Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  Rhia massaged her throat, the only indication that she’d been in any sort of pain. “Do you get it now?”

  “Don’t touch them.”

  “All I want is your cooperation. And, truly, I’ll be doing you a favor. You were meant for more than life on an island. From this day on, you will have money beyond your wildest dreams and your son will receive nothing but the best. Your woman, well, she may look beyond your flaws for the right price.”

  “You’ve said all you need to. Leave before I call your bluff and put a bullet in your chest.”

  She patted my cheek. Her sharp fingernails, red like blood, scraped my jaw. “I look forward to our partnership. I may not be as beautiful as your past handler, but I hope our relationship,” she spread her hands on my torso and whispered, “will be just as satisfying.”

  “Goodbye.” I threw her prying fingers down.

  Rhia chuckled and sashayed out the door, slipping out silently, like a shadow. As quickly as she’d come.

  The moment the door slammed behind her, I texted Miguel.

  DEACON: Check the dock and report to me. Someone is on the island.

  Miguel responded almost immediately, assuring me that he would.

  I wasted no time and logged onto the home security system. The moment I’d made the decision to move to the island, I’d installed cameras all around the house.

  After typing in the password, I tapped into the feed that revealed my son’s crib.

  My heart plummeted.

  Angel had Reid, curled beside her. They slept in my bed.

  My son was wearing blue, puppy-themed pajamas.

  23

  Angel

  Rhia? Who the heck was Rhia?

  The question burned into my brain and haunted me when I got ready for bed. It was there when I woke up the next morning, glaring at me like an unwelcome guest.

  Rhia.

  Was she an ex?

  Someone he’d met at the bar?

  A prostitute?

  My heart burned every time I considered that option.

  But it shouldn’t.

  Deacon had a woman in his room yesterday and it was none of my business. He could have a freakin’ orgy and I had no right to say a word, to even sneeze in his direction.

  It was his life.

  He was my employer and my loan shark.

  I took care of his son and cleaned his bathroom.

  That’s where our relationship began and ended.

  “Come on, Angel. Just forget about it and focus.” My grip on the pencil-thin paintbrush tightened. I slashed a big red stripe over the paper.

  “Pretty,” Reid said, clapping his tiny hands.

  “I’m glad someone thinks so,” I mumbled and then glanced at his work. It was a… unique tie-dye effect. I nodded in approval. “Someone would pay big money for that.”

  Reid laughed, the childish sound dancing over the sand like stones skipping on top of water. He looked adorable in a tiny plastic apron that hugged his belly. The breeze tore at his long, brown hair.

  We were painting on toddler-sized easels. I had to kneel so I could reach mine and sand had gotten on my pants and elbows.

  I wasn’t the only one getting dirty. Reid’s pale cheeks were dotted with colorful paint and every finger was dyed a different color.

  My instinct was to head inside and clean up, but he was having a grand time so I held my own impatience and tried to keep my attention on painting.

  I dipped my brush into the green paint and placed two dots inside a circle. Next, black paint created two slanted, angry eyebrows. Pink paint for the lips—so thin they shouldn’t be that sexy. A little scruff around the jaw to capture the hint of a five-o’clock shadow.

  “Dada.” Reid squealed, pointing in the direction of my painting.

  “No, it’s not…” I glanced at the drawing again.

  He’s right.

  It was a crude drawing based on my limited artistic skill, but there was no mistaking the resemblance.

  “Dada!” Reid threw his brush down and started running.

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  Tiny feet kicking up sand, Reid raced down the shore. Panicked, I followed, calling his name. Reid didn’t run for long. He threw himself against the legs of a man standing in the distance.

  My breath hitched when I recognized the stranger’s broad shoulders and intense gaze.

  Deacon.

  He was home.

  I stayed back as he swung Reid into his arms and peppered his face with kisses. Envy stirred in my chest, stealing my breath.

  I never thought I’d be jealous of a two-year-old.

  When he was finished greeting his son, Deacon moved toward me. I remained in place, my bones quaking. My tongue darted out to wet my lips.

  I struggled to pull up my defenses.

  The sea crashed against the sand, filling the air with music. Heavy winds tore through the leaves of coconut trees. Nature warned that the more powerful forces always did the most damage.

  “Angel,” Deacon said.

  I trembled beneath that steady gaze. “H-hey. You’re back.”

  “Yes.”

  “How was your trip?” Who’s Rhia?

  “Good.” He set Reid down. “Can I join you?”

  I squirmed. “Wouldn’t you rather head inside? I mean, you must be tired.”

  “I’m not too tired for this.” He set Reid down. Immediately, the little boy latched onto his father’s hand and dragged him to the easels.

  My eyes widened when I realized that Deacon would see my drawing of him. I lunged forward and ripped the page from the sketchpad.

  He looked at me as if I’d sprouted two horns from the top of my head.

  “Dada, paint.” Reid tugged him and drew his attention away.

  I blew out a breath and stowed the crumpled painting in the bag that had stored the paint and sketchpads.

  “You.” Reid thrust the paintbrush into Deacon’s hand.

