Hitman's Baby (Mob City Book 2)

by Holly Hart

  As I walked over to the car, I couldn't stop thinking about how my life had changed the day I started kicking a soccer ball. We'd all played, all of us foster kids, and yet I was the only one who'd made it out – the only one who'd dedicated myself to something other than a life of crime. Why?

  The gunmetal grey Audi blended into the darkness in the gravel driveway, and it looked like a stealth fighter revealing itself when the lights flashed after I keyed the remote control. I still couldn't believe that I was driving a car like this. I'd found myself involved in a few joyrides growing up, but we'd usually jacked cars from the broke side of town, so I'd never climbed into anything like this until the day I signed with Barcelona.

  The car's powerful engine ripped apart the night's gentle solitude the moment I turned the key, but luckily I only had a couple of neighbors, and what few I had mostly owned similarly powerful cars. The twenty-five-mile drive to the W Hotel, an enormous thirty-story building built in the shape of an elegant sail, would normally have taken forty minutes, but the pacey sports car ate up the miles without complaining, and before long, I was slowly easing the car towards the valet station.

  "How much?" I asked the maroon-jacketed attendant.

  He looked surprised. "Oh, no sir – it's free."

  I shot a grin and tossed him a hundred-euro note, leaving the Audi's keys in the car. "Then take it as a tip," I offered generously.

  I saw his eyes shoot surreptitiously down to the note, then widen as he noticed the size of the denomination. He was clearly well-trained, because he barely reacted otherwise, just inclined his head and nodded graciously. "Thank you, sir. When will you be back?"

  I chuckled. "I'll keep it here overnight. I probably won't be in any fit state to drive later on."

  "Very good, sir," the valet agreed, now looking mildly surprised. I knew drunk driving was slightly more common in Europe, but I thought his reaction was slightly overblown.

  I strode into the modern, glass-fronted lobby and headed straight for the bank of elevators. A couple of stunning, tanned local girls in cocktail dresses noticed me, and I watched them, hiding my grin, in the many mirrors strewn across the lobby as they followed me, giggling to each other.

  The elevator bank pinged just a couple of seconds after I stabbed the button, and the doors opened on an empty lift. I stepped inside, touched the button for the Sun Deck and turned to face the front, graciously holding the open-doors button down to allow the strikingly attractive girls inside. They blushed in thanks and stood directly in front of me.

  "Which floor?" I asked.

  I watched as they both, in tandem, looked down at the illuminated button I'd pushed.

  "Oh, don't worry," one of the girls, with sandy sun-bleached hair and a form-fitting red dress that barely stretched past her hips, giggled, "it looks like we're going to the same place."

  "What are the chances of that…" I replied dryly.

  The doors closed and the elevator whisked us upwards at a rate of knots, which made my stomach do back flips. The red dress girl's friend, an equally attractive, petite girl in a slightly more demure black cocktail dress took the opportunity to drop – or pretend to drop – her purse, sending the contents skittering across the elevator's marble floor. I started to bend down in order to help out, but the girl quickly interrupted me.

  "Oh, it's fine," she laughed, "I do it all the time." She bent down, deliberately hinging at her hip so that her tight dress both rode up and tautened over her pert, firm ass. It was barely an inch away from my cock, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab it. It took a monumental force of effort not to…

  Luckily, I was saved by the bell as the elevator came quietly to a halt and the doors opened up. The party was in full swing on the Sun Deck, and I was dying for another drink. The single gin and tonic I'd allowed myself in order to stay under the limit before leaving the villa had only been enough to pique my appetite, not salve it.

  "Are you coming to dance?" the girl in the black dress asked, artfully turning her body just enough that her perfectly tight body was accentuated and the side of her breasts peeked out of her dress.

  I grinned rapaciously, my eyes greedily drinking in her body. "You bet," I agreed, "but I'll see you there, okay?"

  She pouted, disappointed. "I guess…" she said, then flounced off.

  I shrugged at her departing back and shoved my foot in between the elevator doors before they closed. I could have her any time I wanted, and we both knew it. Anyway, judging by the jealous looks her friend was giving her, it would probably be best for their relationship that nothing happened between us.

