Hitman's Bride (Bad Boy Empire)

by Vanessa Waltz

  I smooth my hand over his abdomen, watching his eyes as I reach down to grab his cock. I squeeze him, and his eyes glaze over. My skin tingles with energy as I feel him slowly get hard again.

  “I have five years worth of fucking to condense into one night, don’t I?”

  I bend my head closer, feeling a rush of blood to my face the moment I press my lips against his. He puts his hand between my legs and in seconds, I’m soaking.

  “Yes.”

  He grasps my jaw again and squeezes. “Beg.”

  I want to tell him to get stuffed. I’m the daughter of a Council member. Do you really think I beg anyone for anything?

  “Please fuck me.”

  He smiles, shaking his head. “You still sound demanding.”

  He fucks me with his fingers, and I repeat it over and over until it’s a shrill whisper. Then finally he puts my legs on either side of his shoulders and his cock spreads me open, fulfilling a deep ache pounding inside me. He fucks me with the stamina of a racehorse. He fucks me until I can’t breathe, until I’m screaming his name and he has to cover my mouth again. My body jolts with the force of his thrusts, and then we orgasm at the same time. I cling to his neck and cry out into his chest. It’s beautiful.

  * * *

  He’s gone before morning.

  His side of the bed was already cold by the time I woke up. I can’t complain. I got what I wanted out of him, just as I’m sure he got what he wanted out of me. It was a casual hookup, plain and simple. Except I know that I’ll replay every detail of what happened last night for the rest of my life, including every word Silas ever said to me.

  I smile in the darkness, feeling wonderfully sore between my legs. I want to find him and fuck him again and again, but I know that we can’t. Like he said, it’s a one-time thing.

  I roll off my bed and open the shades over my windows, wincing as bright light pokes my eyes hard. I walk through the suite, half hoping that I’ll run into him making coffee in the kitchen, but I know he’s long gone by now.

  There’s some commotion in the hallway—distant shouts that I can’t really make out. Someone screaming, “Bed!” It doesn’t make any sense. I glance at the clock, and realize that it’s almost eight a.m. The guards know to keep it down in the morning. What the hell are they thinking?

  Then a furious series of knocks trembles my door.

  “Ms. Haines! Are you all right?”

  An unfamiliar voice.

  My bare feet pad over the mahogany wood and I carefully reach for the doorknob, peering out the hole first. A man with blond hair and a round face stands there, and I recognize him as I open the door. He’s that guy who’s got all the girls’ panties in a goddamn twist. He showed up about six months ago with his gang—the Powell Street Crew. I don’t pay attention to the politics of this place, but Viper got attention the moment he walked through the doors. The leader of the ruthless Powell Street Crew was a man with boyish good looks and a smile that won over everyone. Too baby faced for me, but he’s decent looking, I guess.

  “You’re okay. Thank God.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “You need to come with me.”

  I roll my eyes at him. When are these idiots going to realize that they can’t order me around?

  “I don’t need to go anywhere.”

  “Ms. Haines, it’s for your own safety. There’s been a murder and we need to search your suite.”

  “On this floor?” My voice echoes. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  What?

  I lean outside and glance down the hallway, and I’m surprised to see a group of men corralling off the entrance to my dad’s room. There are five or six of them, and a stream of people filtering in and out of the room.

  “You need to come with me.”

  Viper’s hand encircles my arm, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the men gathered at Dad’s door. What the hell are they doing? One of the guards, a thick-necked idiot called Bryce, rubs both hands over his face. He looks up suddenly, his skin blotchy and his eyes red.

  I’m cold, and Viper’s touch makes me cringe. It’s like the bite of ice.

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t want to see this—”

  There’s a loud bang, and I turn my head to see a man bent over at the waist.

  “Fucking Christ!”

  He holds a pair of shoes as he backs out my dad’s doorway. Those shoes are attached to a pair of feet and thick legs. A black tarp hangs precariously over his body, but a human arm swings down and I catch a glimpse of a brass watch.

