Hitman Wedding

by Eve Langlais

He snorted. “You don’t need to lie anymore. I know you’re one of Sergei’s puppets. How do you think you came to work for me in the first place? He’s used my fashion connections more than once to get his people somewhere he needed a job done.”

  Pierrot knew Sergei? The plot thickened. “Does he know you’ve kidnapped me?” Although it was less abduction and more her skipping along to see what the big, bad wolf wanted. “Answers before gutting,” another of Kristoff’s mottos.

  “This is none of Sergei’s business. I have other uses for you.”

  A disturbing declaration. “Whatever you’re planning will have to wait. I’m in service to someone else.” Someone currently alone and unprotected. She could only trust that Darren would manage to stay alive long enough for her to extricate herself and find him.

  “You’re here on a job in my city, yet you didn’t even think to ask for permission.” Pierrot made a sound and shook his head. “Such poor manners.”

  “I’ve never needed permission before.”

  “Things have changed.”

  No, the only thing that had changed was the size of Pierrot’s ego. “Who told you I was coming?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “I hope your source has their affairs in order.” Because Marina wasn’t a forgiving person. She still hadn’t forgiven herself for ditching Darren.

  “Threats? You seem to forget who has the upper hand.”

  Nothing to forget. As usual, a man chose to think having a dick made him superior. He’d soon realize how wrong that was. “What do you want?” Marina asked.

  “For starters, I want an apology for screwing up my show.”

  Men and their vanity. She muttered something rude in Russian before snapping, “I’m sorry I stepped on your ego by not wearing your ugly creations for rich people who wouldn’t know good taste if it slapped them.” Apologizing wasn’t her strong suit.

  “You dare insult my vision?”

  “Someone should. Your designs are ugly.”

  “Why, you rotten b—”

  There was a commotion outside Pierrot’s office and a brisk knock.

  “Je suis occupé!” yelled her old runway boss.

  “I’m busy,” he says. Hmph. More like being a pain in her derriere.

  “Nous avons attrapé quelqu’un…”

  Who did they catch? She listened to Pierrot and his man jabbering about a suspicious American male casing the place and thought, No, he can’t be that stupid. I told him if we were separated to go someplace safe.

  Except Darren was that dumb, and obviously possessed a hero complex. One could only hope he’d arrived with a weapon and a plan.

  It wasn’t long before Darren stumbled into the room, aided by a shove. He offered her a sheepish grin. “Hey, Fran.”

  Arms crossed over his chest, Pierrot sneered, “Qui est-ce?”

  “This is my ex-boyfriend. It seems he is having problems letting go. Kind of like someone else around here.”

  “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy,” Darren snapped. “Why not explain what you did?”

  “I dumped him.” Her tone soft, as if confiding with Pierrot. “He couldn’t handle it. Follows me around wherever I go.”

  “And you haven’t killed him?” The Frenchman inhaled the drama with wide eyes. The French, always so emotional about things.

  She shrugged. “What can I say? The sex was good. It seems a shame to murder him.”

  “Murder me? You did that when you left me without a word. Stabbed me right through the heart, she did.” Darren played the role of jilted lover well. Too well.

  “You were the one who made that big fuss when she fled?” Pierrot’s brows arched. “Il est fou de toi. Idiot.”

  Marina shrugged. “Il est amoureux de moi.” Darren loved her—once upon a time—and it touched something inside her to know he’d once cared enough to notice she was gone. It also warmed her to know he still gave enough of a damn to follow her here. That warmth was also tinged in anger that he’d put himself in danger.

  Pierrot eyed him. “You don’t speak French.”

  “Probably on account that I’m American.”

  “That explains your lack of manners,” Pierrot said with a sneer.

  “My manners? How about yours? I’d like to know what you’re doing with Fran. I saw your guys kidnapping her.”

  “I would never kidnap. That would be a crime. What you saw was merely my staff escorting her to a meeting with me.”

  “And now, I’m escorting her out. She and I need to talk.” Darren faced off against Pierrot, who dropped his jovial demeanor.

