Hitman (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

by C. Hallman

  “Yes, I kill for them, but that’s what I like to do. I enjoy killing other men, and I revel in the power it gives me. There is nothing that makes you feel more alive than snuffing the life out of someone else.”

  My eyes go wide, and blood freezes in my veins as I let his words sink in. He talks about taking a life as if it's a hobby of his, like another human soul doesn’t matter to him the slightest.

  “Don’t worry, Monroe. I already told you, I won’t kill you, but I can see your thoughts written all over your face. You don’t have to fear me. The only people who have to worry are the people who try taking you away from me.”

  “I can’t help but to be scared,” I admit.

  “I guess I’ll have to try harder to prove it to you then.”

  Forcing a smile, I give him a slight nod. I wish my fear away as well, but I can’t imagine a world where I wouldn't be terrified of a killer who enjoys death.

  9

  Alaric

  I'm enjoying having my little captive around. It’s sure as hell managed to keep my cock hard every time I smell her scent in the hallway or catch a glimpse of her blond hair and pretty face. Her body is a distraction I didn't know I wanted, and I find myself readjusting my pants around her to hide my damn boner.

  I can tell she still doesn't trust me, though. It's written all over her gorgeous face. And I fucking hate that somebody in her life must've let her down so badly that she still can't bring herself to trust.

  I'm in my own bedroom tonight, tossing and turning when the urge to check in on her forces me to push my feet out from the duvet. I only have on a pair of pajama bottoms, my torso exposed, as I pad to her bedroom down the hall.

  I open the door with a soft click, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Walking up to the bed, I remember coming on her pretty little face that time in her apartment, and the same urge makes me push down the waistband of my pants and pull out my already throbbing cock.

  But then I notice something in her expression that worries me. Her bottom lip is trembling, and she keeps shivering in the bed even though it's warm inside. Knitting my brows together, I cover my cock again and gently tuck away a curl from her forehead.

  Her skin is slick with sweat, and it's obvious she's having a nightmare. I don't know shit about nightmares, but the way she's shaking and trembling makes me want to wake her up and tell her everything's okay.

  I crawl into the bed and pull her trembling body against mine.

  "Shh, it's okay," I mutter into her mass of hair, telling myself my vulnerability in this case doesn't matter. She's not even awake yet. She keeps shaking, her teeth chattering as I pull her on top of me. Finally, her eyes slowly open, and she mutters something I don't catch until she repeats it.

  "Please, not again. Not again.”

  "It's okay." I pull more messy strands of hair off her face. "I'm here. You're safe. You were just having a bad dream."

  "A...Alaric?" She rubs her eyes before settling against me. "What are you doing here?"

  "I heard you crying out in your sleep."

  "Liar." She grins at me, and I can't help but return the smile. "You were watching me sleep again, weren't you? Were you going to come on me again?"

  "I guess you'll never know." I pull her against mine, nuzzling her hair. But then I remember who I'm supposed to be. A ruthless fucking killer. I shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be getting attached. I pull back, and she thankfully doesn't seem to notice. "But you were having a nightmare, Monroe. A bad one."

  "I know," she mutters, pulling away from me. I fight every instinct in me not to order her to stay. "It happens a lot."

  "The same dream?" She nods. "About what?"

  I can tell Monroe doesn't want to tell me the answer, but it's right on the tip of her tongue.

  "Come on." I pull her back and she doesn’t fight me, though her body is rigid with fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, Monroe. Just tell me. I'm here to help."

  ”I..." She bites her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. "I have nightmares about... something from my past."

  Even though every word is hard to get out of her, I'm determined to find out the truth. I nod, saying, "I understand. A certain event from your past?"

  "Yes."

  "Who did it involve?"

  She hesitates, nervously tugging on a strand of blond hair before finally muttering, "My stepfather."

  "What happened?" She shakes her head, and now it seems like she's unable to get the words out. But I'm not going to give up that easily. One way or another, I'll find out the truth. "Tell me, Monroe. Please. I want to know."

