Hitman's Secret Baby: A Bad Boy Romance

by McKenzie Lewis

  What would I do with these things once I’d finished here? Would I simply wipe them down and toss them? They were so much a part of me, the tools of my trade, the equipment that had saved my life and paid my way and given me purpose.

  After this they would be useless, but their meaning would still exist to me.

  I hoped they would be useless, anyway.

  I still had some time. I pulled out my phone and, in a wild and reckless moment of abandon, I messaged Taryn.

  Can’t wait to come home to you x

  It wasn’t long before she replied.

  Can’t come soon enough x

  It was so damn easy to say it, to believe it. I wanted to slap myself for ever doubting this. I’d been stubborn and blinded by my regrets, thinking I was undeserving of a second chance. Taryn had showed me that wasn’t the case and I would spend the rest of my life making sure she didn’t regret it.

  I checked the view in my binoculars. From my position on high ground, I saw the distant shapes of trucks on the road a good mile away. At that same moment, Taryn messaged me again.

  It’s time for you to meet your daughter x

  My heart ached. Here I was, poised with a sniper rifle and a trigger for over a dozen pieces of C4 and I was grinning like a love-struck idiot.

  My daughter. My little girl. Soon, I’d be able to truly call her as much.

  My nerves had calmed to the point of focus and serenity now. I’d always assumed emotions got in the way of this job, but I’d been wrong. Taryn’s promise had helped me to concentrate. I could see, with intense clarity, what was important.

  I quickly tucked my phone away and watched the trucks arrive at the location.

  There were six of them, and two large Jeeps; these were Monroe’s people, probably come to survey the area before the drop.

  A man I didn’t recognize got out of one of the Jeeps and hauled the huge loading doors open, and then another guy, armed with an assault rifle, climbed out too. They went inside and, through the broken windows, I watched them check the place over.

  Every time one of them went near the C4 I’d planted, I held my breath, but they didn’t discover it, or anything else to be concerned about.

  Eventually, Monroe’s trucks were herded inside.

  The Jeeps stayed outside but the men didn’t, and I watched Monroe climb out of the back of one of them.

  He was dressed in a dark suit, his thick white hair combed back. He always did make a striking figure, tall and broad and a face belying his impeccable fashion sense—grizzled and scarred, thick eyebrows giving him a perpetual scowl.

  I watched him, a man I knew to be his eldest brother, and some others I vaguely recognized from past jobs, enter the building, now lit by the trucks’ headlights. They had security, too; goons dressed in the attire of a merc company I knew of that took the most damaged psychopaths and taught them how to murder en masse.

  All of them had the air of men who’d shoot you in the kneecap as soon as shake your hand, and I shivered where I crouched, sending up a desperate prayer to a universe that hadn’t really ever favored me.

  If I was ever gonna get lucky, now would be the perfect time.

  All in all, there were easily two dozen men in that place. Two dozen of Monroe’s most trusted. Once they were cleared out of the organization, Monroe’s younger brother would gleefully take over with his own inner circle.

  The world would be better off.

  I watched them for an hour until more trucks entered the dark horizon. Monroe smoked Cohibas while the others talked sparsely. At one point, he made a phone call, and I had a stab of anxiety. To who?

  Possibly his wife. She’d be better off without him, too. I knew that for a fact.

  Eventually, the Thornes’ trucks pulled up outside the loading bay. My plan was to wait until the handover went down and the delivery trucks had long gone, and then blow the joint before Monroe and his people could leave.

  The usual hand-shaking, idle business bragging, and posturing went down. Until Monroe grabbed a guy by the scruff of his neck, a weedy, pale looking fella who I hadn’t even given a second look to before, and threw him to his knees on the ground.

  I knew him. I fucking knew the guy. A druggie from New York, a down-on-his-luck bum who’d do anything for a fix. Everyone in this business knew Kieran McKellen.

  He was a nice guy, never caused any trouble, always pleasant to everyone he met, and this whole damn place was rigged to blow with him most likely in it.

  I just couldn’t do that.

