Contents
Copyright
About The Hitman's Baby
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Bonus Book
Copyright
Other Titles in the Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
The Hitman’s Baby
By KIMBERLY FOX
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contains explicit love scenes and adult language.
18+
www.AuthorKimberlyFox.com
Copyright © 2016 by Kimberly Fox
Nobody f*cks harder than a girl that hates you. And this girl hates me. Hard. She’s going to be fun.
Sara
I hate guys like him.
So why am I always so attracted to his frustratingly arrogant and cocky type?
Well, his muscular, inked up arms aren’t helping at all.
I should stay away from him.
I should leave.
He’s more dangerous than just a killer smile.
But it’s not like he’d ever untie me and let me walk out the door…
Colton
When I want something I take it. Even if it is the boss’ daughter.
And when you’re a hitman the boss is usually not someone to take lightly.
See if I care. That pussy is worth dying for and it’s definitely worth killing for.
And there’s a long line of people to kill for it.
But now that my baby is in her belly not her father, the Russian mob, the police or the world class assassin on our heels is going to take her from me.
The Hitman’s Baby is a full-length novel (50,000+ words) by author Kimberly Fox. Standalone. No Cliffhanger. No Cheating. HEA.
Included in the ebook version is a bonus novella (Bare Knuckle Bear) and introduction to the author’s Paranormal Romance works written under Kim Fox.
one
Colton
The barrel of my gun is burning my lower back as we get ready to leave the room. I love that stinging pain. It’s the feel of a job well done. And I have an army of burn marks back there from my extensive portfolio.
Ichiro is checking the pulses of the dozen or so dead men in various positions around the room. He moves like a ninja over the bodies, touching their necks with two gloved fingers making sure we didn’t leave any loose ends.
He checks the last guy, stands up, clicks the safety off the golden gun in his hand and fires one into the man’s head. He’s as emotionless as a machine. Ichiro turns to me with hard eyes. “That was your target, Colton,” he says, with a slight Japanese accent. He walks past me with a disapproving look on his face, bumping into my shoulder as he heads to the door.
I squeeze my hand into a fist to stop it from grabbing my gun. I fucking hate this guy.
We hurry down the hall and out of the warehouse where our cars are parked on the street. Sweet adrenaline is pumping from my chest to my thick, tattooed forearms and I can’t help but smile.
Ichiro doesn’t share my enthusiasm, at least he doesn’t show it on his stoic face. Never a hint of emotion with this guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if I ripped off one of his arms and found metal and wires underneath.
Ichiro, the Ninja Assassin, as he is known, looks like anything but a killer right now. He’s wearing twelve dollar beige slacks from Walmart and the matching six dollar white collared shirt. He pulls out a faded blue hat that has Marv’s Deli stitched onto it as we step onto the sidewalk. He could blend in anywhere. He can completely disappear into a crowd and look as memorable as a houseplant. “That’s the point,” he said one time when I made fun of him. “You’re too flashy.”
I’m tall and muscular with inked up arms. My clothes are tight and tailored and show off my toned body. I stand out in a crowd and girls seem to love me, but fuck it, I’d rather get laid two or three times a week than blend in and look like a dork.
Ichiro glances down at my leg and frowns before heading to his car: a completely forgettable nineteen ninety-nine brown Oldsmobile.
“Shit,” I mutter as I look down at my pants. There’s a blood stain the size of a quarter on my thigh. It’s not much considering we just iced fourteen killers but still, I’m a professional, and Ichiro doesn’t have a spot on him. Fuck I hate that guy. I give the finger to his back as he gets in his car.
I unlock the doors of my silver Porsche Carrera GT. It’s probably the least subtle car that I could get but it will always win in a car chase and chicks love it. I should have a meter on the dashboard next to the odometer counting how many blowjobs that I’ve had in here.
I crank the keys in the ignition and get a little hard as the engine purrs, making my bucket seat vibrate. I’d make love to this car if I could fit my dick in the exhaust pipe.
We drive out of the Russian Brotherhood’s side of town and back to our own. We take two cars because we hate each other more than we hate the Russian mobsters that we just killed. Ichiro thinks I’m reckless and dangerous. I think he’s a psychopath. I know that seems hypocritical coming from a hitman but Ichiro doesn’t just take out his target, he takes out the wife and kids too.
I pull up to the boss’ place and leave the keys in the ignition. No need to take them out. It’s a four hundred thousand dollar car but everyone in this part of town knows who it belongs to.