  “You are intruding on my business.”

  “Does your business always consist of strong-arming women?”

  “I have not done a thing to Francesca, and your questions are annoying. As you can see, she is fine, and we have much to discuss. Alone,” Pierrot emphasized. “Leave.”

  “Only if she comes with me.” Darren’s gaze held a stubborn hint. He wouldn’t budge, and Marina held in a sigh. He would issue an ultimatum. That wouldn’t go over well with the high-strung and temperamental Frenchman.

  Pierrot drew himself as tall as his five-foot-five could go. “You are not in charge here. I am, and I say Francesca stays, and you will go.”

  “Like fuck.” Darren crossed his arms, putting on his alpha face and tone.

  Worst thing he could have done.

  Pierrot spat, “I am done dealing with you. Disposez de le cretin.” He waved a hand, and the thugs moved to grip Darren’s arms.

  Which meant it was time to act.

  Marina, who Pierrot had stupidly left untied, whirled, her heel whipping up and around to clock the bald thug in the jaw, sending him staggering. The second guy never got a grip on Darren because he ducked out of it and threw a punch into the guy’s gut. It wasn’t enough to take down the bald brute, so she jabbed him in the face, breaking his nose, then clapped both his ears, to make them ring, before grabbing him and kneeing him hard in the balls.

  Darren uttered a sympathetic male “Ouch.”

  Click. The sound of a safety being flipped off was loud, and Marina turned to see a gun pointed at them.

  Pierrot scowled. “Women. Always causing me trouble, and they wonder why I prefer men. I’ve had enough of you both. Hands over your heads.”

  As if she’d listen. Only victims gave up against one player. Pierrot had a gun. But she had something better.

  Surprise.

  She whirled, facing Darren, and exclaimed, “One last kiss before we die.” Then she plastered her mouth to his. He hesitated only a moment before crushing her mouth, slanting his lips over hers, and igniting a fire that had never gone out.

  “Stop that,” Pierrot demanded.

  Instead, she added tongue. Darren got right into it, his hands groping her ass.

  A weird thing happened when people kissed. Some people got turned on and stared—to the point they sometimes got horny and diddled themselves.

  Others turned away from public displays of affection in disgust.

  Two different reactions, yet there was one thing in common in both cases: they didn’t act.

  Which was how she turned a hot, panting kiss into the distraction she needed to whirl around and shove Pierrot’s gun arm to the side, trip him with a foot sweep behind the ankles, and land atop him, her knee pinning his chest.

  Only then did she smile. “Now who’s got the upper hand?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The kiss was everything Darren remembered. Hot. Sweet. Cock-hardening.

  And a ploy. Marina used the embrace as a tactic to take down the short Frenchman holding them at gunpoint.

  I feel so used—and frustrated. Was it wrong that he wanted to ignore the danger and kiss her some more?

  Apparently, she didn’t feel the same way.

  “Grab his gun,” she ordered as she held the man pinned down.

  Why don’t you grab me? A good retort, but shitty plan, given one of the thugs on the floor
groaned. A weapon might come in handy in case their assailants hadn’t learned their lesson.

  Leaning over, he wrapped his hand around the solid grip of the weapon. He aimed it. While not a fan of firearms per se, he was no stranger to them. He pointed it at the Frenchman and said, “Talk.”

  Instead, Pierrot sputtered, “You can’t do this to me.”

  Marina flicked him on the forehead. “Actually, Pierrot, I can.”

  “Do you know who I am? I am—”

  She cut him off. “An annoying prick. You’re also the guy who’s going to start talking if he wants to live to design more ugly clothes. I’ve reached the limits of my patience with you. I want to know who tipped you off. Who told you about me arriving at the airport?”

  “I will tell you nothing.”

  That made her tsk. “Why must you compound your initial stupidity in coming after me with even dumber choices like holding your tongue?” She pressed down on his neck, making Pierrot gasp for air. When she eased up, the Frenchman still thought he could argue.

  “You will pay for this.”