  Panic struck me. I had moments to figure out what the fuck to do.

  Monroe held Kieran down as one of the Thornes’ guys cooked up a hit of heroin. When Kieran struggled to get comfortable, Monroe slapped him full to the ground, gripping his hair to haul him back upright again.

  That fucking asshole.

  I should’ve planned for this; of course someone had to sample the drugs before the trade could go down. Of course that person wouldn’t deserve to die amongst the monsters that supplied their desperate habit.

  There was no way I could kill Kieran and go back to my family with a clean conscience.

  I started to move. I had to get close enough to signal Kieran to get out of there, and I had to do it quickly.

  Luckily everyone’s focus was turned inwards, and I managed to keep low and get up to the edge of one of the broken windows without being spotted.

  Monroe’s voice was louder now, spitting curses at a still-squirming Kieran, calling him worthless and a bunch of other derogatory names.

  A man came forward with a needle and stuck it in Kieran’s arm.

  The drugs were good, obviously, but it meant Kieran went slack and happy and I didn’t have a clue how I was going to get him out of there.

  Luckily, Monroe tossed him aside, and Kieran was free to make his way to the bench that ran underneath the window. He staggered towards it, sitting down, and I made sure nobody was watching in this direction before I leaned over.

  “Kieran,” I whispered roughly, as the papers were signed and the goons started to move the drugs from the truck to the loading bay floor.

  He startled, whipping his head around. Goddammit, the guy was high as a kite, his pupils so huge I couldn’t even tell the color of his eyes. I put a hand on his back and nudged him to look forwards again.

  “M—Mason?”

  I shushed him. “Don’t expose me, man, or we’re both in deep shit.”

  That seemed to hit home, and he nodded jerkily. “You really here?”

  I dug my fingers into his back, staying ducked down as low as I could. The broken window edges were starting to dig through my leather jacket and soon they’d be cutting into my skin.

  “I’m here, buddy. I need you to listen to me and do exactly what I say, okay?”

  “Okay,” Kieran said, sounding shaky and overwhelmed. I could feel the tremble of his body under my hand. So much for a good trip.

  “Make an excuse that you need air, and get the hell away from here in the opposite direction to the road as fast as you can,” I told him.

  “H—how?”

  “You need air, Kieran!”

  He nodded again, breathing so hard it sounded like he was having a panic attack. He stood, swayed on his feet, and spoke up in a mousy voice. “Mr. Monroe?”

  “What the fuck do you want?” Monroe snapped, chewing on another Cohiba.

  “I could use some air, Mr. Monroe.”

  Monroe scowled. “The drugs bad?”

  Thrones’ guys got shifty, looking at each other in panic, but Kieran said, “No! No, they’re great, but I’m hot. It’s hot in here. Don’t you think it’s hot?”

  He’d keep on rambling if they let him, but thankfully Monroe waved him away. “Whatever.”

  I sighed, slumping back. I still had to get back up the hill, but at least—

  “Boss, there’s someone outside.”

  I froze.

  “No! No one outside!” Kieran stressed, making it s
ound like there was definitely someone outside.

  Goddammit. I was risking my life for this guy. What was I thinking?

  No, it was the right thing to do. That mattered to me now.

  I flung myself out of the view of the windows, crawling past the door and to the corner of the building where the bushes were thicker. I didn’t know if the goon had seen me, or heard me, or just spotted a shadow or a vague shape.

  Kieran was still babbling, and Monroe was telling his guy to check it out. The whole operation had stopped moving, everyone with their fucking guns drawn now. If they found me, I’d be riddled with holes before I could get off a couple shots of my own.

  My heart pounded so hard I couldn’t imagine how they didn’t hear it. I was in that awful tortured no-man’s land between the moment of caution and the moment of attack.

  I gripped my silenced weapon tightly, ready to use it as the door swung open. Monroe’s man came out weapon first, his movements well-practiced and his finger on the trigger.

  If he saw me, I’d have only a second to react. These men were trained to a fault.

