Hitman's Baby (Mob City Book 2)

by Holly Hart

  Could I do that? Could I hurt a child?

  My hands trembled at the thought. I knew myself. I knew that I couldn't. I would never dream of doing such a thing. But I had hurt men. Killed them even. If a leopard can't change its spots, then why should I?

  "Roman," Ellie whispered, her voice breaking.

  I looked down at my hands, then at the ground. I imagined what must be running through her head. Hatred. Disgust. I knew that she was done with me. That the second we saved our child, she'd go, wash her hands of me. I wouldn't stop her. I'd die to get that child back, but I wouldn't stop her.

  "Look at me, Roman," she ordered, louder and more forceful than I'd ever heard her. I tried to obey, but my chin felt weighed down by concrete.

  "I said look at me," she repeated, a softness in her voice that I hadn't expected. This time, I did.

  I looked up to see something I'd never expected in her eyes – forgiveness. It was an emotion I never knew that I was seeking, but in that moment, I understood that it was exactly what I'd been searching for to fill the emptiness inside me my entire life. I never needed lessons on how to be a hard man, because that's the kind of man I had to grow up to be. I needed lessons on how to care, how to trust, and how to love. I began to wonder whether Ellie could be the teacher I never had.

  "None of that was your fault," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. The corners of her eyes were prickling with the glistening sparks of newborn tears. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard, hard enough to hurt. It jarred me back into some semblance of life. "You need to believe that. You need to understand that. You need to accept that. Because I might not know everything about you, Roman, but I know that you're not the man you think you might become. You saved me when you didn't have to. You grabbed me by the arms and tore me out of a dark pit of despair, one I would have drowned in.”

  "Don't make the same mistake I nearly did. The only reason you would ever become anything like your father is if you allowed yourself to. And I know that you're a stronger man than that." She pinched my side. "And besides, with me around it's not like you'd ever get the chance!"

  I looked up at her deep, caring eyes and felt a sense of warmth, love. I felt accepted, and I liked it. It was like stepping into a warm bath robe on a chilly day. "You're sure?" I begged, searching her complexion for any hint that she was lying. I needed to know, for my sake, and for the sake of my child. I was prepared to make this sacrifice, to, monk-like give up any claim to my own son if I needed to, to protect him.

  She nodded firmly. "I am. Don't you dare do what you're thinking of, Roman," she said, her eyes glittering with a fierce, committed anger. The justified, righteous anger of motherhood. "Don't you dare think you know better. Because if you leave me," her voice broke, "and our baby, you're not being brave, you're being a coward."

  The accusation collided with my gut like a wrecking ball. Every last bubble of air inside me seemed to squeeze out all at once, wheezing through my lips. "I'm no coward," I protested hotly. But the accusation hit home, a knife through the ribs, twisting, scraping.

  She stared at me enticingly, almost daring me to argue with her. "Then prove it."

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, a hot tension between us. Her skin almost glowed with a determined fury. I could tell that, on this, it was her way or the highway. And luckily for me, probably saving me a furious attack, I agreed with her. My body sagged, every muscle drained of the nervous energy that had surged into them. My arms strained against the mattress to keep me upright.

  It felt as though something had changed between us, like our partnership had deepened, been elevated to a higher plane – and not by anything physical, but because we'd shared a deep, raw honesty. The kind that hurt, opened wounds, but had the potential to strengthen and build. I knew what I needed to do.

  I pulled Ellie toward me roughly. She felt as though she weighed barely hundred pounds soaking wet, and I drew her towards me effortlessly. I felt the clock ticking, its spinning arm counting down relentlessly, second by second, and minute by minute. I needed to dull the sound that was hammering against my head like a woodpecker. This might be our last night together, both alive – or either. I intended to seize it, to make every second count.

  "Come here," I ordered brusquely. In reality, it wasn't even a formality. Ellie gave no resistance, made not a word of protest. She was mine, and I was hers – and we both knew it.