  "When I misbehaved..." Her voice cracks, but she clears her throat and forces herself to keep going. "He used to lock me in a closet when I was a kid."

  "What the fuck?" My brows furrow, and my hands tighten into fists. Already, the need to beat the shit out of this prick is making me fucking pissed off. "Who does that? Why?"

  She shrugs. "I guess he just thought it would make me more obedient."

  "You were a kid,” I growl. "How old were you?"

  Another noncommittal shrug, and her eyes refusing to meet mine. But I'm not going to back town now, I'm determined to find out the truth.

  "Tell me, Monroe."

  "What's the point?" She manages a nervous smile. "All it will do is piss you off."

  "Just say it."

  "I don't know..." My determined glare makes her sigh before finally answering in a low whisper. "I don't know. Three or four, when it started."

  "Are you fucking kidding me, Monroe?" I'm so pissed off I want to fucking kill someone right now. But since her stepfather isn't nearby, I settle for getting up and pacing the room, fighting the urge to smack my fist against the wall.

  "Don't be upset," she mutters. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. Please. Don't be mad at me."

  "I'm not fucking mad at you, Monroe." I run my hands through my hair, fighting my instincts to hunt down the bastard and kill him right the fuck now. "I'm mad at the prick who did this to you, and I’m mad I didn't find out sooner."

  "There's nothing to be done now," she mutters. "It doesn't matter. And I'm over it."

  I struggle with my reply, struggle showing her how I really feel. On the one hand, I know full well showing her my emotions will make me seem vulnerable and fucking weak, which I despise. But the urge to kill, to hurt, to maim, is making me fucking wild, and I don't know how to hold back for much longer.

  "You shouldn’t be over it," I balk at Monroe. "You should be seeking revenge for what the prick did to you. He should be in prison.”

  She shrugs. "It's better to let go than to dwell on the bad things others did to you."

  I don't agree at all, but I can tell she still feels vulnerable and shaky, and my reaction to her confession is only making her close up more. So I rethink my anger, and get back in the bed beside her, once again pulling her against me and kissing the top of her head. "Go to sleep."

  "What, with you here?" She narrows her eyes at me uncertainly. "Are you going to stay here?"

  "Yes."

  "But you... we... we don't do this."

  "Tonight, we do." There's a determination in my voice that leaves no room for questions. The small smile playing on Monroe's face doesn't escape me as I pull her to me, and her body nestles into mine. She likes this. She feels safe.

  "Thank you."

  She says the words so softly I nearly miss them, but they register a second later. "What for?"

  "For taking care of me," she mutters. "For giving me a job, taking care of me... It means a lot. I didn't know how messed up my life was, or maybe I was just living in denial. But this world you’ve introduced me to... It's so different. So new. I won't want to leave."

  I'm tempted to tell her she shouldn't because I'm already getting attached and can't bear the thought of being without her. But instead, I say, "Good. Because you're not fucking allowed. You're a liability now, Monroe. I'm forced to keep you."

  She turns around in my arms, ob
viously hurt by my words. I curse inwardly, hating myself for being such a prick. But it's how I'm wired, and it'll take longer than a few days to make me into something else. Already though, she's changing me into someone with fucking feelings, and I don't know if I like it. Feelings make you weak. And I don't do weak.

  "Who's mad at whom now?" I mutter against her hair. "Come on, sugar. Look at me."

  She shakes her head, but I've had enough. I put her on her back, climbing on top of her and holding her arms above her head. Her eyes glitter with the pain of my words as they meet mine, and I feel something I don't recognize tugging at my heart. Fuck. This girl will be the death of me.

  "You don't have to act like keeping me is such a pain in the ass," she mutters, making me laugh out loud. She gives me an incredulous look. "What? You're acting like I'm a problem. Something you could be without."

  I don't want to tell her the truth—that I want her by my side. That weakness I'm so afraid of is rearing its ugly head yet again, but I'm not going to let it win this time. "Stop sulking."

