Hitman Wedding

by Eve Langlais

  The problem remained that they still knew too little. What was the purpose behind the attacks? And would his marriage to Marina provide enough incentive to draw the perpetrator out of hiding?

  Did he really care? He was about to marry Marina. For real. She was right that a ploy to use a fake priest wouldn’t pass a scrutiny test; therefore, he made arrangements as if this were an authentic ceremony.

  Luckily, France didn’t just have the best bakers of baguettes in the world, and the sweetest pastries, it had a goodly amount of churches. Some of them quite old and displaying the majestic splendor of days gone by.

  Despite the urgency, his plan to do it that same evening didn’t pan out. The best they could manage, which took some serious greasing of palms, was for the following day. Which was all right. It gave him time to book a church, find a suitable priest, bribe his way into getting a license—with their real names. He even arranged flowers and hired someone to play the organ. He also bought a tux.

  With all the details squared away, it was time to make the phone calls that would set their plan in motion.

  He dialed Harry, who answered with, “Darren, this’d better be fucking you calling!”

  “Were you worried?”

  “Of course, I was fucking worried, you dick.” The swearing a measure of how much, given Harry didn’t curse all that often. “Where are you? What happened? You went silent after the hotel. Early reports claim a bomb went off. Hard to tell for sure with the fire.”

  “Been a lot of stuff burning lately.”

  “I heard about the school. You think it was arson?”

  “I don’t think. I know. And I’m getting mighty tired of being one step behind. Only one good thing has come out of this entire debacle.” He paused before he dropped the bomb. “I’m getting married.”

  “Can you repeat that last bit? Because I could have sworn you said you were getting married.”

  “Because I am. Remember Francesca?”

  “The girl who dumped you in Paris?”

  Darren winced. “Yeah. Big misunderstanding.”

  “How do you misunderstand a girl packing her stuff and leaving?”

  “She had her reasons.” And he had his for lying to Harry. “Needless to say, we’ve reconnected and are now planning to tie the knot.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Harry stopped laughing. “You mean this isn’t a joke?”

  “Not in the least. Once we saw each other again, we both knew.” At least, he did. This was the woman who turned his world upside down.

  “When’s the happy event?”

  “Tonight. In a little church in the south of France.”

  “What?”

  “I was hoping you’d be my best man.” Since he wasn’t inviting his retired father anywhere near this mess.

  “You’d better not be screwing with me.”

  “Would I lie to you?” Did skirting the total truth count?

  “You’re not giving me much time to wrangle a suit and a flight over.”

  “Sorry about that. We were impatient, and given we’re already close to the city of love, we thought…why wait?” Darren glanced over at Marina, who was having her own conversation in Russian with Sergei. “So get your ass over here. Invite as many of the BBI staff as you’d like. On me, of course.”

  “Some might not be able to make it. I know Calvin won’t want to leave Lily and Zoe alone after what happened.” The incident being a crooked drug ring targeting Lily and her kid to get to Calvin.

  “That’s cool. See if you can get Mason, Ben, Declan, and Jerome, though.” All single guys and former students of the academy. They also happened to work for Bad Boy Inc. The only team Darren trusted.

  “What about Sherry?” Harry’s wife.

  “I know it might be tough to get a sitter for your kids on short notice.” He wondered if Harry caught the hint that things might be more dangerous than expected.

  “I can’t believe the mighty bachelor is finally getting tied down.”

  Neither could he. A part of him knew the wedding, as real as it seemed, was a sham, yet he couldn’t help a certain excitement. Even indulged in a bit of fantasy where he wondered if maybe, just maybe, they could hold off on the divorce part and give this thing a real go of it.

  He realized Marina didn’t love him. Hell, he wasn’t sure how he felt other than confused. That didn’t change the fact that being with her made everything seem brighter. He wasn’t sure he wanted to let her go. She made him feel and want things, stuff like a home and a family, which was why, when he and Harry hung up, he asked, “What’re your thoughts on kids?”

