Assassin's Baby (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Amber Branley

  Assassin’s Baby (Bad Boy Romance)

  Amber Branley

  Copyright, 2016, Amber Branley

  All Rights Reserved

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  ONE

  Miles Rockland wasn’t always bad. In fact, he used to be a pretty good kid. He’d been well known around the neighborhood, an upper class small cul-de-sac with big, Victorian styled homes. He delivered the mail, always held a part time job, and got good grades in school. Good was putting it a bit lightly.

  Miles’ grades were the highest in class. He graduated with a full ride scholarship to both NYU and UCLA, but he took neither. Instead, eighteen year old Miles jumped head first into a life of crime after a stint in the military. For what reason, no one knew. But by the age of twenty five he had a rap sheet so long it would make your stomach crawl.

  He was thirty years old. He hadn’t talked to his parents in ten years. After his days in the military, no one from his small Tennessee town ever heard from him again. On this day in particular, it was a sunny morning in mid-October. The sky was orange and the smog was minimal. Miles sniffed the air and could smell the scent of traffic growing. He could smell the scent of bagels down below, being prepared on the food cart.

  Miles was perched atop a downtown Los Angeles high rise. A rifle scope was pressed against his eye. His face was calm, and very still. He was resting on his knees, with the toes of his boots firmly beneath him. He’d been sitting there for three hours.

  The sun had risen an hour ago. Miles wasn’t tired at all, he was used to this. He felt like he’d only been there for five minutes. Boredom was part of the job, and if you couldn’t handle being bored then you couldn’t handle the duties. But Miles wasn’t bored. He was meditating. And when the subject suddenly came into the scope, Miles took a short breath and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet bore instantly through the subject’s head, and the body dropped to the floor.

  **

  Miles was on the Pacific Coast Highway, driving north. He rode in a four door truck, jacked up with a three inch lift and massive tires. It was jet black and freshly washed. He waxed it every week. He was heading to his house which sat perched atop a Cliffside in Point Dume, Malibu. In Los Angeles, being extremely wealthy is nothing unfamiliar, and all of Miles’ neighbors were equally as wealthy as he; Point Dume being an exclusive neighborhood.

  No one questioned his occupation, because he talked to no one. For all they knew, he worked in the film industry. The truth of the matter was that Miles was an assassin, and had been for years. He worked his way up the totem pole from the moment he got out of the army. The pay wasn’t wonderful in the beginning, but it had been enough to pay his bills in Hollywood. He’d moved up in rank over the years and was now an independent hitman. He worked for himself, and he’d built up an empire, along with a large fortune.

  His house was at the end of the street. He pulled his truck into the driveway and hit the switch on the remote clamped to the truck’s sun visor. The garage door opened and Miles pulled in.

  **

  He ate an early lunch. It was just ten o’clock and he was hungry. Breakfast had been early, before dawn – before he’d traveled downtown to make his kill. He had already been paid the upfront money. He’d received it a week prior. Miles worked on his own time, but he guaranteed the job to be done within eight days. In this case it took seven. He mapped things out carefully, because he refused to be caught. He’d never had any close calls, and never done anything hasty. Working as a hitman was risky business, and Miles had never been questioned by the police or FBI.

  He laundered his money through his one only friend. He had a lawyer he paid handsomely to help him cover his business up. He’d written a series of self-published novels that had managed to skyrocket to the top of the charts. To anyone looking to find out things about Miles Rockland, they’d merely find that he was a successful writer of thrillers. That would explain the money he had, and how he was able to afford a three bedroom house in Point Dume, Malibu.

  But Miles had much, much more money than the royalties he earned from his books. He kept it secret, stashed away. It was buried carefully beneath the cement flooring of his basement, and each time Miles needed a little extra cash he’d go through the rigorous process of breaking up the cement and getting the money out. Then he’d repeat the process of pouring the concrete and smoothing it, and then letting it dry.

  It was easy work, that of a hitman. At least, it was easy for Miles. He was good at his job. He didn’t need friends, or family. What he did need was a wife. Hitmen aren’t aliens. Hitmen are just like the rest of us. Miles was no different, and he ached for someone to love him… He had his share of women over the years – many of them perfect tens. Tan skin, smooth complexions. Blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, even red hair. Miles liked them all – but he had a certain type of woman he liked the most.

  Thick, luscious curves were something that got him hard as a rock. Miles liked curvy women, and he would seek them out quite often. It wasn’t hard for him to pick up women. He was good looking. But even if he wasn’t, it still would have been easy. Women would swoon in West Hollywood when he’d pull up to a bar for a quick drink in his flashy sports car. He’d step out and let the valet park his car, handing him a crisp hundred dollar bill before straightening the collar of his sports jacket.

  He reeked of money, power, success. If only the women swooning after him knew where he’d gained that fortune. They then might not be so eager to get in bed with him. Or would they? After all, being a bad boy was considered to be something quite sexy, and Miles was badder than them all. So getting women was no issue for him. It could be done within a minutes time, and he didn’t even have to open his mouth and speak to them.

