Hitman Wedding: A Bad Boy Inc Story

by Eve Langlais

  It shouldn’t have made him so fucking hard. He turned away from her and paced toward the window. “Since you’re here, maybe we should discuss our next move.”

  “Sergei—”

  “Isn’t here. You and I are.”

  “He will have a plan for us.”

  “What if he doesn’t? Or something happens? We should have contingencies in place.”

  “You mean you don’t have one already with Bad Boy?”

  “How could BBI plan for this?” He extended his hand to the room.

  “You were on the phone long enough to get things organized.”

  It didn’t surprise him that she knew. “You spied on me.”

  “I didn’t. That is technical work.” She sounded affronted. “But Sergei let me know about it. That was very dumb.”

  “The number I used can’t be traced.”

  “You do realize that you just said the impossible.”

  “What?” It took him a moment before he understood. If she knew about the call, then apparently, his attempts at subterfuge failed. He exclaimed, “Fuck me, how did Sergei manage to do that?” There was nothing worse than realizing he’d been out-teched.

  “We are just that good. Which means, you should forget any plans you’re concocting. Mine will be better.”

  “Why not spill your strategy, and I’ll be the judge of that?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “How about now?” He might have said more, but the damned woman left the bedroom. Much as it galled, he followed. “If we’re going to work together, you can’t keep ignoring me.”

  “Then maybe you should have thought of that before acting like a selfish ass.” She arched a brow.

  “Is this because I wouldn’t fuck you?” The pettiness of it was, well, petty.

  “You scratch me, I scratch you. It’s a simple concept.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m not whoring myself out to make you happy.”

  “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  He was almost ready to change his mind now. Perhaps choke that lying, delectable mouth with his cock to stop her from saying things that drove him nuts.

  A knock at the door had him frowning. “Did you order room service?”

  “Too late for food from the kitchen. But I found a place that would deliver.” She eased out her gun and tiptoed to the door. She peeked through the hole and waved a hand at him. “It’s the pizza guy. Hand me some money.”

  He grabbed his wallet and pulled some bills free as she opened the door, the gun already tucked in the back of her pants.

  The pizza guy, who was older and more square-jawed than a delivery boy should be, entered. The big foil bag keeping the pie warm hung at an angle. The shirt seemed too small on his chest, the expression a little too shuttered.

  It made Darren’s spine straighten. Paranoia?

  Perhaps, given that Fran let him in with a bright, “How much do I owe you?”

  The delivery guy pulled the hand not holding the pizza from his pocket, and Darren’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun. A gun the guy never got a chance to raise.

  Marina rammed the palm of her hand against the delivery guy’s diaphragm. He gasped and reeled back. Not far, seeing as how Marina—not Fran, Fran wouldn’t hurt a fly—grabbed him by the head and dropped him to the floor.

  Ouch. The wrestling move quite real unlike the fakery seen on screen.

  She quickly pulled a zip tie from her ass—because it certainly didn’t come from a pocket—and whipped the thug’s hands behind his back. Then, while sitting on the delivery guy, who was more than a pizza dude, she reached into the bag and calmly pulled out two boxes while ordering Darren around. “Shut the door.”

  He shut, locked, and leaned against it, staring at her. “What the fuck just happened?”

  “Looks like we were already made.”

  “But how?” Even as he asked, he knew. Because I made a mistake. Darren was a man who taught others about impossible scenarios and dangerous ambushes. He didn’t usually have to implement or guard against them in actuality.

  “Probably when you called,” she said, sliding the two boxes onto the floor. The first she opened and revealed a pepperoni pizza cut into slices. She grabbed a piece and took a big bite, her eyes shutting for a second as she let out a soft moan.

  It looked delicious, and he didn’t mean the pie. “What’s in the other box?” he asked as he reached for a piece oozing gooey cheese.

  “Open it and see.”

  “Is it that hard for you to tell me what you ordered?” he grumbled.

  “I only ordered one pizza,” she said as Darren flipped the lid on the second box, revealing…

  “A bomb!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Darren acted as if he were surprised, and yet from the moment she’d seen the man at the door, she’d known.

  “Yes, a bomb. Did they not teach the fake-out delivery trick at your academy?” she asked as she kept eating her slice of warm pizza while eyeing the wires sticking out of the flattened explosive. There was enough plastic there to make a big boom—and turn her into pink slurry.

  “We don’t instruct on specific gags.”

  “Then what do you teach? Other than how to blow your cover by calling someone I told you not to.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

  His jaw hardened. “We train agents to be innovative. Observant. We also educate them on self-preservation. That’s a bomb,” he said, jabbing his finger in the direction of the box with the brown package and wires. “Shouldn’t we be leaving at a run to get away?”

  “Why?”

  “Because bombs in general aren’t good for one’s health, that’s why.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. This one is perfectly safe. He did not have time to arm it.” She dug into the unconscious man’s pocket and pulled out a transmitter, a tiny remote with a single button.

  Darren held out his hand. “Give me that.”