  Deacon obediently dipped the brush into paint and slid it over the paper. I watched him, spell-bound. Bluntly cut fingernails. Strong hands. Arms with a smattering of dark hair.

  “My turn.” Reid snatched the paintbrush back.

  “Reid, you shouldn’t grab things,” I said automatically.

  Reid nodded and then kept on painting. I was pretty sure my scolding had gone through one ear and come out the other.

  Deacon gazed at me, his eyes devouring my face.

  I pulled at the collar of my T-shirt, trying to cool down. He was too beautiful and I was too confused right now and who the heck was Rhia?

  “Teaching him manners has been an uphill battle. I think I gave up after a few days,” he said.

  Reid. I could talk about Reid and be professional.

  Just act like he’s any one of your students’ parents.

  “It’s about gentle reminders and repetition. He’s smart, even if he’s only two.” I smiled at Reid’s laser-focus.

  Deacon stood suddenly, walked over and plopped into the sand beside me. “Your turn.”

  “What?”

  “Let me help you with your painting.”

  “There’s no need—”

  Before I could stave him, Deacon reached over and snagged the bag. He stole the paper I’d crumpled and smoothed it out, clipping it securely to the easel.

  My cheeks heated as he observed the drawing. Mortified, I defended myself. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It looks like me.”

  “It’s… Miguel.”

  “Miguel has green eyes?” Brows rising, Deacon smiled. Just a curl of his lips devastated me.

  For a moment, I lost the ability to breathe.

  Deacon scooted closer. His bronze arms, exposed in the short-sleeved T-shirt, brushed against mine. Green eyes popping against his tan complexion, he studied my face.

  I ducked my head. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t move.” His voice was as brusque as always but humor crackled benea
th the tone. He cupped my chin, keeping my head steady.

  Electricity skittered down to my chest from where he touched me.

  Deacon slid the paintbrush from the easel and dipped it into brown paint. The resemblance between him and Reid intensified as I noticed how seriously they both took their tasks.

  What is he doing?

  My eyes veered to the painting, but Deacon swooped in, diverting my gaze to his. Our noses bumped. My heart stuttered, tripping all over itself like a dancer with two-left feet.

  “Stay still,” he ordered quietly. His breath whispered over my cheek, minty. The upward tilt of his lips told me he was amused. “Just watch me, Angel.”

  Deacon had given me permission and so I savored the view as much as I could. His hair had grown out a bit and it curled, like Reid’s.

  I liked the style.

  It made him seem more approachable and less… scary.

  Long lashes bounced up and down. Green eyes crackled with an inner light. His teeth caught on his bottom lip as he concentrated. Every so often, his head swung between the canvas and me. His scent, a spicy cologne that was as bold and commanding as its owner, tempted me to inhale deeply.

  “Done.”

  I’d been so caught up in him that his declaration caught me by surprise. “Huh?”

  “Look.” He pointed his chin at the easel.

  I shifted in the sand and studied the canvas. It was crinkled, but I could still make out Deacon’s stick image. Beside him was an equally horrible rendition.

  The drawing had brown skin, brown eyes, full pink lips and black, straw hair. Deacon looked like he’d put extra efforts into that mouth but not much else could be said about it.

  I snorted.

  “What?” He smiled and the light burst through his green irises like a sunrise. “You don’t like it?”

  “Is that supposed to be me?”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed loudly. “You made such a fuss. I thought you knew how to paint.”

  His lips twitched. “If I had a little more time, I could have added more details.”

  “Man,” I looked at it again and started tearing up, “that’s awful.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Me. Me.” Reid barged over and planted himself in my lap.

  “Reid, honey, you could do a better job,” I said, patting his leg. To Deacon, I teased, “Give the better artist the paintbrush.”

  “It sounds like you’re jealous.”

  “Please. I know what my strengths are.”

  “Me.” Reid took his paintbrush and moved it all over the drawing.

  I smiled and glanced at Deacon.

  He was looking straight at me.

  Something inside my chest melted. It would be so easy to give in to these feelings, to surrender myself to the current that thickened in the air whenever he so much as flashed those green eyes my way.

  But I couldn’t.

  There was no use starting something that would only end in pain.

  24

  Deacon

  Angel scooted back like a scared puppy. Perhaps I’d let my desire shine in my gaze again.

  “We should probably head inside,” she said.

  “Probably,” I said but didn’t move.

  Angel jumped to her feet. Slender hands whisking over her pants, she dislodged the sand that clung to her clothes and skin. A long curtain of dark hair slid over her shoulder and fell over her face, shielding her expression from view.

  I shouldn’t be this excited to see her, yet I was. If I could convince her to stay seated, beside me, breathing her air, I would have no complaints.

  But Angel seemed hell-bent on scrambling away, putting distance between us. I was bound by my contract and by my word. She was off-limits as a woman.

  After Rhia’s visit last night, that was for the best.

  Sand scattered like glitter from her sun-kissed brown skin. She straightened when she was satisfied and looked at me. “You coming or…?”

  “You two go ahead. I need to speak with Miguel.”

  “Come on, Reid.” Angel offered her hand.

  My son shook his head and held tightly to his paintbrush.