  But Miles had had enough of that. He’d been living the playboy lifestyle for years and he was ready to settle down. But how? He was a hitman for Christ’s sake, and he couldn’t expect to meet a woman and tell her about that.

  But if he lied. If he lied then it would be possible. She doesn’t need to know exactly where he makes his money. He could tell her he’s an author and an investor. But Miles didn’t like lying, and he didn’t want a girl he loved to be lied to. He also didn’t want a girl who’d participate in concealing his business, because that would make her an accessory – plus, the idea of a girl who’d like him even after discovering what he did for a living somewhat disgusted him. He wanted a good girl, not a bad girl.

  So Miles stayed single for quite some time. Until one night when he stopped at a bar in Santa Monica, and he saw her inside – the woman of his dreams. The woman who could solve everything and help him turn his life around. The woman he wanted to marry upon first sight.

  TWO

  The bar was the typical sort of place one such as Miles would frequent. He didn’t drink often, and when he did he limited it to one or two. But tonight he was feeling edgy, and decided to sit at the bar and sling back three before heading home. It was a Saturday, and he’d just completed a job. The man he’d been after was someone he didn’t know – which wasn’t unusual. Miles rarely knew who the people were that he was assigned to kill.

  He liked it better that way. He was an alpha male, but he wasn’t psychotic. He still had his emotions and sensitivities. He researched them, but kept a distance. He learned nothing of their personal life. The only facts he stored in his head were those that would help him complete the mission. For instance, he learned that this man ran a law firm downtown and lived in Beverly Hills. He memorized the man’s address and layout of his house, as well as the lawn. He memorized
the times the man left for work and came home.

  That was all he needed to know, other than the fact that the man had a two hundred thousand dollar price tag on his head.

  Miles slung back his third shot and sat at the bar. He looked around briefly, scanning faces. He didn’t know anyone, but he never did. He kept people at a distance because he had to. No one looked interesting to him, until he laid eyes on her. And when he did, he knew it was over.

  She was standing there some twenty feet from him. Surrounded by four people, she looked like a gorgeous snowflake drifting from some deep realm in outer space. She was ethereal; goddess like. Her hair was soft and smooth and dark, and her complexion was ghostly pale and gorgeous. Her eyes were light blue and enormous, unusually sized compared to most. Her lips were full and colored a deep shade of red, and Miles knew he had to have her.

  It wasn’t hard for him, and he knew it wouldn’t be. His heart rate stayed the same as he stood up from the bar stool and straightened his jacket. He made sure of that. He headed over toward the woman, and then stood close and admired her without trying to hide it. And yet, he didn’t interrupt the conversation. Despite being a bad boy assassin, Miles still kept hold of his manners.

  The people talking to her sounded like distant beings. He paid attention to everything most of the time, but at this moment their voices just sounded like distant melodies. After a few minutes, they seemed to notice him. Each of them turned their heads, one by one. They peered at him with curious faces, none more curious than the woman he was waiting to meet.

  One of them said, “Can I help you?”

  He was a beefy man, bigger than Miles in width, but not height. Miles shook his head, “No, I’d just like to talk to this lovely lady,” he said.

  “This one?” The man pointed at the woman.

  “That’s the one,” Miles said.

  The man’s curious expression turned to a smirk in the matter of a split second. He rolled his eyes and licked his lips, pursing them cockily. He took a step forward until Miles could feel his hot breath beating against his neck. Then he said: “Why don’t you go try somewhere else, pal? She’s with me.”

  “No I’m not…” The woman blushed, “Jason, why… Why would you even say that? Don’t be rude, I’m not in any danger.” She stepped forward and held a hand out. Miles, ignoring the man before him, brushed past him and took her hand. He shook it firmly, but not too firm. Using just half of his strength would have shattered all the bones in her fingers. He smiled.

  “I’m Miles Rockland. I come here often and couldn’t help but notice you. You’re stunning, was all I wanted to say.”

  The woman’s blush turned an even deeper shade of red. She glanced nervously toward the floor and then her eyes shot back up at him. She chuckled, “Thank you, that’s very kind of you. I’m Alexandra,” she said.

  “Alexandra, that’s a gorgeous name. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Buddy…” The big man stepped between them. His breath reeked of alcohol and his eyes were glazed over. He pressed his barrel chest against Mile’s abdomen, and gave him a death stare, “I said the girl’s with me. Don’t you understand that? Are you hard of hearing, or even worse – stupid?” He laughed.

  He turned his head two inches to the right as he laughed – apparently proud of his own joke, finding himself hilarious and wanting to see the reaction of the other three – maybe they’d find it just as funny as he did. They didn’t. They stood there silently with awkward expressions on their faces. The situation was getting weird for everyone but Miles, who still felt calm as could be.

  He craned his neck slightly so that his lips were close to the man’s ear. Then he whispered, “I suggest you get out of my way.”

  “Is there going to be a problem?” The man bellowed angrily, and then tore off his coat, “Because if there is, I’ll fuck you up. You got it, son?”

  Miles gave another look at the woman and said, “I’m sorry for this,” and then he came up with a swift right hook to the man’s stomach. He grabbed him from behind and held him suspended on his feet for a moment so that he didn’t fall flat onto the floor. The man let out a guttural sounding groan of pure pain and then stood there in Miles’ muscular arms.