  “That’s my dad’s watch!”

  Viper’s fingers dig hard, rooting me to the spot as I lunge toward them.

  “You shouldn’t see this.”

  “That’s my dad! Take that sheet off him!”

  “Ms. Haines—”

  His voice is like an echo of Silas’s.

  “Let go of me!”

  I shove his chest, expecting him to release me. His fingernails bite into my arm, and then I’m yanked forward so that I can’t escape the fury pounding behind his gaze.

  “Your father is dead. He’s been dead for hours, and I need you to come with me now.”

  Dead?

  “I don’t believe you. I need to see him!”

  A flash of red moves across Viper’s eyes, and then he releases his hold on my arm. “As you wish.” He turns his head, calling out to them. “Boys, stop for a moment!”

  The procession carrying the body stops in the middle of the hallway, and they glance around at me, clearly terrified to see me standing there. Viper strides to the man’s body, and then I realize how I never really noticed him before. He was barely a blip on my radar, and all of a sudden he’s pulling me out of my suite.

  “Suit yourself,” he says with the faintest sneer. He lifts the edge of the tarp and throws it off the body.

  A man as white as printer paper gapes straight ahead, his lids half-closed as his mouth hangs open, a red gash opening his throat from ear to ear. His cheeks are sunken in, and even though my dad was a big man I can see his cheekbones stark against his skin. His head lolls to the side, and my dad stares at me through the unfocused gaze of the dead.

  A jolt hits my heart, and tears crowd my vision, blinding me. My dad’s dead. The man who raised and protected me is dead. All he wanted to do was make sure I was safe, and what did I ever do but treat him like scum?

  Oh my God.

  “They found him on the floor.”

  “I don’t want to know!”

  He frowns suddenly and flips the tarp back over Dad, hiding the horrific gash. I keep staring at that lump of flesh as shock crashes over me in wave after wave. How can that be him? How could this happen?

  He was everything. He was the only thing, and now he’s gone.

  * * *

  I don’t remember how I get downstairs, only that I can’t stop staring at my hands, which shake like autumn leaves. The only thing I feel is a vague dizziness from the blood pounding in my veins. My head swims and waves of nausea keep rolling through my body at every image flashing through my head: the red gash opening his throat so wide I could see all the sinews of muscle, the unnatural paleness of his skin, and his milky eyes.

  Vomit surges up my throat suddenly. I clap my hands over my mouth and wretch. Viper jumps out of the way as acid burns its way to my mouth. It spills out of my fingers and drips onto the carpet. An ugly cry wrestles from my mouth as I swallow the bile back down.

  “Come on.”

  The elevator doors open and through my revulsion and horror I realize that he’s taking me to a room where women traditionally aren’t allowed. It’s the syndicate’s throne room, where all the business is discussed. It’s a giant space. The furniture is finished in oriental black lacquer, and faded gold trimmings trace every edge. A highly polished white marble floor expands across the room, the walls wine red. Sometimes the syndicate hosts parties here, and members will bring their wives, but it r
arely happens. Dad never talked about what went on here. My eyes widen as I take in the room and the rows and rows of members lined up in front of a massive walnut table where there are five men seated. My throat tightens as my eyes pass over the sixth empty seat. Dad’s seat.

  “Fawn Haines.”

  My name echoes in the cavernous room and I turn my head as it bounces from a dozen different directions.

  A hand pushes at the small of my back and I walk forward on trembling legs until there’s about four feet of space between the table and me. Eric Blackwell, a Council member with a thick, oiled beard, nods at me.

  “I know this is difficult and sudden, but we need to know if you saw anything last night.”

  “My dad’s dead.”

  I just saw his body.

  “Yes,” he says, not without sympathy. “He is.”

  “I—I don’t know what happened. How did this happen?”

  “Did you hear anything strange? Raised voices? Sounds of a struggle?”

  “No, I didn’t hear a thing!”

