The Hitmans’s Obsession: An Age-Gap Romance

by Cole, Jagger

  “What are we?” I whisper

  “We’re…”

  “Just be honest with me, please.” I look up into his eyes. Worry fills mine. “Was last night just for fun? Am I going to be a big secret?”

  Vincent’s face grows dark. “No,” he growls gently “Christ no, Bellamy. You’re not a secret.”

  “Are you ashamed of—”

  “No,” he snarls intensely. He looks deep into my eyes. “Bellamy, I love—”

  I hear a popping sound, and breaking glass. My eyes dart to the patio doors. One of the panes is broken and on the tile floor.

  “What the hell?” I frown. “Vincent what—” I turn and gasp loudly in horror. Blood trickles from his arm.

  “Vincent!!” I scream.

  His eyes dart around wildly. He clutches his bleeding arm and red shirt sleeve. “Bellamy…” he groans. His knees give out, and he slips to the ground in front of me.

  14

  Vincent

  Nine months ago:

  “Jesus Christ, you’re like a bad penny, aren’t you?”

  “Fuck you, Vincent!”

  I hate this game. I hate it. Kelly calls, and I entertain listening to her because she’s upset with her life. She takes it as something more than just not hanging up on her. Then she whines about getting back together, even though it’s been so long. Even though I’ve made it perfectly clear I want nothing to do with her.

  We dated years ago, and it was okay. Not awful, but barely good. Then she cheated on me with pretty much any dude with a dick, so I ended it. Since then, she’s done everything from breaking into my apartment to showing up on first dates and threatening the girl.

  She’s insane, and an enormous pain in my ass. Tonight, she was waiting on my front steps when I get home from a job.

  “Go away, Kelly. I’m not in the fucking mood tonight,” I growl.

  “To talk?”

  “To do anything. Leave.”

  “So what if we don’t talk and…” she winks. “You know.”

  “I do know, which is why I’m saying no as clear as I can,” I snarl.

  She glares at me. “I don’t get it, Vince.”

  I sigh. My temper and stress rise. “Get what?” I snap.

  “What your bone to pick with me is.”

  I stare at her. “Kelly you slept with like ten dudes while we were together.”

  “We had an open relationship!”

  I laugh, loudly.

  “Is that funny?”

  “Sure,” I shrug. “I don’t care.”

  “You’re still mad at me, Vincent?”

  I breathe and let my mind cool. “No,” I answer flatly. “Honestly I’m not. I just don’t give a shit. And I have zero shits to give to include you in my life. So I don’t know why it is you keep showing up here.”

  She ponders that for a second and then smiles. “Well, what can I say. Good dick is hard to find.”

  “You’d know.”

  She glares at me. “Oh, why not!? It’s just some fun, Vincent.”

  “Because I said no, that’s why,” I grunt.

  “There another girl?”

  “No,” I answer honestly. My phone chimes.

  Kelly sneers at me. “Is that her? Is that your whore?”

  I roll my eyes and look at the text I’ve just received. I grin; it’s from Bellamy. “Hey!” It says. I open it, and a big gif pops up of Dwight from The Office TV show. He’s looking bland next to a plain sign that says, “it is your birthday.” It’s one of Bellamy’s favorite shows, and I do remember this episode. I chuckle. But then it hits me.

  Motherfucker. Did I forget my birthday again?

  “Is that her?!” Kelly shrieks.

  “Kelly…”

  Bellamy sends another text that just says, “Happy birthday!” with a cute heart emoji. Kelly rips the phone from my hands.

  “What the fuck, Kelly?!”

  She stares at the phone. “Her?!” she hisses.

  “What?”

  “Her?!” She shrieks. “Are you fucking serious, Vincent?!”

  I frown until I get what she means. I start to laugh.

  “How is that funny?!”

  “Because you’re absurd. Kelly, it’s Bellamy.”

  “How old is she, Vince?!”

  My face hardens. My eyes narrow at her. “Eighteen, but you’re reading this way wrong, Kelly.”

  “You fucking pig.”

  I roll my eyes. My “nice” tank is all tapped dry when it comes to Kelly. “Get the fuck off my stairs, Kelly.”

  “Vince, I came here to—”

  “It’s my birthday. Did you know that?”

  She blinks. Then she frowns. “Yes.”

  I laugh at how bad a liar she is. “Stay out of my life, Kelly.”

  “So you can fuck your eighteen year old slut?”

  I snarl and whirl on her savagely. Kelly gasps and backs away.

  “Do not speak about her like that, you fucking cunt,” I hiss. “Not ever. And don’t you ever come back here.”