  Marina’s nose scrunched. “Sticky and loud.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “I don’t mind them, so long as they don’t bother me or touch my guns. Why?” she asked.

  “Ever think of having any?”

  At the query, her mouth opened and shut. “Why are you asking?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “It is more than curiosity. Do you want children?”

  He shrugged. “Never really thought about it.”

  “Me either. But I guess I would. Have some that is. If I met the right person.”

  I’m the right person. The words sat on the tip of his tongue, but he held them in. He didn’t want to tip his hand. Didn’t want to admit that he’d stupidly fallen for her again. Not until he knew he could trust her. “Would you retire to have kids?”

  “Me?” She blinked. “I don’t know. Someone has to care for them, though, I guess.”

  “Harry and his wife have kids. Three of them, actually. She took a desk job after the first. And Harry followed, taking over a management position at BBI when they popped out the second.”

  She made a face. “That is definitely a point against them. I don’t know if I could do the whole mom-at-home thing.”

  “It’s not uncommon for the men to take on that role.” Why did he argue it still? They weren’t even married yet, nor was it a real damned wedding!

  “Can we discuss this another time? We have more important things to plan. Now that we’ve used the phone here, we need to move. And keep moving until it’s time for the wedding.”

  “Think they’ll try and hit us before the ceremony?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But after all the trouble we went through planning this, don’t you think we should at least make an attempt to go through with it?”

  He wasn’t about to miss this wedding. And not because he hoped to flush out the mastermind behind all the plotting. Perhaps this would be the thing to tie Marina down so she didn’t run away from him again.

  She loaded up their stuff on the cart, hanging the suit he’d found and the dress she’d scored on it, both hidden by opaque plastic garment bags. When he tried to take a peek, she’d slapped his hand and declared, “Bad luck.”

  Given her superstition, it made him wonder if she’d found something old and blue to go with the new.

  A glance around showed the room bare of their things. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They exited the motel, gazes keen on everything around them. Wondering if at any moment someone would start shooting. They made it to the car they’d rented without being accosted, and the long car ride to the small town they’d chosen was event free—if he discounted the blowjob she gave him that almost saw them crashing.

  The brief respite for lunch still had them arriving early, with hours to waste before the ceremony.

  He would have enjoyed perhaps booking into another suite, making love to Marina again. Maybe twice. Then a leisurely shower.

  She had other plans. They involved breaking and entering the building across from the church. They entered it from the back, going up two flights of steep stairs. He kept watch as she screwed with the lock, the click the sound of success that let them into the apartment.

  A stale place with a Spartan appearance, the modern furniture with crisp lines and simple colors—grays, blacks,
and whites, with beige walls—barren of personality. But where was its occupant?

  “Whose place is this?” he hissed, keeping his voice down lest someone beyond the two doors he saw came rushing out with a gun or a knife.

  “Antoine Gagnon. Currently out of town and not due back for three more days, according to his social media page.”

  So, no interruptions. He liked it, especially when a peek through the two doors showed an upgraded bathroom with a large walk-in shower and a bedroom that, while tight, did have a double-sized bed.

  But it was the window Marina showed interest in. She peered out between the slats of the blinds, scanning the road before saying, “I’ll be back. I need to grab some stuff from the car.”

  The stuff wasn’t the wedding dress or anything like that. Nor a skintight catsuit to tease him. Pity, he had this fantasy where their wedding got interrupted; the bad guys came, as invited; and Marina, wanting to be part of the fight, ripped off a white princess gown to reveal curve-hugging latex.

  She ignored him as she opened a gray case that didn’t contain makeup or other girly accouterments, but rather a…

  “Is that a scope?” he asked.

  “No, it’s a vibrator. Of course, it’s a scope.” She pulled it out and set it aside. Her next long case, with the name of a florist embossed on the side, opened to reveal a gun. A very nice one.