Sal is sitting on the roof of his Cadillac poking his phone with his fat fingers while he plows through a bucket of KFC. He looks up at me as I get out of my car. “How are those Russians doing?” he asks.
“Extradited,” I say as Ichiro parks behind me.
I pick up my pace and head to the front door of the boss’ mansion, wanting to give him the good news before Ichiro joins me.
The boss’ house is sick. It’s made from the best materials on earth. Rare Italian marble floors, exotic Dalbergia wood st
ripped from the rainforests of Madagascar, gorgeous stone blocks poached from an ancient Tibetan temple.
And he has the young wife in it to match. Daisy opens the door wearing nothing but a pink bikini with a see-through sa-rong that is so-right wrapped over her yoga perfected legs. I’m dying to see the tight, curvy ass that’s she hiding behind her.
Boss’ wife. I have to remind myself. Off limits.
I’m careful to keep my eyes up from her full, perky tits, even after she arches her back, tempting me to look at them.
She’s holding a Piña Colada in her hand and already looks tipsy even though it’s early in the afternoon. Daisy slowly places the peach straw sticking out of her drink between her thick, luscious lips and bites down on it as she slowly looks me up and down. I wonder if she can see my cock hardening in my pants. She is a prime girl and fucking her may be worth getting a bullet in the head but I’m not willing to test that theory out today.
“Hi Colton,” she says, flicking her blond hair back over her shoulder. Her mischievous eyes are up to no good. She knows what she’s doing.
But she’s playing with fire. She’d have a bullet in her head just as quickly as me if we did whatever those fuck me eyes are suggesting.
I look past her into the house, not trusting my weak willpower with a girl this hot. “Hi Daisy,” I say in the most professional voice that I can muster. “I need to talk to Carmen.”
She leans on the door, pressing her juicy tits together with her arms. “You’re always here to see Carmen,” she says pouting like a schoolgirl. “When are you going to come here to see me?”
The second Carmen is dead. He’s a decent boss and I don’t mind the guy, as irritable and strung out as he is, but I’d be here having a sex marathon with this girl in-between the moment that he died and the fifteen minutes before we had to leave for his funeral.
“It’s important,” a cold voice says behind me making me jump to the side, startled.
Fucking Ninja Assassin.
Daisy looks to Ichiro and steps to the side, hiding her luscious body behind the door. She lowers her eyes to the marble tiles that we’re standing on and opens the door for us without saying another word. The flirtatious Daisy is gone, replaced by a scared little girl. Ichiro has that effect on women. Another one of our many differences.
I glance back over my shoulder as we walk in and grab a peek of her sculpted ass through her sheer sarong. I gulp as I picture my hands on those curves, spreading her cheeks apart before I dive in with my eager tongue. She seems to be reading my mind and gives me a wink and a sly smile before scampering off to squander her afternoon away by the pool.
I snatch an apple off the granite counter as we pass the kitchen and take a few bites as we walk through the house and up the stairs to the boss’ office. I chuck the half eaten apple into a plant in the hallway before stepping in.
Carmen is sitting behind his Tyrannosaurus Rex desk with his hand on his sweaty forehead as he listens on the phone. His other hand is squeezing a stress ball so tightly that his knuckles are as white as freshly cut blow.
He’s almost bald, more from pulling out his hair than from his genes. He’s a thick, beefy old man who was known as the Arm and Hammer as he rose up the ranks of the underworld. Carmen was famous for breaking a guy’s arm in two places, letting him stew in agony for a bit and then breaking the bone one last time for a hat trick.
He glances up at us and turns to the side. “Right,” he says into the phone, his voice tight. “I gotta go. The Ninja and the Headache are here.”
The Headache? That must be me. I make a mental note to get a cool nickname too.
Carmen hangs up the phone and pops three antacids as he looks us up and down. “Tell me it’s done.”
Ichiro nods.
“Thank God,” Carmen says, leaning back in his chair. He releases the squished stress ball onto his desk and it doesn’t rebound back to it’s normal shape as it’s supposed to. Even stress balls have their limitations. And Carmen is all about pushing limitations.
“I have another job,” he says, motioning for me to close the door.
I close it and we walk up to his desk. His white collar is stained yellow. I wonder why he buys thousand dollar shirts just to ruin them with his sweaty anxiety. But that’s a question for another day. He doesn’t look in the mood.
He turns to Ichiro. “I got something important for you. I got word that the Russians are planning on going after my daughter.” He takes a deep breath and hisses it back out. “She’s studying law at Yale University. I need you to bring her back here.”