  I couldn’t breathe for fear of making a sound. Spit flooded in my mouth, fight or flight response trying to kick in and make me do something. I remembered, with a seizing horror, that I hadn’t erased Taryn’s messages on my phone, nor the call from last night.

  No doubt they’d search my corpse and find my cell, and then it would only be a matter of time before they found her.

  And then something miraculous happened. Something brushed my leg in the thicket of bushes and I kicked out.

  That asshole possum.

  With my boot up its ass, it shot out of the bushes and right past the merc, who jumped and yelped hysterically. At that exact moment, Kieran ran past him and out across the fields in a bandy-legged sprint.

  It was so absurd, and I was so relieved, I almost laughed out loud.

  “It was a fucking possum,” the guy yelled back inside. “Goddamn wildlife.”

  “Yeah, goddamn that wildlife, living out here in the wild,” someone inside drawled.

  “That fucking druggie’s run off, too!”

  Someone else piped up. “I told you the product was good. The kid probably thinks he’s a gazelle or something.”

  The merc was right next to me now, his voice so loud. “Should I chase him down?”

  “Leave him,” Monroe called outside. “He’ll come around again when he’s dry.”

  The merc went back inside, shutting the door, and I could finally move away, hurrying back up to the top of the hill to man the rifle.

  I was trembling all over from the near miss, but I checked on Kieran with my sights, still running away, and it made me chuckle.

  I knew, now, that I could go back to my family with my conscious on the mend. When Taryn called me a good man, I could start to believe it.

  The deal went off without a hitch after that. Thornes’ people got back in their trucks and filed out of the loading bay, one by one. I trailed them up the road, well into the distance, and focused back on Monroe and his guys as they got to packing the drugs into their own trucks.

  There was just so damn much of it. When the police inevitably came to check out this location, it would be pretty obvious this was some kind of deal gone awry.

  I’d have to find Kieran after this and calm him down, explain he had to keep his mouth shut. It’d be the last loose end to tie up before I went home to my family.

  As I put my finger on the C4 trigger, I thought of them.

  That little girl who’d been without her daddy for so long. Taryn who’d missed me and loved me and worked so hard to forgive me. Anna who just wanted her big brother back. And even Ethan, my brother-in-law, whose life I had risked my own to save.

  I saw them, one by one, in my head. I held them there, letting the knowledge of their safety penetrate my heart.

  Through my binoculars, I took one last look at that scumbag Monroe.

  And then I flipped the switch.

  The sound was low and deep, an earth-shaking rumble that cut right into my chest and stole my breath away.

  The enormity of it seemed to affect time, and the walls of the building seemed to come apart in slow motion, breaking and tumbling, the little glass still left over from the old days flying outwards in twinkling shards like raindrops.

  The roof collapsed. The doorways caved. The fuel drums went up, the fire rising and rising and rising. Smoke piled up in huge roiling clouds and I could smell it already. By morning, they’d smell it for miles.

  Thornes’ guys would see this. Would they turn around and drive back? It wouldn’t matter; they were twenty minutes away by now and I’d be gone by the time they got close.

  I just needed to make sure everyone was dead. I couldn’t see how anyone could survive the carnage I’d created, but I still scoped out every inch of what was left of the building.

  Bodies stuck out from under the rubble. I saw blood on the bricks. I felt the weight of taking so much life in one go, but it was nothing compared to what I would have lost if I hadn’t.

  It was done. I had to get the hell out of here.

  Adrenaline spiked through me. I fumbled as I packed up my shit, swinging the duffle over my shoulder and breaking into a run down the hill. I hit the road, figuring I’d have a solid fifteen minutes at least before the trucks came back—if they even were—and hurried along, heading for my rental.

  I’d fucking done it!

  I couldn’t believe it was over, that I was free. I wanted nothing more than to call Taryn right now and whoop and holler down the phone at her, hear her bright voice tell me how happy she was.

  Suddenly, amongst the after-shocks of the explosion ringing in my ears, I swore I heard a noise on the road.

  I was about to turn when a bullet whooshed right past my face.