  “Why? Afraid I’ll press it.” She took a big, gooey bite and intentionally smashed her thumb on the button.

  A red light atop the plastic load lit up. Darren’s eyes widened. She swallowed her pizza and then reached over to the box and yanked the blue wire.

  The light went out.

  Darren exploded. “You fucking psycho! What the hell? You could have blown us up.”

  “I am not suicidal.”

  “You pressed the button.”

  “Because pressing the button is fun. You should try it some time. Hold on. Let me fix it for you.” She went to jab the blue wire back into the bomb, but he reached down and snatched it from her.

  “Careful. That stuff can be a little unpredictable. I knew a guy who stuffed it into his pocket. It didn’t end well for him.” It had been considered a good thing that idiot wouldn’t be able to procreate.

  “I know how to handle this stuff. I am not a complete moron.”

  “Yet you believed I’d actually ordered a pizza to our room.” She snorted. “Did it ever occur to you that the front desk should have rung us to grab the delivery? You need a keycard for this level.”

  “You think he killed the bellboy?” Darren glared at the body on the floor.

  “Maybe, or stole the card and snuck past him. Minor details. We should be more concerned with the fact that he’s here. We should have been off the radar.”

  “Maybe Sergei sold you out.”

  “Ha, it’s more likely your precious BBI office has a spy.”

  “Harry’s staff is clean.”

  “Doesn’t mean his equipment is.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m telling you right now, it’s not a leak on my side.”

  “You keep thinking that.” Then she ignored Darren to keep eating pizza and check out the guy they’d caught.

  She didn’t recognize him. Then again, with how big the world was, that wasn’t hard to believe. He appeared in his late thirties, European descent, no identification. A friskin
g located a knife and two guns: the one he’d tried to use, and another in an ankle holster.

  Darren paced. “We should make plans to leave.”

  “And go where tonight?”

  “Somewhere we don’t have to worry about assassins.”

  “He’s not an assassin. Just a low-level thug.”

  “One with a bomb.”

  “Which I wager he’ll tell us was given to him.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I will in a moment. He’s waking up.”

  Marina remained perched on the man’s chest. Nothing like staring at him from a position of power to set the stage.

  The lids fluttered first. Followed by a groan. Then a, “what the fuck?” followed by a body buck.

  Marina leaned her forearm against the man’s throat. “I wouldn’t move too much if I were you. Crushed necks are hard to heal from.”

  “Let me go or—”

  “You’ll what? Blow me up?” She smiled and held up the remote. “What happens if I do this?” She pressed the inactive button, and the man squealed. It was very unmanly. He obviously wasn’t well trained.

  “You can stop wailing like a baby. The bomb is disabled.”

  “You’re fucking nuts,” exclaimed the man.

  “Why do people always say that like it’s an insult?” She shook her head. “More people should be a little crazy. Then we wouldn’t mind doing what has to be done.” She pinched his nose and covered his mouth with her free hand.

  The thug struggled, which only increased the pressure on his neck.

  Meanwhile, Darren exposed another of his morality lines. “What are you doing? You’re going to kill him.”

  “Probably, if he doesn’t answer my questions.” She pulled back and let the man breathe. “Who sent you?”

  “Fuc—”

  She whistled as she leaned on him again, waiting until his eyes were wide enough to pop from his head.

  Darren paced, muttering things like, “Why me?” and “Crazy Russian.”

  “Calm yourself and have another slice of pizza.”

  He stopped pacing to glare. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Then don’t tell me what to do. I am the expert here.” She eased up on their assailant’s neck and removed her hand, allowing him to breathe. “Who sent you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She shifted her arm, and he rasped out, “I swear, I don’t. All I know is I got a call to make some easy money. I was supposed to put the pizza by your door, leave, and set off the bomb.”

  “But you knocked.”

  “I thought if I got it inside, maybe I’d get a bonus.”

  “You thought you’d get a bonus for blowing people up.” Darren dropped to his knees, angry looking. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  The man whined, “Nothing wrong with making some money.”

  “Man has a point,” Marina said, which sent Darren shooting to his feet and pacing again.

  “Why the extreme attacks? And with such incompetents.” He waved a hand at the guy under her, who took offense.

  “Hey, asshole—”

  Thunk.

  She knocked him back out and snared a fresh triangle of pizza before perching on the couch.

  Darren was still talking aloud. “This doesn’t make sense. Why hire a petty thug like this one?”

  “They think you’re weak.”

  He glared at her. “I might not have trained like others who did the full program, but I’m no dummy. And I’m sure as hell better than he is.” He gestured to the limp body on the floor.

  “We don’t know that for sure. What we do know is that I am better.” She stood and stretched. “You should get some sleep.”

  “What about the body?” He pointed.

  “I will take care of it.”

  “Don’t you mean Sergei will handle it?”

  “You sound jealous.”

  “Ha. You wish. I am wondering, though. What does Sergei think of you sleeping with your target?”

  “Sergei doesn’t care who I sleep with. He reserves his jealousy for his wife. He’s married with seven children.”