  Silas was with me last night, tangled in my arms. We were probably making too much noise to hear anything.

  Their faces fall as my voice fades away.

  “That is unfortunate.”

  “What happened? Where were his guards?”

  “Gone from their posts,” Viper replies smoothly.

  “Tipped off?” Blackwell interjects. “Or bribed?”

  Another Council member leans in. “Bribed by who?”

  Viper lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “The man made plenty of enemies.”

  Amos, the oldest member of the council, eyes Viper. “We all know that Haines had perhaps an unfavorable reputation, but the syndicate is a unit. We are not operatives. We fight as one, and we bleed as one.”

  “Haines outlived his usefulness.”

  “This was an act of treason,” Amos snaps. “Death before defiance.”

  My heart hammers against my chest as their words sink in my head. The members look divided, and deep down I feel a bit angry for Dad.

  “You’re going to find who did it, won’t you?”

  Their attention turns back to me, Amos looking faintly annoyed.

  “Your father’s murder was a serious crime. He will be found and dealt with.”

  “Take her back to her room. The Council needs to convene.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And get a list of every man granted access to Haines for the last few weeks.”

  Numb with shock, I don’t even hear his last few words. I just feel the biting pressure of Viper’s fingers, tugging me forward.

  My stomach curdles as I walk out to the hall, realizing that I’ll have to go back to the fifth floor where my father’s body was found. But Viper punches his thumb on the down button, to the lower levels.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To your new room.”

  “But—”

  “You’re not a member’s daughter anymore.”

  Which to the syndicate means that I’m nothing.

  He ushers me dispassionately in the elevator. Women have no place here except as family. The syndicate keeps a stock of whores in the lower levels. All the rest are daughters or wives. Everyone has a place, and I’ve lost mine.

  * * *

  My possessions drift out of my home in an assembly line. I feel like my heart is being ripped out as they pass all my favorite things around and take whatever the fuck they want. They keep reminding me that I don’t own any of these things—my father did. Now he’s dead, and I don’t belong to anyone.

  It wasn’t enough that they took all my things. They had to destroy my dignity, too.

  Bryce holds my shoulders back as I lunge toward a syndicate woman, who takes one of few high-end pieces I have left, a beautiful lamp I picked up at a thrift store, and stuffs it under her arm like a Christmas ham.

  “That’s mine!”

  I lunge at her and stumble over Bryce’s foot. My face burns as the woman erupts into laughter and gathers her mink coat to her chest.

  “It’s not anymore.”

  Some of them sneer at her comments, looking at me under their noses as though I’m scum. It’s all because I remind them of him. I’m the daughter of the guy who spread misery like a poisonous fog.

  “You know the rules, Fawn. We only keep what we’ve earned.”

  I turn to him, my face a mask of tears. “And what about the countless hours I spent in the infirmary?”

  He rolls his eyes at me and pushes me forward so that I stumble into my suite. My eyes burn at the sight of it. It’s picked bare so that only the bones remain. My rugs are gone. The furniture from Crate and Barrel. All my lamps, vases, and purses. It’s cleaned out. Bryce hands me an empty cardboard box. I’m to fill it with whatever clothes I need. My Kindle is gone. Even the nursing textbooks I begged my dad to get me are gone. My chest heaves and I dig my fingers into the coarse cardboard as sobs erupt from my throat. I’m being banished to the bottom floor.

  It’s not right.

  “I need to bring you to Amos.”

  I wipe my hands across my eyes as Bryce’s deep voice cuts over my high-pitched gasps. “Why?”

  He turns toward the door, ignoring my question. I follow him with my box. There’s nothing left here anyway. All that’s left are memories of stifled emotions, pacing restlessly in my cage where I tried to find a scrap of comfort that my dad would never give me.

  I follow him to a higher level, where the guards yank my box out of my arms and comb through it roughly.

  “Do you mind?”

  I grab the edge of the box and yank it out of the guard’s hands, who scowls at me.