  “Walk it off,” Miles said, “Just walk it off.”

  Alexandra stood, wide-eyed, “I’m um… Wow, I don’t know what to say.”

  The truth was, she knew just what to say. But she didn’t want to spill the beans just yet. She’d seen Miles before, both here and at a club in West Hollywood where he’d been surrounded by busty blondes. She’d eyeballed him, asked about him, and finally found out some dirt on him. He was a bad boy with a bad past, a criminal record to prove it. One of the bouncers had told her that. However, it had been a year since she’d last seen him, and yet he hadn’t changed a bit. For a while, she thought he’d moved out of town – but here he was, standing before her with his hand stuck out.

  Is this really happening? She wondered.

  She took his hand and he led her to the bar, “I’m really sorry about that, I don’t like to fight too often, but… He kind of made me.” Miles laughed.

  “I know, but I should be the one who’s sorry. He’s a friend of a friend and he came out with us tonight. I guess he thought I was on a double date with him, or something?” She said curiously, “Regardless, I wasn’t, and he should have known that. Frankly, he grosses me out.”

  “I don’t blame you. He seemed like a sleaze-bag,” Miles laughed.

  “Thanks for the drink.”

  “What are you having?” He asked.

  “Hmm… Give me a whiskey, I guess,” she laughed.

  Miles ordered them a set of drinks and they sipped them as they stared into each other’s eyes. Miles was lost in hers. They were so blue, so perfect… Along with the rest of her. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen this girl before, but then again he wasn’t that much of a partier. He drank alone, worked alone, and lived alone.

  “I’ve seen you before,” Alexandra said suddenly, “Yeah, I knew it was you. It took me a second, but I could tell back there when you shook my hand. You were in West Hollywood at some club once, I don’t remember the name…” She trailed off.

  “I go there sometimes,” he said, “Haven’t been out a lot, lately. Working all the time.”

  “What do you do?”

  His eyes widened. He sipped his drink and nodded his head, smirking, “A little of this, little of that. In simple terms I’m an author, investor and a lender, you could say. I make my money by giving it away and then gaining interest on what people pay me back.”

  “I’m not good with numbers, or math,” Alexandra laughed again, and sipped her drink.

  “It’s all I’m good at. I’m not much of an artist, more of a practical numbers thinker, if that makes sense.”

  For a while they said nothing, just stood there hunched over the bar drinking their drinks and staring at each other. Occasionally one of them would laugh softly and they’d both look away and start cracking up. The chemistry was good, the laughs were good, and the drinks were good. After a while a good hour had passed, and Alexandra knew it was time to say goodbye – unless he asked her to come home with him, in which case she absolutely would.

  “Well, it looks like my friends have thinned out,” she pointed towards the crowd where her friends had been. All were gone save for one, who stood their staring awkwardly at her phone, obviously ready to leave, “I’m driving.”

  “Can you drive?”

  “This is only my first drink, believe it or not. So yes.”

  “Being a D.D… Lucky,” he said.

  “No tonight it’s not,” she said.

  “No?” He smirked.

  “I wish I didn’t have that responsibility… I wish I could stay here for a while longer, then, who knows…” She winked.

  “You’re feisty, aren’t you? And to think you’ve only had one of those things.” Miles pointed at the drink.

  “Oh man, this is no
thing. But anyway, I guess I better go.”

  “Before you do-” he said

  “I’ll give you this,” she slipped him a business card that read “Alexandra Smith. Attorney at Law”, which included her office address and home phone number.

  She grabbed a pen from her purse and flipped the card over. She scribbled a cell phone number on the back, “That’s a better way to reach me,” she beamed at him.

  She handed the card to Miles, who took and stared briefly. Then he slipped the card into his breast pocket and smiled at her, “It’s been nice talking to you. I’ll give you a call.”

  “Please do.”

  “Be safe out there. Are you sure you’re good to drive?”

  She rolled her eyes, “Oh, I’m more than good. I’m not a lightweight, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she laughed, and started off backwards toward her friend. She was still beaming at him as she waved goodbye.

  **

  THREE

  When Alexandra got home she put on some music and sat on the couch. It was late and yet she felt curiously awake – buzzed off excitement, even. She stood up, feeling restless, and skipped around her Hollywood apartment as she looked out at the bright neon lights of the city below her. She lived in an old shack of an apartment built into a Cliffside, and it had a miraculous view of the Los Angeles basin.

  She looked out at the lights, never flickering, and thought of Miles. She thought of his body, hidden beneath that perfectly fitting suit. She thought of the tattoos she’d seen above his cuffs when he’d reached for their drinks at the bar. She thought of how he’d left a hundred dollar bill for the bartender. She thought of his smooth, yet rasping voice, his alpha demeanor, and his handsome, chiseled face.

  She hadn’t felt this way in forever. What was going on?

  She stood up, took a breath, and smiled at nothing. She knew what the problem was. She knew what was eating her and wouldn’t quit. It was love. Alexandra was head over heels love struck by the bad boy.