Her Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  I’ve got my man behind me.

  We’re in this together.

  “Tell me. I deserve to know.”

  Andrei smiles sadly, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

  Every time he tries to move, Damian squeezes his head and he grows still.

  It makes Damian seem so huge and powerful, the protector I’ve always dreamed about. He stands half-turned toward the door, his gun hand primed, ready just in case any of the injured men drag themselves down here.

  Andrei smiles and smiles.

  “Well?” I snap.

  “It’s all business,” he sighs. “Your father used to travel for his work. Did you know that?”

  “He was a photographer.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Andrei says. “The thing is, on one of his trips he came to Moscow. And he got involved with some very bad men. The Bratva, we are the civilized side of the Russian crime world. You should see the dogs in the gangs of Moscow, no offense to your friend here …”

  He glances at Sparky, who’s ready to tear him apart, no matter if he only weighs a few pounds. He’ll fight.

  “Get to the point,” Damian snarls, squeezing his hand.

  “Ah, ah, okay,” Andrei whines. “Your father was kidnapped. One of these crazy men made the offer that he’d give his daughter as payment for his freedom. He agreed … as tortured men will. He came home and, it seems, he pretended he had never said those words. Life went on and he thought he was safe. But the Bratva never forgets. We came to deliver a message. And we delivered it.”

  “But we left you behind, because, well, simply put …”

  “What?” I hiss, tears breaking in my voice.

  “You were not old enough yet,” he says. “But we kept tabs on you. When you were old enough, we claimed you. Why do you think you were never touched by the guards? Dobry made a mistake claiming you for himself that night. You belong to me.”

  “But why you?” I say, forcing the words through the tears. “And why—why risk your whole organization for it, you crazy fuck?”

  “The wrong people heard the wrong things. If word gets out that Andrei the Wolf cannot protect his belongings, who’s to stop people from trying to take them? It is a hard time for the Bratva. It was this—or war. Now it seems it may be both.”

  “But why you?” I growl, stalking forward, wanting to punch him as hard as I can in the face. “If it was this smaller gang in Moscow …”

  “I am Moscow,” Andrei snarls. “Any promises made on her concrete are owed to me.”

  “You’re nothing now,” Damian growls. “Popstar, what do you want me to do with him?”

  A sick agreement, a twisted pledge.

  And because of some Bratva politics, he had to go after me.

  Life is a fucking joke, but I’m too tired to laugh, fatigue suddenly touching every part of me. I look at my man, his face flecked with droplets of blood, his eyes cold and supportive and his silver hair dotted with the crimson of combat.

  “Let the police have him,” I say.

  “They’ll be here any second,” Damian says, nodding. “I can hear them now. Right outside the room. Hear that, Andrei? A smart little trick, taking the other rooms quietly.”

  “But you forgot who you were dealing with,” I hiss, looking this psychopath straight in the eye. “You were dealing with Damian fucking Drake, and my man is the best in the business.”

  Damian smirks, looking at me warmly for a moment.

  “That’s damn right,” he says.

  “Police! Police!”

  The door crashes open and Damian throws his gun down, grabbing Andrei and shoving him out the door. He slams it behind him and then guides us all to the ensuite.

  “We’ll wait here,” he says. “When they come to investigate the bedroom, I’ll explain the situation. Hold on. It’s almost over.”

  I clutch onto his strong back, the firmness that feels like home.

  I don’t care if my family held such an evil secret.

  Because I’ve got a new family now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Damian

  The government man stands at the bottom of the steps, the ground dusty despite the time of year. We’re in California and the late afternoon sun is shining. Sparky sits perked up on the porch beside me, and inside the house, my queen bakes bread and sings a soft song as she does it.

  It’s been one week since that shit in the hotel and I’m ready to move on.

  I’ve had my interviews and I was found to act in self-defense when I fucked those thugs up, and now I just want Dakota and her wide hips and Sparky’s happy face and her angel’s voice.

  Is that too much to fucking ask?

  “Damian Drake?” the man says.

  He’s tall and pasty, black-haired, wears sunglasses and he looks just as anonymous as I expected him to.

  “What are you, FBI?”

  The man smirks briefly in a way I don’t like.

  “No, not FBI. I work for an agency most people haven’t heard of. I’m an associate of Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, thinking of my old contact. “I’m sorry Andrei got to him.”

  The man nods. “He overextended himself, yes. I’m here to see if you can be tempted back into the business.”

  “With all due respect,” I say, “I’ve got a woman and a family. I’m done with that. I’m opening a combat gym. I’ve been training martial arts for years.”

  The man nods again, all business. “Then I’ll move onto my second reason for being here. Uncle Sam gives his thanks. He is so grateful, in fact, that when you check your bank balance you’ll see three million US dollars waiting there for you. It was very smart of you to invest in DekiLog so early.”

  “What the fuck is DekiLog?”

  The man smiles tightly.

  “Ah, I see,” I chuckle grimly. “Three million? I didn’t know I was so valued.”