  She pressed her lips against mine, body half-resting across my legs, still anchored to the floor, half spread across the bed. The kiss was fierce, hungry and primal. I wanted to gasp for air, needed to, but resisted. There was nothing gentle about it. She gnawed at my bottom lip like a starving animal, her body pressed against mine until there wasn't a scrap of skin that wasn't touching, melting against each other. Ellie's left-hand bit into the right side of my torso, and I imagined that when I woke from this beautiful dream, there would be nail marks left behind. But even in all that fury, that explosion of pent-up desire, of fear, of wanting to be together – her right hand caressed my back.

  I doubted it was even conscious, that she knew what she was doing, but it touched me all the same. It meant more than she could ever know, more than even I could conceive of. That she had remembered, and then tried to salve my deepest pain was a symbol that she already knew me better than anyone else in my life ever had.

  I groaned, lay back, slumping against the mattress. She collapsed with me, not breaking her lock on my lips for even a second. I felt a hurried desire overcome me, like a soldier on the eve of battle.

  I was.

  She was too.

  I pulled off her top, desperate to see every inch of her soft skin. It was flushed red, and I knew that every nerve in her entire body was on fire. This wasn't a moment to go slow, not a moment for some strange, outlandish position – it was a time to be together. Nothing more, nothing less.

  "Are you sure?" I whispered, breaking away from her kiss for a second. She closed her eyes and redoubled it.

  I rolled my hands down her back, scratching, watching as white streaks followed my fingers down to where her spine met her hips. She growled, thrusting her pelvis against my body, then flipped herself, clambering on top of me and settling across my hips.

  Ellie unbuckled my belt, pulled it out and tossed it onto the floor. She struggled with the buttons, and I knocked her hands aside, undoing the fly with one hand, reaching around to undo her bra with the other. It fell away, revealing nipples that rose and fell like peaks of waves cresting against a rocky shoreline. A dull, throaty growl escaped my lips, so primal, so animalistic that I barely recognized it as human.

  I propped myself up, leaned in, took one of her nipples in my mouth and rolled it gently against my tongue. She held my head in her hands, interlocked her fingers between my hair and held me against her. My cheek pressed against her breast, trapped in a cage of arms and long, silky hair. Her skin was hot, radiating fire, and felt slick with sweat. I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted her, I needed her, and I had to have her.

  I rested my hands on her back, stiffened my forearms and flipped us over, so that I was on top. Her face wore a faintly surprised expression, but I smothered it with a kiss as my hands wandered down, found the buckle of her pants and with more luck than skill, pried it open. I shot backwards, tearing every scrap of fabric off her legs and revealing a sea of perfect, spotless skin.

  Her underwear was plain, but it didn't need to be anything else. You could put a cloth on the Mona Lisa, but it would still be the Mona Lisa. And Ellie was mine.

  I tore her panties off too, and they joined a growing pile on the floor. I buried my head between her legs, savored her musky wetness, and licked her slit from bottom to top. She shivered, and her thighs clenched, her toes curling with satisfaction.

  She buried her fingers in my hair, made a fist, and pulled. "No," she said, as she forced my face up and my eyes met hers. "Come here."

  She pulled me up, and I clambered up her body even as th
e roots of my hair protested. I didn't care. She could have done anything to me. I kicked off my jeans, until only one stubborn ankle remained, and then I forgot that, too.

  My cock hung free, pressed up against her skin, her heat combining with mine until it felt like a volcano.

  She took it in her hand, squeezed, and pressed it between her thighs.

  It was enough of a signal for me.

  I pushed her legs apart, placed two fingers against her overheated, soaking pussy and rubbed. Her back arched, and I took my cock in my hand and entered her. One inch at a time at first, and then she relaxed, her eyes closed, biting her bottom lip. And then it was easy, I slid into her until I was buried to the hilt. She cried out, I paused, but she grabbed my ass and pulled me in.

  I fucked with long, hard strokes, held her arms down until she was at my mercy. It was unlike any sex that I had ever had. It wasn't about the pleasure, or satisfying some deep human urge, or fucking away the pain that had followed me every day of my life. It was about coming together.

  It was about surviving.

  It was about living again.

