Hitman's Bride (Bad Boy Empire)

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about in particular?”

  His green eyes burn. “I wanted to offer you a contract.”

  “Can’t do it. I’ve already promised Ryan Haines one more job.”

  “You haven’t heard my offer.”

  Viper’s tone, which had been pleasant, has a slight edge. I recognize the boy who used to terrify me and remember how quick he was to rage at any sign of disrespect.

  Fucking bastard.

  “What is it?”

  “I want you to kill Ryan Haines.”

  This has to be a joke.

  “No fucking way. He’s a Council member.”

  I’ll be hunted to the ends of the world by the syndicate. This must be why Viper sought me out, because he thinks he can bully me into doing his dirty work. He’s still a slimy fuck. Fuck him, I’m not doing it.

  “You’ll become a member of the syndicate. You’ll have a room to yourself, access to the club whores, doctors, whatever the hell you want.”

  “I’m not interested in becoming a member.”

  His eyebrow lifts. “Really? You like moving from place to place, sleeping in,” his pale eyes take in the shabby hotel room, grimacing, “places like these?”

  “It beats having to answer to someone.”

  “Why have you been here for so long?”

  My fingers tighten around my gun as Viper’s eyes bore into mine.

  The girl.

  The beach.

  Her mouth gaped open in the sand, stretched in an unnatural O. The white foam kept clawing at her body like desperate fingers, slowly dragging her into a watery grave.

  A blanket of overpowering rage smothers me. It’s like a plastic bag wrapped around my head, flattening against my mouth and nose. I want to claw at my neck.

  “The money’s good.”

  Viper’s smile is a little too wide. “You’ve been in SF for too long. You shouldn’t have come back.”

  No, I shouldn’t have.

  “Kill him, and I’ll make you a member.”

  If I don’t?

  He takes a step forward and every instinct screams for me to aim and fire, but a decades-old memory has me rooted to the spot. Viper leans in, and I feel his breath billowing over my ear.

  “You can’t run from me forever, Roach.”

  FAWN

  Silas burns in my head longer than he should.

  Beautiful.

  I can still hear it falling from his perfect lips. I don’t care if he’s a hitman—he’s hot as fuck. I’m talking crawling on your knees, begging to suck his cock kind of hot. He’s a guy who doesn’t really have to do much to get laid. All he needs is to dress in one of his suits and point at any woman in the room. Best of all, he’s not from the syndicate. He’s not going to treat me like a piece of glass.

  I’m like a kid with a new toy to play with. I grew up in this goddamn place, and I know every face, even the syndicate girls I see wrapped around members’ arms at parties. We’re a few hundred strong, packed carefully within the four black walls of this place. Every man my age knows that Ryan Haines has an unusual fixation on his daughter’s private life.

  The last man I dated was Paul. He had a wicked smile, and an even wilder tongue. My first time was with him. He was sweet about it. We made love all night and in the early hours of morning when we could barely open our eyes. He told me he was going to ask my father for permission to date me.

  Two days later they found him in a ditch in the Tenderloin. Stabbed. Dad said he was a drug addict.

  I knew better.

  The memory is like a sharp jab to the happiness swelling inside me. My eyes well up even though it was five years ago.

  Dad hunches over his plate of food, scowling at the misshapen pieces of broccoli, and a bitter tang hits my mouth. The broccoli is limp on my fork. I let it fall with a small thud on the still-hot porcelain plate, and Dad looks up at me with a frown.

  “Don’t play with your food.”

  I fucking hate him.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Truth be told, there’s a gaping hole in my stomach.

  “Good,” he says as the maid standing behind me clears my plate. “You can leave before you embarrass me again.”

  “Who—?”

  “Mr. Haines,” one of the meatheads posted near the door calls out, “Silas is here to see you.”

  Silas.

  I nearly bounce with glee in my chair.