  I mean it to come out as a joke, but it comes out dark and grim. It’s so hard to be lighthearted with anybody except for Dakota.

  “You really were, Drake,” the man says, suddenly serious. “Every man you took out made the world a better place. You were never sloppy and you never hurt any civilians, any innocents. You were the best damn operator we had.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur. “What’s your name, son?”

  The man smirks and turns away. “You already know it, Drake.”

  “Mr. Jenkins?” I sigh.

  The man strides down the dusty path toward his black sedan, which looks quite similar to mine. Maybe I was a government man all along.

  “What was that about?” Dakota says, striding out onto the porch with her apron tied around her waist and folded down, so that her breasts are exposed in her tight T-shirt, her nipples nice and perky and needy.

  Fuck, I’ve sucked those nipples raw over this last week but I don’t plan on stopping. I’m certain one of these days I’m going to slurp hard enough and make her squirt milk into my mouth. Then I’ll squirt it all over my cock and use it as lube to hammer her tight needy slit, watch as the white of her lactated milk mixes with her natural creamy juices—

  “Jesus, Damian,” she giggles, pulling her apron up so it covers her breasts. “You really are an animal, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I growl.

  “What was that about, though?”

  “Uncle Sam has given me three million dollars and told me I’m a hero, basically,” I say, laughing and shaking my head. “This world is crazy, Popstar.”

  “You deserve it,” she says passionately, flying to my side and squeezing me tightly.

  “And you deserve this,” I growl, realizing that this is it, our moment, and I’m done waiting.

  I fall to one knee and stare up at her, heart pounding hard but the base of my manhood pulsing harder. I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket and take out the ring box, the act making me feel lighter.

  “Dakota Clark,” I growl. “I love you. That’s it, plain and simple. I. Love. You.�
�

  She blinks and tears glisten in her eyes, dancing in the California sun.

  “I love you,” she gasps. “I’m so glad you said it, baby. I love you so much.”

  I open the ring box to show her the glistening diamond. I made sure it was just like my queen, elegant but full and sparkly and bright too.

  “I love you more than life itself,” I growl. “And you’re going to be my wife. That’s the way it is. I’m not asking. So either you give me a symbolic yes and I claim you. For life. Or I carry you away from here and take you back on the road. Your heart, your soul, your love, your womb and your cunt, and everything you are belongs to me, and I’m going to put a ring on your finger so every other beast in this world knows to stay away. So, will you? Marry me?”

  I smirk and she giggles, throwing herself down and wrapping her arms around me. Sparky leaps up at her legs, desperate to be part of the moment. He springs into my lap and climbs up my chest, licking at my chin until Dakota and I are laughing like crazy people.

  “I love you,” she giggles, crying, beautiful. “I love you so much.”

  “Is that a yes?” I whisper.

  “Of course it’s a yes. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

  I take the ring and lean back, watching her as I slide it onto her finger, her smile making me smile just as widely.

  Men in my business don’t smile, it’s true.

  But when the love of my life is smiling so radiantly, like an angel, I can’t help it. And it feels good, to let go, to finally realize that I was always a man just like any other. A killer, but a man all the same.

  I just hadn’t found the woman to half-tame me yet.

  And now I have.

  I’m never letting her go.

  EPILOGUE

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Dakota

  I stare down at the test with angels singing in my heart.

  I keep expecting it to go poof and disappear, or for me to blink and open my eyes and realize I’m still at Dobry’s dinner, trying to walk awkwardly in my heels.

  But Andrei and his arm of the Bratva are all in prison for life. Damian fought and protected us and now we’re wealthy and engaged and ready to take on the world.

  I turn to the other tests on the counter and then gaze at my reflection, shell-shocked.

  I walk out of the bathroom and through the house, everything smelling fresh and new from where I’ve been lighting vanilla-scented candles. Little touches of him here and there – his boots, his workout dumbbells, his jacket over the kitchen table – warm me inside as I walk toward the garden.

  I stand on the back porch and watch as Damian leaps to the side, grinning at Sparky. Sparky is primed and ready to go, mouth open, tongue lolling. Damian is shirtless, his jeans hanging casually and dirty over his bare feet. Sweat flecks his hard muscles as he bares his teeth at his – our – dog.

  “Come on, boy,” he laughs.

  He’s going to make such an amazing father.

  “Damian,” I say, voice hitching a little.

  He pauses. “Popstar? What is it? Is something wrong?”

  He jogs over and I walk on autopilot down the steps, and then look up at him when he cradles me in his arms, hugging me close to him so that I can feel and taste and scent his sweat, his musky just-him smell.

  “I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

  “Say it again,” he growls. He takes my face in his hands and stares hard at me with his luscious blues. “Is it true, Dakota?”

  “Yes,” I cry. “I’ve done like ten tests at this point. I’m pregnant.”

  “I love you,” he growls, kissing me so hard my lips feel like they could shatter.