  “Is that a sniper rifle? Where the fuck did you get that? I thought you went dress and shoe shopping.” She’d taken a huge chunk of their funds to make those purchases.

  “I made a few small detours.”

  “A sniper setup is more than a few small detours. Did you even get a dress?”

  “Yes. You will be proud to know that it cost less than a hundred US dollars.”

  “And the rest of the money?”

  “I used to buy stuff.” She didn’t elaborate as she set up the rifle with the scope, using a table to bring it level with the window ledge. She stretched out over the flat surface that was a few feet in length, her arm curved around the gun as she pressed her eye against the lens.

  “Who are you planning to shoot?”

  “Anyone who looks strange.”

  “You can’t just fire off willy-nilly.”

  “It won’t be erratic. I promise, each bullet will hit its desired destination.”

  The way she said it, so seriously, made him wonder if she might be a little psycho. Most definitely a killer.

  She laughed as she peeked at him. “You should see your face. Do you really think I am so stupid as to start randomly killing people just because I don’t like the looks of them?”

  “At this point, I have no idea.” Even scarier, he wasn’t sure if he cared whether she was a killer. Look at her, humming happily as she aimed her scoped vision around the cathedral across from them. A pure pro.

  “What should I be doing?” Since she obviously had no plans to do him.

  “Make yourself look pretty for the wedding.”

  “Your attempts to emasculate me won’t work. And besides…” He got close enough he could lean himself over her body, keeping only the thinnest of space between them, his lips close to her ear. “I don’t need anything to look hot but you on top of me, naked.”

  Her breath caught. “We have to be careful from this point on. No more time for play.”

  “This isn’t play,” he said, running his hand over her shirt, tracing her upper back, lower, her waist, then the lean roundness of her hip. “This is necessity.”

  He needed one more time balls-deep in her, to imprint her on his skin. Remind her why they were so good together.

  He kept his body over hers as he tugged at her pants. She’d chosen yoga style, the leggings pliant and easy to yank down. His zipper and button gave way next.

  But he didn’t immediately maul her. She pretended to ignore him, watching the street, and yet a swipe of his finger down her cleft came away soaking wet. He rubbed that moisture over her clit, and a shudder went through her.

  He dipped into the tightness of her sex with a finger, loving how it gripped him. Loving, even more, the soft moan that slipped from her.

  “Why can’t I stop craving you?” he muttered as he sank behind her and licked at her honey.

  She didn’t reply, but neither did she move away. She rocked against his face as he lapped at her. Moaned as he stabbed her with his tongue. Cried out as he flicked her clit. When he thought her ready enough, he positioned himself on his knees behind her, the head of his cock, thick and blushing, eager for its own taste.

  He pressed the tip against her wet slit. “Tell me you want me.”

  No hesitation. “I want you.”

  He sank into her, the pulsing heat of her around his cock, heaven. He buried his face in her hair as he thrust into her, feeling the slicked, wet pull of her pussy. She squeezed so tight.

  He thrust, his hips pumping, and she cried out and clenched with each stroke.

  It didn’t take him long to get to the edge. His fingers found her nub and took her over first. He didn’t let go until the spasm of her muscles milked his cock. He shot his cream. Came so fucking hard inside her, he almost passed out.

  It was always that good. Always. He couldn’t let her walk away. Not this time. Maybe not ever.

  He nuzzled her hair, cradling her body, and said it. “I love you.”

  She didn’t repeat it right away. He could have slapped himself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  What could a woman say to a man when he declared his love? How could she escape when he was still deep inside her?

  It never even occurred to Marina to reply. Panic hit, and she only wanted to flee.

  “I need to get ready. I’ll grab the bags. You watch the church.” She used their mission as an excuse to wiggle out from under him. Fled without even wiping herself, which meant cum oozed down her thigh.

  Because he kept coming inside her. And I let him. Let him, even knowing her birth control capsule was gone. Her chip controlled more than her position on a map. She could be fertile at this very moment.