  “For what? I haven’t broken anything yet. Shall we rectify that?” She lifted her fist, and Pierrot screamed. Loudly. Emasculating all mankind in that moment.

  Marina shook her head. “I haven’t even hit you yet. Are you that much of a coward? How did you ever end up running a gang in this town?”

  “Money can buy a lot of things, even false respect,” Darren said.

  “He should have used some of his wealth to buy common sense.” She grabbed Pierrot by the ears and slammed his head a few times against the floor. “Let’s try this again. Who.” Wham. “Tipped.” Thunk. “You off?”

  Pierrot chose to spit. “Mange moi, putain. Je vais te tuer.”

  “Kill me?” Marina laughed. “You and what army, little man?” Moving her legs, Marina pinned Pierrot’s arms, straddling him almost intimately. All the better to torture him.

  Marina leaned down close, really close. “You should have talked when you had the chance. You leave me no choice now. Shoot him,” she said to Darren.

  “If I shoot, you’ll end up wearing spatter.” Not to mention, it would cause problems. Unsanctioned kills in other countries never went over well, even if those people attempted to hurt him first.

  “Good point. Do you have a shower here?” she asked Pierrot. “What about clothes? And not that weird shit you like to design.”

  “You won’t shoot me.” Pierrot tried to sound confident, but his voice shook.

  “Then you obviously don’t know me as well as you think you do.” She smiled, that of a barracuda going after a little fish. “Keep refusing to answer and see what happens when you don’t cooperate. I promise I can be quite innovative.”

  The man’s complexion grew even paler. “This is quite unnecessary.”

  “Unnecessary was you abducting me and threatening my client.”

  “Your client? I thought he was your boyfriend.” Pierrot’s forehead knit, the furrows deep.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected. The emphasis bothered Darren. “Right now, he’s the boss, which means I can’t let you hurt him.”

  “You can’t harm me either.” Pierrot seemed quite certain. “I have friends. I am a man of importance.”

  Leaning low, Marina whispered, softly, sweetly. “I could wrap you in weights right now and drop you in the Seine. No one would know I did it. They might not ever find your body. And even if they did, once the fish eat your flesh…”

  The whites of Pierrot’s eyes popped, and Darren was surprised he managed to keep the orbs in his head.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I am getting mighty tired of people underestimating me. Darren, see if you can find some rope.”

  “Don’t kill me.” A high fluting thread of panic laced Pierrot’s words.

  “Then tell me what I want to know. Who notified you I was coming?”

  “It was an anonymous tip.”

  A heavy breath blew out of Marina. “How convenient. Darren, the rope.”

  “How about a belt?” he said, hands going to his waist.

  “I swear, it’s the truth,” Pierrot blubbered. “I got an email.”

  “What did it say? Did someone hire you to grab me?”

  Now that fear had broken through the wall of his blustery courage, Pierrot couldn’t spill his guts fast enough. “It wasn’t a job. The message simply said a person of interest was arriving on a certain flight from the United States. As soon as I saw your face via the bodycam on my man, Lem, I knew it had to be you.”

  Or had the tipster meant Darren? Didn’t matter. Their cover was blown, and they weren’t even a day in Paris.

  Marina made a noise. “So much for our plan to get here and bait our target. Now, will you believe me when I say it’s your precious Bad Boy Inc. leaking our location?” She glared at Darren.

  He stubbornly shook his head. “Don’t blame this on me. I doubt Harry knows Pierrot, your old modeling boss, moonlights as a wannabe mafia lord.”

  Marina turned back to Pierrot. “Anything else? Did you trace the email? Anything?”

  A violent shake of his head. “No.”

  Which left them no further ahead.

  “Think it was the island mastermind?” Darren asked. A person who’d become a real thorn in Darren’s side. He already had reason to believe they were behind the assassination attempts and the island fiasco. But whoever the shadowy figure was, they were doing more than just attacking operatives and pitting them against each other. The faceless enemy was seeding gangs in cities. Drug gangs. Money laundering. Darren had reports from around the globe of mysterious figures running things behind the scenes as crime ramped up.