  But then they melt instead and I sink into him, gasping as our tongues dance together, sizzling, hot, burning. He slides his hands down to my hips and grabs, big greedy handfuls of my flesh.

  “These were made for it,” he smiles. “But don’t think this is going to stop me from taking you. I’m going to take what’s mine as long as I can. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I moan, grabbing him tightly. “I love you. I’m so glad I found you.”

  “That’s funny,” he laughs.

  “What?”

  He smiles warmly, a smile I’m still getting used to. It’s the smile of Damian the soon-to-be husband, the gym owner, the family man.

  It’s the smile of my soulmate.

  “I was just going to say the same thing,” he says, leaning down for another sweet kiss.

  EXTENDED EPILOGUE

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Damian

  I clutch Harmony and feel her heartbeat against my chest. We stand in the sound-proofed manager’s booth looking down onto the concert venue.

  The crowd is packed out for the main act, but Harmony and I are here for the supporting act, the debut of up and coming singer Dakota Drake, my woman, my wife, my life, the mother of this beautiful child softly sleeping against my chest.

  “She’s almost on, little princess,” I whisper, softly stroking my daughter’s cheeks.

  She makes a cute baby noise and huffs her way back to dreamland. I turn to Sparky, curled up in the corner of the room, smiling widely.

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, little soldier,” I say.

  His tail wags and then he, too, returns to his own personal dreamland.

  I look down across the darkened crowd – marked here and there with the harsh white of a phone light – to the spotlighted stage. Finally, my queen emerges, wearing an elegant long dress, obsidian-black but inlaid with jewels like stars sparkling in a night sky.

  I fight the urge to search the crowd for men ogling her because the last thing I need right now is to let out the beast within me. It’s hard enough holding it back when I see the way her dress drapes over those hips. Her body is even more curvaceous and prone to creaming and weeping her delicious juices since the pregnancy, as though motherhood has made her even hornier and more eager for my cock.

  I push it down and focus on my love, singing, pride blooming in my chest.

  “There was a songbird,” she sings, slow and shy at first but then louder, with more sweet confidence. “And its name was the truth. There was a swan song, and baby, baby, this one’s for you … A songbird, a songbird, and yet inside my soul—baby, a songbird, a songbird, but your heart is still black as coal.”

  She looks up and I know she’s thinking of that first time I ever heard her sing, in the connecting motel rooms, her voice making me even more ironclad certain that I had to have her.

  “And then I met my man, oh, oh, oh,” she sings. “I met my man and I couldn’t say no, oh, no ...”

  A tear glistens in her eye as she brings her hands to her chest, and then spreads them up toward us, where she knows we wait in the darkness of the crowd.

  Harmony moans happily and Sparky gives his tail another wag.

  “I know,” I whisper, voice choked with emotion. “She sounds incredible.”

  EXTENDED EPILOGUE

  TEN YEARS LATER

  Dakota

  Harmony sits on the porch, the setting sun dappling at her feet as she rocks back and forth in the chair.

  It’s one of Felix’s old rocking chairs, recovered from storage a few months after we moved into the farmhouse, a few months after we learned we were pregnant with Harmony.

  Now four of my children are in the living room, making happy family noises that drift over to me. But as usual, my beloved Harmony has sneaked away to be with her guitar and her voice.

  She sings into the air, a musical wave drifting and dancing and hypnotizing.

  Then she suddenly stops.

  “Mom?” she says, turning as I walk out onto the porch, hitting the creaky floorboard, just one part of the home that’s made it seem like something alive to me.

  “That was beautiful,” I tell her.

  My daughter blushes, pulling her dark hair across her eyes.

  “Yeah okay, Mom,” she laughs.

  “I mean it,” I tell
her. “Even if I didn’t know you were my daughter, I’d think you sound amazing.”

  “You should listen to her,” Damian says, striding into the doorway behind me.

  I turn to find him standing there with Max clinging to his neck and our other little terror, Felix, clinging onto his leg. Behind him in the hallway Maddison smiles and, beyond her, Alexis shakes her head, as if a mature eight year old is far too grownup for all this silliness. Sparky lies at Alexis’s feet, happy to hang and snooze with my oh-so-cool daughter.

  I blow her a kiss and grin when she catches it despite herself.

  “She’s the best singer I ever heard,” Damian goes on. “That’s why she packs out stadiums.”

  “Did I really sound good, Mom?” Harmony whispers.

  “Good? No.” I stride over to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, leaning down to whisper in my firstborn’s ear. “You sounded amazing.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.”

  I stand and turn to find Damian smiling at me. We share the moment.

  We lengthen it, hovering in the warm embrace of our love.

  Then Max and Felix push against him, roaring like little warriors, and my husband turns away laughing.

  Love blossoms in my chest.

  I’m right where I need to be, where I belong.

  And I couldn’t be more grateful.

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  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  Book 1: Baby Lust

  Book 2: Veteran

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  Book 4: Bambino

  Book 5: Rescued

  Book 6: Leader

  Book 7: Professor

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