  I felt my climax rising already, felt all the tiny muscles around my cock beginning to stiffen, to clench together. "Ellie…" I murmured. "I'm close." She opened her eyes, and met mine with a look that was dulled by pleasure, need and desire.

  It sent me over the edge, and I crashed into her one last time, every nerve on my body overloading. She gasped out as a hotness filled her, dug the fingers and her nails into my ass, locked her legs around my body, and every muscle in hers stiffened as she climaxed with me.

  I collapsed on top of her, every inch of hot, sweaty skin on hers. We were each other's, tonight.

  We would face tomorrow together.

  30

  Ellie

  What nobody ever tells you about wearing a police uniform is how goddamn heavy it is!

  Although, in the interests of honesty – I've never actually had a conversation with anyone about wearing a police uniform. Still, by the time I'd shucked on those big, black, ugly boots, which have gotta weigh a pound each on their own; put that belt on, and filled up the assortment of pockets and straps that never seemed to end, I must have had about 20 pounds worth of kit strapped to my body. Oh, and that's not even mentioning the gun on my waist, or the billy club, truncheon thingy.

  I used to think carrying my bag around town in the summer heat was bad enough! But at least I could wear a skirt…

  I caught my reflection in a shop window as I passed and barely recognized myself. My hair was pulled into a tight bun, like a schoolteacher's, or a headmistress, my uniform was intentionally ill-fitting, and I had a tattered navy blue rucksack slung over my shoulder. I wasn't wearing no makeup, but makeup designed to make me look like I was wearing no makeup. Convoluted, right? Still, I had to admit, the whole effect worked. I doubted that anyone would recognize me, and that was the most important thing.

  Roman had watched with dismay as the Russian makeup girl Maya sent round painted my face. She didn't say a word, other than the occasional da, or to grunt, but she transformed my face until I was as plain as the day is long. I looked away from the window. I didn't want to see myself like this. And besides, the more I saw my reflection, and the uniform I was wearing, the more I realized how crazy this plan was.

  I wish you were here, Roman.

  But he wasn't. He was the distraction. Maya's plan was complicated, and had more moving parts than the US Army's Cold War plans to invade Russia. Which, in a sense, was what we were doing. I grinned. An Irish-American-Russian coalition against, well, the Russians… Who'da thunk it?

  Get it together, Ellie.

  The plan was simple. Conor and Roman distracted Victor. Maya got the kid, and I – well, I knocked over the domino to bring Victor's whole empire crashing down. And, perhaps, get Alexandria back on a path to civilization. It was a pretty big task. Especially since I didn't have the faintest clue as to how the police worked. It hadn't even sounded easy in the back of the limo. "Oh, just saunter into Alexandria's police logistics center, somehow break into a heavily guarded evidence locker, find my old rucksack and get the story out…"

  Yeah, right.

  I gulped, straightened the name badge on my uniform, which read Ellie Wilkins, and stepped through a set of sliding glass doors into another world. Logistic center was in a business park on the outskirts of town. It was barely more than a warehouse with an office attached. I was banking on the fact that Alexandria's finest, the cream of the crop, probably weren't posted out here. It would be the bottom percentile from the police academy, the washouts, support staff, and the other flotsam and jetsam that made up a modern police force. Still, it was a gamble.

  I handed my badge to a bored looking officer. It was the part that I had been dreading. To my eyes, the ID card looked fine. Laminated, a picture that looked suspiciously like the one I'd sent off to the DMV, the works. I had no idea what hat Maya had pulled that particular rabbit out from. As with the uniform, I didn't want to ask… Luckily, the officer's eyes were dead. He barely scanned it before waving me through.

  I was in.

  My fist clenched in satisfaction the second I rounded the nearest corner. I found myself in a concrete, breeze block corridor. It was hardly the stuff of Ocean's Eleven… I didn't imagine that anyone would be writing screenplays about this heist. I hoped not, anyway.

  "Come on, Ellie," I mumbled to myself, searching a patchwork of signage for anything that resembled the words evidence room.

  "Hey, lucky lady," a man's voice wheezed from above my right shoulder. "I haven't seen you around these parts before."