  "I'm not sulking," she protests. "I’m just—"

  But she doesn't get to finish her sentence. My lips cover hers, and I kiss her like I fucking own her, which I do. Our bodies mold together, crashing like waves and I claim her with every lick, every nip, every second our lips stay pressed together. I can tell Monroe wants to resist, but her body won't let her. She wants this, craves it. And I'm not going to stop. No matter how much she denies wanting me, the truth is written all over her pretty little face.

  "You're telling me you don't want me sleeping next to you?" I ask her, trailing my tongue between her exposed tits. "You don't want my lips, my tongue, my fingers on you?"

  "N-No." She struggles uselessly against me, but I'm not letting go. Holding her down firmly, I continue exploring her body. "Stop it, Alaric."

  "I love the way you way my name," I grunt. "Fucking love it. Say it again."

  "No." She struggles again, but this time, it's without any real effort. I smirk, knowing full well she doesn't really want to get away.”

  "Just stop."

  "Stop?"

  "Stop." She nods, but there's uncertainty in her eyes.

  "Okay." I pull my arms away, watching her rub her wrists where I held on to them. "I'll leave if you want me to."

  I make a move to pull back when she suddenly latches onto me. Her arms go around my neck, and she wraps her legs around my waist, making me unable to move. With a groan, I collapse back into the bed beside her, but she still doesn't move, clinging on to me for dear life. And the words she whispers into my ear fucking wreck me.

  "Don't leave me," she whispers. "Everyone leaves me. Don't be like them."

  I'm too deep in my thoughts to muster up a reply, so I just nod and hold her against my chest. In seconds, her breathing slows as she calms herself. It only takes a few minutes of stroking her hair and back for Monroe to fall asleep. This time, her breaths are slow and steady, and there's a smile on her face as she drifts to sleep.

  No nightmares.

  Not when I'm around, at least.

  If only Monroe knew I'm what nightmares are fucking made of.

  But I know it would scare her off. And I'm already getting attached. I can't risk losing her now, not when things are just starting to get good for us.

  Holding her against me, I stroke her hair and don't sleep a wink. My thoughts are too full of the situation I got us in, too full of Monroe. She's got my head spinning, and I don't know if I like it or not.

  But I don't have a choice, not anymore. I'm as far gone as she is, and only time will tell whether that's a good thing... or the beginning of the end.

  10

  Monroe

  I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. I should know by now not to let anyone in, not to trust anyone. Every time I let someone close, they leave me. Every time I trust, I get disappointed. I should be used to it, and maybe I am, but it still hurts. The pain stays the same no matter how many people turn their backs on me.

  Last night, I poured my heart out to Alaric. I told him my darkest secrets, which I haven’t told anyone in a long time. I thought I felt something between us, some sort of connection. He held me when I needed comfort, and I was stupid enough to let him.

  I let him hold me in his arms, cuddled into him like we are some kind of couple. I let him whisper sweet nothings in my ear while I cried myself to sleep, thinking this morning will be better. Things are going to change now.

  I’m so naïve. Naïve and stupid.

  That’s all I can think of since I woke up alone and cuffed to the bed. Betrayal settles deep into my bones, and I keep telling myself I need to hold on to this. I need to remember this, no matter how sweet he is at times. It’s all lies, and he doesn’t care about me.

  I am his prisoner, his plaything, something he bought and put away when he doesn’t need it at the moment. And when he’s done playing, he’s going to get rid of me. I have to get away before that happens because for Alaric, getting rid of means he’s going to kill me.

  The house is quiet, and I know he’s not here because when I first woke up, I spent five minutes yelling his name. There’s no clock in this room, so I have no way of telling the time, but my bladder tells me I need to get up and go to the bathroom.

  I am so mad at him I entertain the thought of peeing in the bed out of spite, but I don’t know how he would react, and frankly, I would be too embarrassed.