  Even pregnant.

  The realization had her slamming the bathroom door shut and leaning on it. What was wrong with her?

  Nothing. She was perfect. Except for her crazy attraction to Darren.

  It’s more than attraction. She liked being with him. Liked him enough that she wanted to gasp, squirm—no, don’t say it—cuddle.

  Even more frightening, she wanted more than that.

  No.

  Yes.

  Why couldn’t she admit that she loved him, too?

  Because I can’t. It wouldn’t work. He was just a job. A means to an end. She had to distance her emotions.

  How could she when he made his so obvious? Darren loved her. Loved Marina. Not Fran. He’d said it.

  What had she done? She’d run away. Talk about an emasculating slap to his declaration. Also probably the best thing she could have done. Surely, her actions would make him change his mind. Which was a good thing. She didn’t want him mooning over her. They were, after all, only working together.

  We’re getting married this evening.

  Not a real wedding. She couldn’t forget why she was doing this. Not for love, that was for certain.

  She wanted to hide in the bathroom but couldn’t. She quickly showered, and with dripping hair, made him lock the door behind while she jogged down to get their things from the car. When she returned, his eyes held a question, but she shook her head. “Clear so far.”

  “That’s not what—”

  Rather than talk, she fled and hid in the bathroom for as long as she dared. Applying her makeup, arranging her hair, eschewing her duties, and being a coward.

  When she emerged, she wouldn’t look him in the eye. She shouldn’t see him. It was bad luck.

  “I will dress in the bedroom.” She didn’t give him a choice, slamming the door behind her and leaning on it as if afraid he’d force his way in. He didn’t. He probably regretted his words.
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  Surely, he didn’t mean them. But why would he lie?

  Get your head back on the mission. Time wasted while she acted like an emotionally crippled female. She got ready, sliding on the wedding gown, which wasn’t traditional by any means. She couldn’t bring herself to wear a pristine white dress to this sham. The one she’d chosen was elegant and practical. The blousy top hid the bulletproof corset as well as the gun tucked under her arm. It tightened at her waist and then belled at her hips, with enough fabric to flare if she needed to make a sudden movement. The ornate sleeves could also be torn off in a pinch, giving her access to her knives. The shoes were practical flats, molding to her feet to give her the best ease of movement and grip.

  She left her hair down, a moussed and wavy, controlled mess that framed her face. She kept her makeup simple, smoking her lids and darkening her lashes. A bit of lipstick to her mouth. When she was done, she looked elegant and wide-eyed. Surely, not frightened by a fake wedding?

  The sound of the apartment door closing brought her out of the bedroom. No Darren in sight. She fled out the front door and saw his head already two stories down as he skipped the stairs fast.

  “Come back,” she yelled.

  “It’s bad luck. See you at the altar.”

  Dashing after him would look odd if anyone watched, but she could protect him from the window. She ran to it and pressed her eye to the scope, peeking through it and aiming lower to see the sidewalk and street.

  Darren emerged from the building just as a taxi slid to a stop out front.

  Her finger curled on the trigger then eased as Darren hugged the man who stepped out of the rear.

  A gray-haired gent, and a warm embrace? Even without seeing the face, she guessed Harry.

  They stepped into the church.

  Out of sight, yet she didn’t move. Couldn’t.

  The moment approached. The final one. Where she’d bind herself to this man for life. However short it might be.

  Anxiety pulsed inside her. This entire idea was crazy. So crazy.

  There was still time to stop it.

  Except, next thing she knew, she was the one doing a lemming dash across the street, wondering if a sniper on a roof would use that moment to take her out. Or if a car would come screeching out of nowhere. Perhaps the earth would open up and swallow her before she set foot in such a holy place. She made it to the church doors unmolested, which meant she had to go inside. That required another deep breath, noisily expelled when she didn’t burst into flames.