  Maybe a small part of me enjoys torturing men as much as I’ve been tortured all these years. Allowed to look, but never to touch. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. I can’t resist teasing the new guys when they come to the syndicate. It’s fun, and as long as I don’t let it go any further, nothing bad will happen to them.

  “Come in.”

  Don’t stare at him this time.

  But I can’t help it. He’s built like a model, and he’s exotic looking for California. Irish, maybe. When I sat across from him yesterday, I noticed dark freckles on his hands. His skin is like pale milk, but it suits him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Haines.”

  He has a deep voice that makes my skin burn. The moment I hear it, I feel a glow between my legs that grows hotter with every second.

  Silas, dressed in a dark blue, gracefully steps into the dining room, his white shirt stark against his skin. The snug-fitting suit hints at a lean and hard body. His hair looks black, but it’s more like a very deep red, with gray strands running along his wings. The gray hints at an older age, but his eyes are youthful. It all suits him. He’s fucking gorgeous. The air vanished from the room the first time I saw him.

  He’s the kind of sexy that you just can’t ignore. Danger sexy. A man who spends his time using his hands. A killer who probably doesn’t give a shit about the syndicate or me. Rough around the edges and brimming with testosterone. I need a guy like that—one who’ll fuck first and ask questions later. Who looks at me dead center and calls me “beautiful” right in front of my dad.

  My eyes linger on his wide mouth with just the right amount of pout, his long, straight nose and hooded eyes. I look at his hands—no ring—but a hitman wouldn’t likely have a wife.

  “Ms. Haines.” My name rolls off his tongue as he spares me the briefest glance, and then his gorgeous eyes slide off me like I’m a piece of furniture.

  Ouch.

  “Ah, shit!”

  Dad shoves himself back as a wave of red wine bleeds over the tablecloth and spills on his lap.

  “Goddamn it.” He attacks his pants with the napkin, but it’s drenched in alcohol. “No,” he snaps to the maid. “Just leave it! I’ll be right back—I have to change. Dinner service, you may leave. Silas, have a seat while I get changed.”

  My heart leaps in my throat as Dad lumbers to his feet and gives me a cursory look as he walks out of the room. The maids standing like sentries behind us begin picking up the plates and glasses, the clatter of silverware the only noise in the hall as Silas stands against the wall and folds his arms. Slowly the room is emptied of people and my heart picks up the pace, knowing Dad will be back any minute.

  “Silas.”

  My voice wavers in the dining hall, and a set of murky eyes look up from his folded arms. It’s hard to ignore the intensity of his gaze, and for a moment a stab of fear hits my heart.

  I don’t have time to be shy.

  “Did you mean what you said about me?”

  My face flushes with heat because I’m aware of how high my voice sounds. And despite my bravado, it’s a little overwhelming to be in a room with him by myself. I’m afraid that he’ll see right through me and laugh.

  But he doesn’t laugh. He lets his arms fall to his sides and he takes a step forward, grabbing the head of a chair. I’m pinned to the spot as his eyes hold me still, and then he makes an odd noise—something impatient, like a frustrated growl. It rumbles from the back of his throat and the sound hits my pussy as if his hand is right there, teasing me.

 
; Of course he meant it.

  “Your dad said that if I talked to you, I’d get my balls cut off.”

  “What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right?”

  The chair makes a loud, scraping sound as I stand up and walk around the mahogany table.

  Silas watches me, heat blazing in his eyes as he abandons all attempts to ignore me. I’m wearing a dress, one he’ll probably appreciate because it clings to my every curve. The straps are annoyingly thick, but he still has a good view of my breasts.

  Dimples carve into his cheeks, and his eyes narrow into slits. I’m close enough to count the hairs on his cheek and study the fine wrinkle lines near his eyes.

  “How long are you staying in San Francisco?” When he doesn’t say a word, I keep talking. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  “Relax. He’s not in the room.”

  “That doesn’t mean he can’t watch this later.”

  “There are no cameras in this room,” I hiss into his ear. A surge of frustration hits my face. “It’s rude to ignore, you know.”