  “I wasn’t jealous.”

  She eyed him from her spot on the couch. “It’s okay if you were. I am pretty special.”

  “You’re conceited.”

  “Confident.”

  “Arrogant.”

  “Assertive, and I can do this all night.”

  “You can do it alone. I’m going to bed.”

  He left.

  Marina almost followed him because taunting him was fun. How far could she push him before he snapped—and got rough with her?

  Marina really wanted him to touch her.

  Sigh.

  She ate another piece of pizza—the cheese cold and congealing but still delicious—as she fired off some texts to Sergei.

  Have cleanup issue.

  Get out.

  It’s the middle of the night.

  Bomb.

  Is disabled.

  No, it’s not!

  She eyed the pizza box on the floor. The loose wire still hanging out of it, the clay molded into a large rectangle, big enough to…

  Shit.

  She dove off the couch, and snared her wallet on the way to Darren’s room.

  Barreling in, she startled him, and he sat bolt upright in bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Get dressed. We have to go.”

  He didn’t argue, simply put on a shirt and slid on his shoes. It was when he put his hands on his wallet that all hell broke loose.

  An explosion ripped through the penthouse. Only the fact that they were in the bedroom saved them. Once she’d picked herself up off the floor, a peek back through the doorway showed flames licking the carpet and walls, blocking the way out. It also showed red slime dripping from the wallpaper. The petty thug wouldn’t be pulling any more jobs. She shut the door.

  “We can’t exit that way,” she said, pushing past him to the balcony.

  “Even if you brought a parachute, I am not jumping,” he declared.

  “This type of height is better with a hang-glider, and we don’t have one of those, unfortunately.”

  An alarm went off as the smoke and heat tripped a sensor. He smiled. “The sprinklers will take care of the flames.”

  Except… None of them were going off. Stupid computer-operated machinery. Everything these days could be controlled—and hacked.

  Rather than listen to Darren curse about it, she wedged a pillow at the bottom of the bedroom door to block the seam, hoping to forestall the infiltration of the choking smoke. Then, she went to work, stripping the sheets from the bed and knotting the fine linen, tying it together.

  He noticed her actions and sighed. “We’re climbing, aren’t we?”

  Yes, they were. At least down to the balcony below them where the patio door only needed a firm yank to open, and then they were exiting the room, following a stream of sleepy people down the hall as they made it to the emergency stairs and the fresh air outside.

  Within the crowd, she let Darren and his great size lead, knowing they were vulnerable in the open yet protected at the same time because of the press of bodies.

  “Now what?” he asked when they found a clear spot to watch the flames shooting from the penthouse windows.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting that.” Which kind of peeved her. The old decoy bomb hiding the real bomb trick. The elegant brilliance of it proved a stark reminder that Darren was making her not think straight.

  “The good news is, we’re unharmed and not naked this time.”

  “The beach was more fun than this, though, you have to admit.”

  “Fun for you, maybe.”

  “I need to make a call.” Except she realized while she’d grabbed her wallet, she’d neglected the phone. It had probably melted in the explosion. She’d need to get a new one.

  “Call who? Sergei? No need. While you didn’t foresee this happening, I
had a feeling.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did too. I’m not the only one who made a call.”

  ‘Sergei didn’t betray me.”

  “If you say so.” He looked at the billowing smoke.

  “He’s the one who told me to escape.”

  “And you don’t find that suspicious? How did he know?”

  She glared at him. His turn to grin. “Admit it. He’s the leak.”

  “Sergei wouldn’t hurt me, which you’d better believe because we’re going to need to call him for extraction.”

  “Actually, we don’t. Because, like I said, I had a feeling we might get screwed. Lucky for you, I have an alternative plan.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Marina hadn’t thought to snare their cellphone before escaping the burning inferno—a close call that Darren preferred not to dwell on. Only seconds before, and he’d have been the one splattering his guts all over the place. The billowing smoke and flames licking out the windows served as a reminder that her quick thinking had saved him from turning into barbecued meat, as well.

  However, while he’d thank her for saving his life, he had to wonder if her precious Sergei was the reason they’d been attacked in the first place. That worry was why he insisted on using his plan to get them out of there. The purchase of a burner phone allowed him to make a quick call to Harry set their planes, trains, and automobile plan in motion. It also netted them a taxi, which drove them in loops to lose any pursuit before taking them to the airport.

  Screw the train—too slow, and it didn’t go anywhere interesting.

  Fuck driving, because that wouldn’t let him get some much-needed rest.

  Flying, despite their last debacle, was the way to go. Especially since his alternative plan—that he wouldn’t let Marina tell Sergei about—involved first class, a warm blanket, and a glass of wine to help him sleep. Yes, sleep. And this despite the possibility that the plane could go down because of an intentional malfunction. For all he knew, a killer was aboard.

  Let Marina handle it. He was napping. His body needed rest. It could only go so long without it, and he’d reached that point. Shutting his eyes, he found himself lulled by the muted roar of the engines. The slight vibration in his seat rocked him into dreamland.