  I froze.

  No! You made it this far!

  I chose my words carefully. "Oh, you know, bureaucracy," I chuckled, setting my hands on my hips as though it was the most normal thing in the world. "Paper pushers up top, that kind of thing. Right hand doesn't know what the left's doing."

  My heart thundered like a pack of wild horses as I waited for the man, whoever he was, to tap on my shoulder, tell me to face the wall and stick my hands behind my back. The game was up, I knew it.

  Except, thankfully, it wasn't.

  "Oh, don't I know it! The man chuckled. "Say, you don't look like you've been here before. Can I help?"

  My eyes were fixed to the wall, doing a merry dance as I panicked. In the end, it was what saved me. The sign for the evidence room was worn away, painted over and then scratched out, and then stuck on with a paper label. Best and brightest, my ass.

  "No," I said lightly, spinning on my heel. "I'm all good. Thanks for your help." I smiled at the man as I forced each of my legs to move in turn. He was a beast of a man, perhaps verging on three hundred pounds, and just a shade over 6 foot tall. Unlike Roman, though – it was all fat. He even had crumbs of icing sugar on his dark blue shirt collar that screamed the fact that he'd been eating doughnuts to high heaven.

  Come on, buddy, I chided to myself. That's what they're expecting. You gotta be better than that.

  "Colin," he offered to my disappearing back. "Don't worry about it."

  "Thanks Colin!" I called back, careful not to look back at him over my shoulder. I was pretty sure he hadn't got a good look at my face. Still, a guy like that didn't strike me as a shining example of police skill. I was in. In, and on my way. Part one, check.

  I walked past the evidence locker twice, grabbing a folder off an empty desk the second time. I buried my head in it as I walked, doing a full recce out of the corner of my eye. It was pretty much as we expected – manned by one aging Sergeant, bald-headed, and a beer belly to boot. He sat behind a plexiglass screen, and commanded a full view of the evidence locker's small waiting room.

  "Shit." I cursed, under my breath, ducking into an empty conference room. There was no going around him, no avoiding him. It was as we had suspected, but no less galling for the forewarning. I needed a way past, and fast.

  I checked my watch, a cheap, ugly black Timex, noticing that my foot was
jittering uncontrollably against the floor. Any time now, Roman and Conor would be going head-to-head with Victor and his men. I didn't have a second spare, not a moment to lose. I wanted to sink into a black hole, anything to get me out of this situation. There was so much riding on me, so much pressure, that I felt I might crack underneath it.

  Except that wasn't an option. I couldn't let Roman put himself in danger for our baby, especially not after last night, and do nothing to help. I was better than that, stronger. There had to be a way out a solution. I just wasn't seeing it.

  I rifled through the big square leg pockets on my uniform and pulled out the lock picking device. It taunted me. I was so close, yet so far. It was nothing, really, just a piece of plastic that looked like a credit card, attached to a wire, and then on to a small black box.

  It was a very little thing to put a whole lot of faith in. If it didn't work as advertised, I suspected that I was going to jail for a very, very long time.

  My fingers brushed against a small cardboard box. It felt unfamiliar, and I closed my fingers around it out of idle curiosity. But it was just a pack of cigarettes – nothing useful. I spied a gray metal trashcan in the corner and tossed it in. It landed, danced on the rim, and then plunged inside, nestling on a cushion of shredded paper.

  Nothing useful.

  Nothing useful?

  I stared at the trashcan, wild eyed, as the beginnings of an idea began to crystallize in my mind. It couldn't work. Surely it couldn't work.

  But it might, and it wasn't exactly like I was brimming with other ideas. I rushed to the trashcan, never more excited to see something so mundane in my entire life. I fished out the pack, opened it up and pulled out a cigarette. I stared at it like a Native American might eyed have a Pilgrim – I'd never so much as held one in my entire life, despite the fact I'd spent my life in newsrooms, around people who smoked more often than they breathed clean air.

  "Only you could be this uncool, Ellie," I murmured to myself as I searched for a lighter. "You're fucking a goddamn hitman, and you're still the most naïve, uncool girl at school."