  I twisted his hips, turned him to face me and leveled him a firm glance. “Son, listen to Angel.”

  His lips trembled and, for a moment, I feared he would put up a fuss. With a sniff, he tossed the paintbrush down and allowed Angel to pick him up. She swooped him into her arms and caught him on her hip. He easily wound his hands around her neck.

  It had only been a couple of days, but it seemed my son had taken to her just as much as I.

  “I’ll come back and clean up later,” Angel said.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll do it.”

  “Okay. We’ll be upstairs.” She hoisted Reid higher on her hip. I sensed the wariness in her gaze as she looked at me, as she fought the attraction we both felt.

  She’d, undoubtedly, heard when I called out Rhia’s name last night in the hotel room. It must have left her with questions, but answering those questions would lead to even more.

  Maybe it was better I let her think Rhia was some woman I’d picked up on my trip.

  Or maybe not.

  I’d worked so hard to gain her trust, throwing it away like this, even if it was for her own good, angered me.

  Angel lingered. “I’ll give him a bath and then finish dinner.”

  “If you wait a bit, I can bathe him.” Our gazes locked. I reached out but didn’t touch her. “Thank you, Angel.”

  She nodded and left.

  I watched them to make sure they’d gotten in safely before I headed to Miguel’s cottage.

  The tiny yellow bungalow sat within walking distance of the villa. The sandy path was littered with squatting palm trees.

  Miguel was waiting for me on the front porch. He stood when I approached and gestured to the front door.

  I shook my head and lifted my hands to ask him, “Did you find any signs of intrusion?”

  “No.” He signed back.

  “Thanks. Keep an eye out.”

  “Wait.” He handed me a plastic bag. “For Angel.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something that belongs to her.”

  Curiosity surged. What kind of gift would Miguel give to Angel? Were they closer than I’d thought?

  I opened the bag.

  It was Angel’s missing bra from the night we’d spent in the hammock.

  The sound of Miguel’s footsteps cut into my thoughts. “It was on top of a palm tree.”

  “Thank you.”

  He tapped my shoulder. Brown fingers signing rapidly, he said, “Be careful and don’t hurt her.”

  “I won’t.” I paused and then admitted, “I like her.”

  “Then tell her. Don’t kept secrets.” He stared me down.

  For a second, I thought Miguel was urging me to tell Angel the truth of what I did for a living, but that could not be the case.

  He spun on his heels and charged back into his bungalow.

  Strange.

  But then, Miguel was always a little bizarre. From the moment he’d introduced himself as a part of the island, I’d had no choice but to accept his presence.

  Thoughtfully, I strode down the steps of the porch and took the path that led to the villa.

  On the way home, I dialed Rasheed.

  The line connected after two rings.

  “Boss? You’re back in the city?”

  “How’s the shop doing?”

  “Fine. I e-mailed the spreadsheets from this past quarter.”

  I slipped a hand into my pocket. “Rasheed, I need to ask for a favor.”

  “What, Boss?”

  “I’ll send you the security footage from last night. Go over every inch of it. Report anything that looks out of place. If a shadow so much as moves, I want to know.”

  “Why? Something wrong?”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Rhia was holding an invisible gun to Angel an
d my son’s head. I needed to get control of the weapon to defeat her.

  “I’ll explain later. Just look over the footage. Maybe there’s something I’ve missed. I need a fresh pair of eyes to confirm.”

  “Alright. I’ll do that.”

  I hung up and scrolled through my phone to find the selected footage. Despite the pressure mounting in my head, I found myself smiling at the screen.

  In the low-quality video, Angel put Reid to sleep and then sat on my bed.

  “It’s soft,” she said. With a furtive glance around, she threw herself on it and curled into the pillow. Took a big breath. Threw her legs spread-eagle. “It smells like him.”

  My finger caressed the screen.

  The first time I watched Angel via the live-stream cameras, it hadn’t been my intention to spy on her. I’d simply wanted to check that everything at home was running smoothly.

  But Angel’s day-to-day activities held me spell-bound and, when I wasn’t on mission, I’d just watch her. Cooking. Cleaning. Playing with Reid. Learning sign language.

  She was funny, intelligent and caring.

  I wanted her body. That was no secret, but now… I wanted her heart.

  25

  Angel

  The front door slammed. Deacon was back. I stiffened and grabbed my phone, quickly dialing my parents so I looked busy when he came in.

  Deacon saw me on the phone, nodded and took Reid to the bathroom for a bath. His gaze heated my skin and I didn’t breathe until he’d disappeared down the hall.

  Lord, that man was too dangerous to my health.

  I didn’t feel this tense when he was away on his business trip. Now that he was here, I kept waiting for something to happen.

  Something that probably shouldn’t.

  The line connected.

  “Angel!” My mother’s voice squealed through the phone. “I was just about to call you.”

  “Hey, Mom.” I moved to the pressure cooker that had been stewing the red kidney beans last night. The savory fragrance made my stomach grumble.

  Reid’s restless energy and Deacon’s sudden return had played my emotions like guitar strings. Nothing could comfort shattered nerves like food and my mama.