  “I’m not ignoring you, hon.”

  Another glow spreads over my chest. He called me hon. No one does that.

  “So, how long as you staying here?”

  “A couple more days, no more.”

  “Oh.”

  Even Silas catches the despondent tone of my voice. “I guess you’ll have to find some new guy to tease.”

  “That’s what you think I’m doing? Teasing?”

  I reach out, fingering one of the buttons on his suit. I trace it as I watch his chest rise and fall.

  He moves his head a fraction of an inch. “Ms. Haines—”

  “No. Drop the Ms. Haines crap. I know you’re not what you’re pretending to be.”

  “What am I pretending to be?”

  “A gentleman.”

  A smirk pulls at his lips, and somehow that small gesture sends a line of pleasure down my spine.

  “You need to stop this.”

  He turns his head toward me, and I finally have his full attention. Shit, it’s overwhelming. I can feel his body heat, just inches from mine. I can see the freckle on his bottom lip. His eyes are dark green with flecks of brown, and they look pained. Silas is pissed off—at me.

  But I can’t help but keep pushing his limits, hoping he’ll break. “Stop what?”

  I glance down at the fabric stretched taut over his thick, muscular legs. Then I gently touch his leg. He inhales a sharp breath as I curve my hand around his thick muscle.

  “Fuck this.”

  The throaty, harsh voice I’ve never heard before erupts from his chest. He takes a step forward, his hip bumping into mine.

  Oh my God.

  I feel his breath before I taste his lips crashing over mine, and then his hand is at my waist and his rock-hard body pushes me right up against the wall. My first kiss in over five years. Every inch of him digs into my flesh as his hand gropes up my side and then slides over my tits. A moan escapes my mouth as every inch of me singes with his touch. His fingers slide as his mouth devours mine, hardly leaving me with any breath as he takes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Then he pinches hard. My moan echoes down the hall, and he swallows the noise, his tongue dancing. His tongue. His lips. His hands. I’m nearly crying with relief.

  He tastes mature—I feel the kick from his rough mouth. He bites down on my lip hard, until I yelp with pain. I feel his cock digging into my hip. Oh, please.

  He pulls away, and I feel his breath over my wet lips.

  “Is this what you fucking want?”

  He’s never talked to me like that before.

  “Si-Silas.”

  The pads of his fingers scrape my skin, and then he reaches under my dress. I look down to see his freckled arm buried under the black fabric. My back spasms when I feel his fingers grazing my lace panties, just over the line of wetness beginning to seep through.

  “Kiss me again,” I beg him.

  His eyes gleam with savage triumph and his lips pull into a smile as he buries his other hand in the thick of my hair.

  Fuck, it hurts!

  His hand yanks, and my head bends backward over his arm. My heart hammers, but then the fingers stroking my panties reach to the side. They hook into my panties and pull so hard that I feel the stitches tear.

  “Kiss me, please.”

  A crooked grin. Burning eyes, glowing against his pale skin. He lowers his head and drags his mouth over my neck. He keeps blowing hot air over the sensitive skin, and his fingers graze my pussy. Holy fuck—he’s actually running his fingers up and down my soaked pussy. Is this a dream?

  “Please!”

  His mouth stops over my ear. “No.”

  Then he pushes through. He hooks his fingers through my pussy and shoves. Oh my God, it feels amazing. My thighs tremble and I feel completely powerless. I treated him like my toy, but I had no idea who I was dealing with. He’s a hitman—a predator by nature.

  “Answer my question.”

  What did he ask me?

  “Yes. I want more.”

  His eyes twinkle with amusement. “I know you want more.”

  Is he going to fuck me right here? I don’t even care if we get caught, I just don’t want his hands to stop. This feels so fucking good, just having a man’s hands on me, feeling his breath on my face, and that heavy-lidded look. It’s amazing.

  Then his fingers slide out as he loosens his grip on my hair and takes a step back. I stumble without his arms supporting me. My dress is hiked to my knees as his warmth disappears from my body.