  By the time I finally hear someone in the house, my bladder hurts from holding it for so long. I yell his name, and it doesn’t take him long to appear in the room.

  “Unless you want a yellow stain on your mattress, you need to hurry up and let me go to the bathroom.”

  “I didn’t wanna wake you up, but I went to the grocery store and got some food,” he explains but doesn’t give me an apology. Not that his apology would mean anything to me.

  He pulls the key from his pocket and quickly unlocks my handcuffs. I dash off the bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. Running to the toilet, I pull my panties down just in time to relieve myself.

  Afterward, I take my sweet time in the bathroom, washing my hands and face, brushing my teeth, and combing my hair. It’s a small act of defiance, but the thought of him waiting on me does make me feel a tiny bit better.

  When I run out of things to do, I slowly open the bathroom door, ready to give him my best angry face, only to find he is not in the room anymore. I look around, dumbfounded, and even stick my head into the closet, but he is nowhere to be found.

  Did he leave me here on my own… uncuffed?

  The excitement of that thought doesn’t even have time to build before I hear the sounds of dishes clinking together coming from the kitchen. So he didn’t leave. Still, this is the first time he let me out of sight without restraining me. This is my chance.

  I look around the room to find my clothes. Getting dressed quickly, I curse myself for wasting so much time in the bathroom. How long did he sit here and wait? When is he going to come and check on me? Maybe this is a bad idea.

  Before I can talk myself out of this, I tiptoe to the window and unlock the two latches. I push it up… or at least I try to. Using both hands, I shove the window up using all my strength, but it won’t budge. Confused, I scan the corners of the window and find a metal lock deadbolts to the edge. Fuck!

  Briefly, I entertain the thought of trying to break the window, but I don’t think I could, and even if I was able to, the loud sound would alert him before I could make it far. I need a better plan.

  Balling my hands into fists, I take a deep breath, forcing the adrenaline from my failed escape to stop pumping through my body so he won’t suspect anything.

  When I find myself calm enough, I take off my shoes and put them back exactly the way I found them. I make my way into the kitchen and find him in front of the stove. The butter sizzles as he cracks eggs into a large pan, filling the space with a savory breakfast smell.


  “I figured you would be hungry,” he tells me. “I got eggs and bacon from the store, pancake mix too. I didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

  “Yes, I’m hungry.” I try to keep my voice even. “Eggs are great. I’m not picky.” I’ve never had the luxury of being picky about food. When you grow up the way I did, either you eat what you have or you go hungry. Everything tastes good when you’re hungry enough. “Can I help you with anything? I feel weird just standing here and watching you do all the work.”

  “You can get another pan for the bacon. It’s in the cabinet under the kitchen island.”

  “Okay.” I step past him to get to the island behind him. Leaning down, I open the cabinet and look inside. There are multiple frying pans and pots inside. I grab a skillet that’s going to be great for bacon. I reach inside and wrap my fingers around the cast-iron handle.

  As soon as I pick it up and realize how heavy this thing is, an idea forms in my head. Peeking over my shoulder, I make sure he is still turned away from me.

  My eyes fall on his broad back, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he stirs the eggs. Gripping the handle tightly, I stand up straight and tiptoe behind him.

  My heart is racing furiously, the rapid beat of it knocking the air from my lungs. I lift the heavy cast-iron pan over my head, cringing at the thought of hurting him. I’ve never hurt anyone, but I know I have to do this. I have to. For me and for Grams.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I swing the pan as hard as I can, aiming for the back of his head. The loud thud on impact vibrates through me, making my stomach twist with guilt. Alaric groans, and I open my eyes just in time to see his large body hit the ground. His head bounces off the tile floor, making me shudder.

  Oh, my god! Blood trickles from the back of his head onto the floor, and suddenly, running away is the last thing on my mind. Did I kill him?

  For a moment, I simply stand there frozen in place, still holding the pan because I don’t know what else to do. More blood trickles from his wound, forming a small red puddle on the white floor.