Ichiro nods, his face as expressionless as a Samurai sword.
“She’s not going to come willingly,” Carmen explains. “But I need her here. Yesterday. Understand me?”
Ichiro nods.
My heart starts pumping hard. There’s definitely a rivalry between the two of us for the number one hitman spot. It appears that Ichiro is currently in the lead and I’m a close second. Fuck that.
“Send me boss,” I say, butting in. “I’ll bring her back safely.”
“It’s not her safety that I’m worried about with you,” he answers, looking at me with narrow eyes.
“What?” I ask showing my palms.
“I want her hymen intact too,” he snaps, grabbing the crumpled stress ball off his desk and going to town on it. I swear I can hear it crying under his fingers.
“Boss,” I say, not taking no for an answer. “She’s going to be terrified of this robot over here. I’ll bring her back safe and sound.”
“Like the Bosco job?” he asks with his eyebrows raised. “And that time I asked you to straighten out that Mackenzie kid?”
Some people just can’t let go of the past. “I completed both those jobs,” I say defensively.
“The mayor is still on my ass for that Bosco fiasco,” he yells, his neck getting redder.
“I still did the job,” I say.
Carmen stands up and I close my eyes and wince, waiting for a punch. I open my right eye when it doesn’t come. He is hunched over with his fists on his desk like a gorilla, breathing heavily through his flared nostrils.
“I’m sick of cleaning up your messes,” Carmen says, his voice tight and serious. “I don’t have time for this.” He shakes his head and turns back to Ichiro. “This is no time to fuck around. This is my little girl at stake here. The Russian Bratva is going to come after me where it hurts after what we did to them. I want her back here where I can see her.”
He hands Ichiro an envelope with the details. Her address and picture are probably inside. Ichiro bows and leaves without saying a word. Fucking brown noser.
“Boss,” I say, taking it as a personal slight. I can’t let the Ninja Ass win that easily. “That guy is a nut job. I’ll get her back for you and won’t traumatize her in the process.”
Carmen collapses back in his chair, breathing a little easier now that Ichiro is on his way.
“Do you have any idea how bad it would make me look if they took my daughter?” he asks. “I have to send my best guy. If I could send you both I would but you two would probably kill each other before you got on the highway.”
“Only one of us would get killed,” I say, looking back through the open door.
He tosses a yellow envelope on the desk with a thud and picks up the phone. “The mayor’s bonus is due. Go bring it to him.”
“Send Reacher,” I say, ignoring all the warning signs to drop the subject. “Just give me a picture of your daughter and I’ll find her. You got the best hitman in the country that you can protect your daughter with and you’re sending me on errands? This is bull-“
“Get the fuck out of here!” Carmen screams.
“-shit,” I whisper.
“Now!”
I snatch the envelope off the desk and head for the door. I can feel a stack of cash inside.
“And get that fucking blood off your pants,” he yells as I turn the corner.
My pulse is racing a
s I storm out of the house. I walk back to the car with my muscles tense and heat flushing through my body. I’ll go to my MMA gym after I’m done being a messenger boy for the mayor and fuck some young guys up. I need to hit something. I need to break someone.
Ichiro flashes me a smirk before getting into his car and driving off. I crunch the envelope in my hand and clench my jaw as I watch his piece of shit car shrink down the road.
Fuck that.
He’s not winning. Not today anyways.
I march over to where Sal is still sitting on the hood of his car, his eyes transfixed on his phone. He’s playing Candy Crush and getting increasingly pissed off with it.
“This fucking game,” he says, squeezing his phone so hard that I expect it to explode into pieces any second.
“I’m not paying another fucking dollar to pass the level,” he says, running his hand through his long greasy hair. “They make these impossible levels and then make you pay to pass them. They’re fucking crooks.”
This coming from a guy who stole his own mother’s television to pay for coke.
“Boss wants you to do a job,” I say handing him the envelope. “Give this to the mayor.”
Sal slips the phone into his pocket and looks back at the mansion. “He didn’t say anything about this to me.”
“He’s busy,” I say, shoving the envelope in his hand. He looks hesitant. Time to drive it home. “It sounds like you’re calling me a liar.”
I step toward him and puff out my chest.
He leans back, his eyes wide. “No Colt,” he says, trying to sound calm despite the level of his voice going up an octave. “Not at all.”
I stare him down as he gets off the hood, climbs in his car and drives away like a good little messenger boy.
My face breaks into a wide grin as I Google Yale University on my phone. Three hours away with traffic.
The Hitman's Baby: A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Novel Page 1