  BBI had recently busted one of those rings. Calvin, a top student from the academy, had helped bring it down. Reaper had run into trouble, too, as someone thought it funny to pit a hitman and hitwoman against each other. Other agencies Darren knew of claimed they’d been hit, as well.

  Why? Why attack so many of them at once?

  A vendetta of this size was unusual. Typically revenge involved one person, one entity, not a whole group. Which led to the second, more likely possibility: instability. Why destabilize mercenary groups unless… Someone is planning a coup. And they didn’t want any outside help interfering.

  “Could be Mastermind, but how is he so well-informed? We shouldn’t have been traced so quickly.”

  Unless they’d been betrayed. He didn’t say it aloud this time. He didn’t have to because they both could see the truth, just not the culprit. Was her precious Sergei and his office to blame? Or did a mole exist at BBI? At this point, it was crucial that they find out one way or the other.

  “We need to make new plans,” she stated, rising from Pierrot’s chest.

  “The kind we don’t tell anyone about?” Darren arched a brow.

  “Do we have enough funds to go dark?” Marina asked.

  “More than enough.” Darren might not be the trained killer Marina was, but he had his uses.

  At the mention of funds, Pierrot brightened, his fear quickly evaporating at the prospect of making money. “I will help, for a price.”

  “I don’t need help.” Flatly spoken by Marina.

  The Frenchman sneered. “Says the woman so easily caught.”

  “You foolish little man. Have you not yet grasped that I let them catch me? How else to find out who my enemy is? And even better, you had me brought to your headquarters. I guess I should thank you for giving me access to everything I need.” With that statement, she soundly hog-tied Pierrot and his henchmen before proceeding to ransack his office, pulling out guns, plastic ties, and money. Lots of it.

  She stuffed it into a bag, along with the weapons.

  Darren shook his head. “You know I wasn’t kidding when I said I could get my hands on some cash.”

  “I know.” She tossed him a look as she armed herself under her jacket. “But I’m going to wager any of those methods will leave some
kind of trail. This”—she jabbed a finger at the bundle of banknotes peeking out of the bag—“won’t. Let’s go.”

  “What about these guys?” Darren pointed to Pierrot, who glared at them but couldn’t speak past the crumpled paper shoved into his mouth.

  “What about them? I’m sure someone will come along and free them. Eventually.” She dropped to her haunches. “And if Pierrot is smart, he’ll stay far, far away from me because, next time, I won’t be so nice.”

  With that threat, she stood and walked out, tall, gorgeous, and deadly. Darren couldn’t help but want her.

  He ignored the thugs on the floor and went after Marina. He caught up to her outside the office in a room that seemed to have many purposes, from sorting packages of what looked to be a table full of bricks wrapped in plastic—most likely drugs—to pallets with boxes strapped to them. “Since we’ve ditched our current plan, any thoughts on what we should do next?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to come to Paris because of a tip.”

  Actually, Harry had suggested Greece, but Darren wanted Paris. A perverse kind of torture, for him at least.

  “We’re here because Declan has been digging around.”

  “Who is Declan?” she asked, flicking him a glance over her shoulder.

  “Academy graduate in advanced technologies.”

  “A hacker.”

  “Yes, a hacker. He managed to trace some of the orders for the island—food, flowers, even staff—to a place outside the city.”

  “He found a trail?” She sounded surprised.

  “More than likely a false one, but something we can look into.”

  “You have an address?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll go there. It keeps us moving at the very least.”

  “Now?”

  “You have something better to do?” she asked with an arched brow.

  “A shower, shave, and some food comes to mind.”

  She uttered a heavy sigh. “If we must.”

  “Yes, we must. We have to refuel at some point.”

  “I know a safe place you can go while I check out this clue.”

  He shook his head. “Like fuck are you stuffing me in some safe prison while you go gallivanting off. I go where you go. Unless you’re planning to tie me up, too.” He meant it as a joke.