  “What the hell?”

  He shoves his hands deep in his pockets as a vicious smirk pulls at his lips. “How do you like it?” Then his voice darkens. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

  * * *

  I get the fuck out of there.

  The door flies open as I walk—no—run to my suite. My reflection looks back at me on the highly polished wood paneling.

  It’s only a short walk back to my suite. I open the carbon black door and step inside the dark room. The door closes behind me and I rest my back against it as the darkness strokes my skin. If I close my eyes halfway, it’s almost as though he’s right beside me. I imagine the scrape of a footstep and his oppressive heat surrounds me again. His knuckles drag beneath my hair, his nails scraping over my scalp.

  My lips heat just thinking about Silas’s mouth, even though my chest burns with annoyance. I know I basically asked for it for all these weeks I’ve been tormenting him, but what am I supposed to do? Ignore him? I have half a mind to march back in there and drag him here, if it weren’t for my father. Jesus, my life is so goddamn depressing.

  I flip the light switch, letting out a shuddering breath as I walk into my suite. For a few minutes I pace around, unable to rid my mind of what he tasted like. It’s bad for me to dwell on a man I can never have, but I can’t help it. I haven’t felt like this in years.

  What I really want is to curl up in bed with my Kindle in one hand and the other between my legs, but I have a shift at the infirmary. Technically I don’t have to go. I could waste my days spending my daddy’s money at Saks Fifth Avenue in Union Square like the other syndicate women, but I don’t want a forty-thousand-dollar mink coat. Besides, I like it down there.

  The syndicate prefers to use their own doctors, of course. Gunshot wounds raise too many questions from the police, so we’re better off treating our own. I’m not a nurse—more like a physician assistant. No formal training, just what I learned from hanging around there. They couldn’t turn me away because of who my father is, so they tolerate my presence.

  I dress quickly in my scrubs, ignoring the ache between my legs as I leave my suite and lock the door. No honor among thieves, as they say. I take the elevator down to the first floor, my shoes walking over the giant emblem of the syndicate along with the words: Se mortem provocatio. Death before defiance.

  I take a
left toward the white double-backed doors, the only place in the syndicate that’s bright, and walk inside the trauma center. Raised voices hit my ears and I walk into Emergency.

  “Fuck you!”

  A man writhes on the hospital bed as a team of doctors and nurses crowd him. His crimson dress shirt is ripped open, exposing his chest where there’s something that looks like a white cone sticking out of him. Rivulets of blood run down his sides as the surgeon beside him twists a tube inside his chest. He screams in pain and I sprint toward the man thrashing on the bed.

  “What can I do?”

  “Hold him down!”

  I put both hands on his muscled shoulder, whispering an apology as he turns around and curses me. Jesus, he’s young. Probably younger than I am. A new recruit? I don’t immediately recognize him.

  The surgeon twists the chest tube, and a fresh wave of agonized screams pour from his mouth.

  Distract him.

  “What happened?”

  “Stabbed.” He grits his teeth, screwing his face against the pain, and a single tear leaks out from his right eye.

  My chest feels tight and pressure builds up behind my eyes. As much as I try to distance myself from their pain, every so often it’ll get to me.

  Don’t fucking cry.

  I smooth his shoulder, rubbing my thumb into his skin. He keeps trying to look at what they’re doing, but I take his face in my other hand and he follows the pressure. His eyes are wet.

  “You’re safe. It’s okay. Just try to relax.”

  And I gently stroke the side of his face. That’s another guilty pleasure of this job. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to touch them.

  SILAS

  All I can think about as Ryan talks to me are his daughter’s perky tits. That, and her hard little body pressing eagerly against mine. Swollen red lips begging me to kiss her. Her hot cunt, wrapped tight around my fingers. If she stayed a moment longer, I would have thrown her over the dining table and fucked her, father be damned.

  It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.

  His lips keep moving under his bushy mustache, but I don’t pay much attention.

  “Silas, you’ve done a great job.”