  “Fuck!”

  I hit the ground, flat, my knees scraping raw on the asphalt through my jeans.

  “Piece of shit,” a voice—Monroe’s voice came from behind me. “You fucking asshole.”

  Faster than I could even begin to react, another bullet went right through my shoulder. In and out, through the back and exploding into the road under me—a clean shot. Agony screamed through my bones and I threw myself over into a roll, jarring the fresh wound, as another bullet smashed right into the place I’d just been lying.

  I whipped out my own gun, sprawled half on my back with it pointed right into Monroe’s face.

  “Mason Baldwin,” he sneered, blood and ash streaking him, his fine suit ripped. He was favoring his right leg—so he’d been injured in the blast, but he’d still caught up to me.

  I gasped for breath, gritting my teeth around the pain. “This wasn’t personal, Monroe.”

  “Then what the fuck was it?”

  I racked my brain, trying to push out the searing sting of my shoulder to better concentrate. The initial intensity of it was fading, but in its wake was a horrible bone-deep ache that stole my breath away.

  “All money,” I lied.

  “Who put you up to this!?” Monroe screamed, sounding deranged. He seemed wild, and as much as I hated him, I could hardly blame him.

  “You know I’m no snitch.”

  Suddenly, a look of realization came over his face. “Ethan Foster. I heard he was banging your sister. And I heard you took the job.”

  “No—”

  Monroe took several steps forward. Neither of us were, realistically, going to shoot, not at the risk of getting shot ourselves, but he was a severe threat nonetheless and the closer he got, the more likely I’d end up getting my ass beat.

  He was bigger than me, broader and taller. He had excess fat and plenty of muscle mass and I had a fucking bullet hole in my shoulder.

  As I calculated the best way to get out of this, I felt my phone buzz, and in the silence, of course it was fucking audible.

  I hadn’t silenced it—I was such a fucking idiot!

  In the split-second of panic, Monroe kicked
my gun out of my hand. But, even injured, I was quick, and I threw myself into him, knocking him off his feet and sending us rolling into a scuffle on the ground.

  Punches and kicks flew. I headbutted Monroe hard right between the eyes and he came back with a right hook to my jaw that left me seeing stars. I tore a chunk out of his face with my fingernails, aiming for the eyes and falling short, and he slammed a fist into my gunshot wound, making me seize and scream.

  I kneed him hard in the back but I was weak from my shoulder, my whole arm going dead.

  Monroe took his advantage and suddenly my whole vision was blacked out, my head slammed off the asphalt.

  I heard him moving. I was floating in darkness, senses askew. I saw a shadowy shape: Taryn, Daisy, Anna, all three of them now. I waved my arm, trying to send them away, tell them they were going to die, I was going to die—

  “Who the fuck is Taryn, then?” Monroe asked, and I remembered him; that son of a bitch who’d just slammed my head into the floor.

  Unconsciousness pulled at me with tempting fingers and I fought it. I knew I had to, for them.

  When my vision returned, the bastard was knelt beside me, my phone in his hand. I realized what had happened. He’d found the texts.

  I could hardly make my limbs move, sluggishly reaching out while he easily slapped me away.

  “Home, eh?” Monroe went on, a sick glee on his gnarled features. I felt rage, blind and zealous, growing in me. Impotent, too, because I couldn’t move for shit.

  He stood, phone in hand, and started back up the road.

  He was heading for the Jeep, I realized, and made a renewed effort to pull myself together, straining until I was sweating to roll onto all fours. My head screamed. My shoulder ached something fierce. I took several gulps of air, trying to stand and stumbling.

  In the distance, I heard the rumble of an engine, and then I was bathed in twin headlights, the Jeep crawling by with Monroe hollering out the open window.

  “Killing you won’t make you suffer, Baldwin, but now I know how to make you pay!”

  The car sped away, tires screeching and kicking up dust in my face.

  Fuck.

  For a second, I was beyond sense. Frozen, half-knelt in the middle of the road, I stared after Monroe, crippled with grief and failure.