  Unless, I thought, I could somehow engineer a threesome…

  "Alex," Rodrigo shouted from the other side of the sparkling blue infinity pool, "you made it!"

  "Fashionably late." I smiled, accepting a sparkling glass of champagne from one of the white-jacketed waiters. I had absolutely no idea who was paying for this party, and I didn't care, because I was A-list now – at least in this city. I strode over to my teammate with a broad smile on my face. "What are we celebrating?"

  "Fuck knows!" He laughed, a slight slur giving away the fact that he wasn't exactly sober. "Salut!" he cried, clinking his champagne flute so firmly against mine that I feared that they might both break.

  "Salut!" I agreed. "Find yourself a girl yet?" I asked, smiling. This wasn't like a college party – there was an abundance of women, and every single one of them was a nine or ten out of ten.

  "Not yet, my friend," he replied, gesturing around, "but look, we're in luck tonight…"

  I had to agree.

  Around the edges of the infinity pool, which soared over the palm trees that were just about visible on the other side, women in tiny bikinis sat sipping drinks and dangling their bare legs in the water. One girl, inexplicably, was doing laps. I had no idea why – of all the times to get exercise, this wasn't high on my list.

  My cock felt like a volcano – ready to blow. Being around these girls was like a form of torture, except at least I was in charge.

  "What time's training tomorrow?" I asked, putting my hand over Rodrigo's ear and speaking loudly over the pumping soundtrack.

  He looked at me and laughed, clapping his hand onto my shoulder. "Usual time, buddy. It's an open session, did you know?"

  "What the hell's that?" I asked, dreading turning up at the ground the next morning. It was already one – I'd probably only get a couple of hours sleep. I shrugged. Whatever I did now, I was going to feel terrible, so I decided I may as well enjoy it.

  "They hold two every season in the youth team stadium. The press and public turn up and watch us train, that's all."

  I groaned. "Just my luck, the whole world's going to see me puking my guts out on the touchline." I drained my glass, aghast at the thought. Within seconds, the empty was replaced with a fresh flute of sparkling wine.

  "Yup." Rodrigo grinned.

  "How big's the youth stadium?" I asked, expecting my teammate to pick a number in the hundreds.

  "Ten thousand." He grinned. "Not bad, eh?"

  I groaned again. "And you said press as well?" I asked, Diana's tantalizing face suddenly appearing in my mind's eye. The last thing I wanted was for that beautiful temptress to turn up and see me playing through a hangover like an amateur. I scrunched up my eyes, angrily banishing her image. I was here to find a girl to take my mind off her – not to pine over her some more.

  "Yup."

  I drank my second glass of champagne, feeling the alcohol's heat rearing its head in my stomach. "Fuck it," I grunted. "I'm here now." I clapped Rodrigo on the back and pointed at a couple of bikini-clad girls who were eyeing him up. "Looks like you've got some admirers."

  "I want the redhead," Rodrigo agreed thoughtfully. "I've never slept with a redhead."

  "Enjoy, my friend." I laughed. "I'm going to find some pussy."

  "Good luck," Rodrigo wished.

  I turned and laughed. "Luck? Who needs that when you look like thi
s?" I replied, indicating my new suit. I turned to the redhead and clicked my fingers like I was rudely summoning a waiter. She jumped to attention, puffing out her chest and pouting.

  "Hey!" Rodrigo protested. I ignored him.

  I flipped my hand around and made a come hither motion with my thumb and fore finger. The redhead made a play at resisting, but it was only for show. She walked over to me, sashaying her hips.

  "Hey," she began seductively, batting her eyelashes. As I looked at her, all I could think was that she wasn't Diana, nowhere close. Oh, what I'd give to see Diana in a bikini…

  I leaned in, resting my hand on her hip. She thrust hers forward subconsciously, leaning into me. "You see my friend over there?" I asked, quickly adding, "Don't look!"

  "The sexy one? He plays soccer, doesn't he?"

  "He's good," I agreed. "I want you to give him a good time, okay?"