  “She’s clean. Amos just wants a quick word.”

  “Fine,” he says, suddenly giving me an ugly look. “Be respectful. You’re not his equal.”

  “Shut up and let me through.”

  I walk forward, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.

  “You should be really careful how you talk to men,” he says, his mouth close to my face.

  I twist my nose at the foul smell. “And you should learn to brush your teeth.”

  Bryce laughs behind me, and the guard tightens his hand. “You’re not Daddy’s princess anymore.”

  Fucking creep.

  I yank my hand out of his grip and walk through the foyer, where a receptionist smiles at me from her desk.

  “Amos will see you right away, Ms. Haines.”

  She rises to her feet and knocks on the solid oak door.

  “Come in.”

  I follow the muffled voice as the receptionist opens the door and leads me into a circular room. The floor is covered with a faded red and gold rug and the walls are filled with books. Behind a tiny writer’s desk sits Amos, who stands up to greet me, a slight smile behind his wizened face.

  “Have a seat.”

  I sit down for what feels like the first time in days.

  “We need to discuss your future in the syndicate.”

  “What future?”

  Holy shit. Do not mouth off to this man.

  My hands tremble on his desk.

  “Fawn, you know the syndicate is no place for women.”

  I look at him. “What?”

  “You don’t have to stay here. You can leave the syndicate and go wherever you want.”

  “Go where? The syndicate is my home.”

  I can’t believe this. He would have me kicked out if he could. And then what? I have no money. Even if I could scrape together enough to afford the rent in this outrageous city, it wouldn’t last long. I don’t have any skills, aside from what I picked up in the infirmary. I wanted to go to nursing school, but Dad wanted me to stay close.

  “I understand that.”

  “No you don’t!”

  How would this old fool understand anything? He’s a man—he doesn’t have to worry about a damn thing.

  “Why did they have to take my things?” I ask, my voice breaking.

>   “Because that’s our way,” he says in a gentle voice. “Every person has a role here. You can be a wife, a mother, or a woman for comfort.”

  “What about the nurses in the infirmary!” I explode. “What about the women you employ—”

  “You are not a nurse, and those women are contracted employees. They’re not part of the family. They don’t live here. If you want to continue to live here, you need to fulfill one of those roles.”

  And be thrown out into the streets to live among the homeless? I’ve been out there with my dad, on the rare occasions he’d take me out. Deranged men screaming at me across the sidewalks, huddled in masses against storefronts. No thank you.

  “I’ll work! I’ll be a syndicate slut—I don’t care!”

  “You might care if you knew what it meant. You’re a gentle girl, Fawn. And the men in this place will devour you.”

  “I’m not that gentle,” I say through my teeth, standing up as bitter tears roll down my face. “I’m staying.”

  My voice rings in the small room, and Amos gives me a sad smile and a nod.

  “You better get whoever did this to my father. I want him dead.”

  That piece of shit, whoever he is, resigned me to a fate of spending the rest of my days with my legs spread for men who want a whore for the evening.

  This is what I get for a lifetime of doing what I’m told and never once flouting the rules: a pat on the back and a ticket to the whorehouse.

  * * *

  “Fawn? That’s a pretty name.”

  I smile automatically as Miss Jeanine, as I’m instructed to call her, leads me through an underground maze. It’s like a giant dormitory for the comfort women—syndicate sluts, I remind myself. We pass by women in various states of undress, hanging out of their rooms, which look smaller than my walk-in closet.

  “You’ve had sex before, haven’t you?”

  “Twice.”

  She looks over her shoulder and winces at me. “Well, you’ll get used to it quickly. You’re a pretty girl. You’ll be very popular.”

  Oh my God.

  I don’t know if I can handle this.

  My box of possessions slips slightly, and I wrap my arms around it tightly. My chest rattles with my heart as I imagine a stream of men coming into my bedroom.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t have more than a couple clients a day. I’m not in the habit of using up my girls.”