked.”

  “Well, I’m shy.”

  Bain wasn’t going to lie, he was disappointed. He’d been looking forward to getting an eyeful of Scarlett’s lush curves. His cock was already firm just thinking of them. But he wasn’t going to force her to strip if she refused. “Then you’ll go without bathing,” he s
aid.

  With his mood soured, he ordered her out of his room and down the staircase as he followed right behind her. Once in the kitchen, he pointed to her chair as he grabbed his cell off the table.

  “Do you still want me to interview you?” she asked.

  “Story time’s over.” He’d been a fool to entertain Scarlett. She’d be his fucking undoing if he continued to play her games.

  He called Boss back. “You have the information?”

  “You deal with the problem?”

  Bain growled, grinding his teeth together rather than speaking.

  “Is that a yes?” Boss asked.

  “I don’t repeat myself. I said it would be handled.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “I’ll text you the address and details. This mark needs to take a dive off one of the balconies at lunch hour tomorrow. We need a street full of witnesses for his suicide. Can you handle that?”

  “Wire the payment,” said Bain. “I’ll call you when it’s complete.”

  He turned off the phone before Boss could add any smartass comment about doing things right or not fucking up again. A lecture was the last thing he wanted to hear right now. Bain took a cleansing breath and set his phone back down.

  The chair was empty.

  Are you fucking kidding me? The little reporter moved fast. Too bad her escape attempt was in vain. His house was more secure than Fort Knox, so there was no getting out without his security code. He checked around the main floor, not finding her. The house wasn’t huge, so there were only so many places she could hide. It was fucking late, and he needed to get some sleep in preparation for his hit tomorrow. He’d have to be up early and plan out his strategy since he’d been given less than twenty-four hours prep time.

  He ran back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. His bedroom still had the fragrant scent of the bath water. She was nowhere to be found, which meant she could only be one other place—the basement. He hated going down there.

  After reaching the door leading to the lower level, he flicked on the light for the lone bulb. It hardly cast any light, creating eerie shadows against the walls. He took the steps slowly, cautiously. Scarlett was feisty, so he didn’t trust her not to blindside him with a pipe or crowbar. There was a lot of old shit stored in the basement when he’d bought the house, but he couldn’t bring himself to clear it out.