  She pouted, leaning closer toward me. She was wearing a floral scent, but it wasn't what I needed – Diana's spicy scent. "Are you sure you don't want to take me home?" she almost begged.

  "Not tonight." I grinned, shooting a look back at Rodrigo's red, furious face. She let out a quiet, frustrated moan, but a smile on her face reappeared the moment I patted her on the ass and sent her towards my friend.

  "Have fun," I called back, smiling to myself. By the time I looked back at the happy couple, their lips were locked together and Rodrigo's champagne flute was resting on her hip at a dangerous angle…

  I shook my head. I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. Any other day, on any other night, that redhead would have been in my bed, no matter if my friend liked her or not. She was exactly what I wanted – in a hookup, at least.

  I sat down on a sun lounger, kicking off my expensive Italian shoes, and relaxed into the feeling of alcohol seeping through my veins. I'd been training like mad for the past fortnight to make an impression, and I reasoned that I deserved this. All work and no play, after all, made Alex need a woman's touch…

  I closed my eyes, but within a couple of seconds, I felt a presence hovering over me. "Can I get an old-fashioned, please? Scotch, not bourbon," I asked without bothering to open my eyes.

  It wasn't a waiter.

  "I don't know," a familiar voice breathed huskily over me, "can you?" My eyes flicked open, only to find that the girl in the black dress from earlier on had managed to ditch her friend and come looking for me. I smiled – I'd expected as much.

  She perched beside me on the sun lounger. "Pleased to see me?"

  "Where's your friend?"

  She pouted, quickly adopting a faux frown. "You like her, do you?"

  I grinned, experienced enough to know not to mess up a sure thing. "Not at all."

  That seemed to placate her. "What are you doing here?"

  "Lying down, you mean?"

  She set down her champagne flute, stretched, cat-like, and lay down next to me. "Yeah. Budge up!"

  I did as she asked, noticing that there was nowhere near enough space for us both to lie down without touching each other. "Long day," I said. "Guess I'm just tired."

  She curled up on her side, resting her hand forthrightly on my chest. "Training?" she said sympathetically.

  "Training," I agreed. "You know who I am?" I asked, surprised.

  She raised her eyebrow. "Please," she said archly, "everyone in the city knows who you are."

  She started stroking my chest. I didn't complain – it felt nice. "What should I call you, then?" I asked. "It feels like you know an awful lot more about me than I do of you."

  "Portia." She smiled, her hands trailing dangerously down towards my belt. "Nice to meet you." She grinned. I studied her carefully. She looked like the kind of girl who always got her way – sexually and otherwise. I wasn't surprised, she was objectively gorgeous. I looked around the party and noticed men staring at us, green with envy at the fact that I managed to attract the most attractive girl on the rooftop without even having to sit up. And yet, even though her hands were now dancing around my cock, I felt nothing.

  She leaned in, eyes closed, for a kiss. "Portia," I said, placing my index finger on her lips.

  She looked up at me, surprised – as if no one had ever turned down a kiss with her before. Looking at her, I wouldn't be surprised if that was in fact the case. "What is it?" she asked, snaking her hand around my cock more aggressively. "You don't like it?"

  Honestly, the answer was no. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I'd have picked her up right then and there, walked downstairs and booked into the hotel. But nothing was happening downstairs. "I can't," I replied. Her eyes filled with hurt – she was a girl who definitely wasn't used to being turned down.

  But she wasn't willing to take no for an answer, not with the chance of sleeping with a Barcelona soccer player on the line. She pushed her hands under my belt and went for the meat of my cock itself. I grabbed her arm firmly. "I said no," I repeated forcefully, sitting up.

  I pulled her hand from my pants and stood up, pulling on my loafers. "What did I do wrong?" she asked tearfully.

  "Nothing," I grunted, grabbing her champagne flute and downing it in one. "Just not tonight."

  I fumed to myself the entire cab ride home. What the hell was the point, I mused, of being able to attract girls like that if I wasn't going to do something about it? I tipped the driver a hundred and stumbled back into the villa.

  My iPad was lying on the antique four-poster bed that sat in the master bedroom I'd chosen to sleep in, its sleek white surface contrasting with the dark, varnished mahogany floor. I knew exactly what I was looking for, and I hated myself for it. I typed in the web address for a porn site that I hadn't used since I was a teenager – hadn't needed to use, since every girl I ever looked at had gone weak at the knees for me. I typed in: "blonde hair, green eyes" and pressed the search bar for the first time in years.

  The iPad's screen quickly populated with girls in varying states of undress, performing a variety of depraved, disgusting sexual acts. I felt my cock begin to stiffen, and started scrolling through the thumbnails.

  I was suddenly turned on, electric. I scrolled through page after page of videos, but couldn't find what I wanted – what I needed. I threw the iPad down on the bed in frustration.

  "Fuck!" I groaned aloud. Once more, Diana's pale, freckled face drifted into view in my consciousness. Her soft, supple blonde hair was bracketed by her piercing green eyes – eyes which seems to gaze into the depths of my soul and judge me for what I was doing.

  But I couldn't help myself – I needed this. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on her beautiful face, tried to visualize her body, to undress her in my mind's eye. She floated, tantalizingly, on the edge of my vision.

  "What the fuck are you doing, Alex?" I groaned, furiously undoing my thick, heavy leather belt and freeing my pants. My massive cock made its presence felt, flopping out in style – I never bothered to wear underwear. I felt like a horny teenager, unable to control myself. I could have had a girl here with me, but no girl could stand in for Diana. My hand closed round my cock, and I groaned with frustration yet again as Diana's face blurred in my mind.

  I desperately scrabbled for the iPad, gently stroking my cock with my right hand. It took no waking – the thick appendage was stiff and on fire – tingling and sending shooting butterfly sensations up into my stomach. I unlocked the tablet, quickly navigated to a search engine and typed in "Diana Lopez".

  The first page that came up was on the WBC Sports site – Diana's profile. I sank my head back as the page loaded, chastising myself for acting like a pig. It didn't matter, didn't change my opinion, or what I planned to do. My cock already felt ready to blow, as though this was merely a formality, and though I tried to hold myself back, I couldn't stop my hand from stroking the thick penis, massaging it, allowing my fingers to concentrate on the sensitive head, and the palm to do the hard work.

  Diana's face flashed up on the screen, and my breathing quickened. "Oh my God," I groaned a
s the pressure built between my legs. I was close, so close that I could barely hold myself together. I didn't know what was happening – I'd never once blown in less than fifteen minutes, not once.

  This time, it took only seconds.

  And it was to a picture.

  I exploded, a thick stream of white cum shooting out of my engorged cock and landing on my leg. It was hot, and as it cooled, I knew one thing.

  This wasn't enough. In fact, this was pathetic. I didn't know what this girl was doing to me, but I had to put a stop to it.

  I needed her.

  I needed to fuck Diana Lopez, to ravage her, to hear her begging me to enter her, and then to blow her mind.

  And I needed it soon.

  9

  Diana

  I held the microphone to my mouth. "It's ninety degrees and hot, hot, hot for Barcelona's first open training session of the year." Tim's lip curled as though he was holding back a laugh, and the camera shook ever so slightly on his shoulder.

  "What?" I asked, dropping my hands to my hips. "It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it – the hot, hot, hot bit."

  Tim lowered the camera to the ground. "Kinda…"

  The metal superstructure of Barcelona's huge training stadium – a facility that was bigger than many grounds in Spain's lower divisions – towered over us, sun glinting off its exposed steel beams. I sank to my haunches in frustration. "Okay, let's try again."

  I straightened up, and Tim heaved the heavy broadcast camera back onto his shoulder. It was no great surprise, I mused, that he was so well built and obviously fit, because though his equipment must have weighed somewhere north of fifty pounds, he threw it around like it weighed no more than a feather.

  With shoulders like that, I wonder what he could do to me in bed…

  I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. This was Tim – my cameraman, a guy I'd known for months, not some magazine pinup. What the hell was coming over me? I knew what – I just didn't want to admit it. It was the fact that I hadn't got laid since arriving in Barcelona – and if I was being truly honest, the fact I hadn't been laid since I left college.