  Present:

  I grab Bellamy and yank her to the ground. I’m wincing in pain, and blood flows down my arm. But I know it’s not a bad hit.

  Bellamy screams when bullets pepper the fridge above us. I glance around the kitchen counter island and narrow my eyes. The man with the rifle is crouched by the hedges near the pool. Behind him, four more men start to slink towards the house with guns. Shit.

  “We need to move!” I hiss. I drag her after me through the kitchen. I shove her into the living just as more bullets smash through the windows. I snarl and kick open the door to the office, with windows facing another direction. I shove her inside.

  “Stay there!”

  I slam the door and reach for my gun. The kitchen door slams in, and two of the men come running into the living room. They get capped instantly, dropping face down on the hardwood. A third catches me almost by surprise. But his shot is wild, and mine isn’t.

  The fourth gets a few squeezed off into the wall right next to me. But I drop his knees, and then put two in his head. I grunt when the hit comes from behind. I whirl, and I recognize the sniper who was crouched by the pool.

  I frown. I also recognize him from life, too. But I don’t have time to think. He lunges, and I fall back. He tackles me into the kitchen, and I roll us over. The motherfucker punches me in the arm I just got shot in. I hiss in pain, and my hands go for his neck.

  “Fucker!”

  Another guy gets me from behind. His arm wraps around my neck, and I know my time is running out. I have to even the odds. I slam the guy under me into the tile floor, dazing him. Then I reach back and grab the guy behind me. I smash him across the counter into the range stove. He tries to get up, but I slam his face into the metal and then grab a kitchen knife. He gets up and reaches for a gun. But I sink the blade into his neck before he can.

  I whirl. The man I dazed is reaching for his gun. I reach back and grab the one from the guy I just stabbed. I raise it and empty the clip into the asshole in front of me. My pulse is racing, but I’m calm. This is what I do.

  But then Bellamy screams from the office. My heart freezes. I lurch to my feet. I run through the living room and smash in the door to the office. There’s a man on top of her, his hands around her neck. He’s growling, and she’s choking as she tries to scream.

  I grab him up savagely. I realize his hands are on her damn locket, not her neck. But he drops it when I shove him away. He whirls, and I blink in shock.

  “Nico?!” I hiss.

  Micheal’s top guy slides a knife from his belt. He glares at me warily. “Nothing personal, Vincent,” he spits.

  He charges me, but I’m faster. My senses are better tuned. My reflexes are sharper. I was always faster than him. I dodge, grab his wrist, and twist. The knife flips, and he loses his grip. I twist it and push hard. Nico gasps as the blade sinks into his stomach.

  “Nothing personal,” I growl. He groans and drops to his knees. Then h
e drops face down.

  I whirl and rush to Bellamy. She’s shaking and gasping when I wrap her in my arms.

  “That’s… that’s Nico!” she chokes.

  “I know, baby,” I say softly. I hold her tight, stroking her hair.

  “That’s Nico!”

  She’s in shock.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Vincent, that’s Nico!”

  “Bellamy, listen to me…”

  “I’ve known him since I was five!”

  “Bellamy!” I roar. My loud voice breaks her out of the trance. She turns to look at me.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she whimpers.

  “We need to go, now.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere,” I mutter. I glance at the locket her dad gave her on the ground and pick it up. I frown and look at it more closely. I heft it in my hand. It’s heavier and bulkier than it should be. I groan suddenly.

  Oh fuck. I don’t want to believe it. But I hate that I’m possibly right.

  “Vincent?”

  “We’re getting away from here,” I growl. I help her up. She stumbles, and I scoop her into my arms. I pull her face into my chest, covering her eyes. She doesn’t need to see the bodies I’m stepping over when we leave.

  I carry her through the house. I grab two dish towels from the kitchen then carry her outside, and to the car. I buckle her up, get behind the wheel. I tie the towels around my arm to slow the bleeding. Then I turn on the engine, and we roar away.

  15

  Bellamy

  I’m numb as we drive. The day passes away into afternoon, but I lose track. At some point we pull off the highway to stop at a truck stop. But I’m still numb. I watch Vincent walk over to an old model pickup truck with a logo for a farm on the side. He’s braces his elbow, as if to break the window. Then he frowns and reach for his wallet instead.

  He walks back to the car. “Wait here,” he growls.

  He goes into diner. I watch him glance around then walk towards an old man sitting alone. The man is wearing overalls and a hat with the same logo as the truck. Vincent says something and slaps money on the guy’s table. The man jumps up, but Vincent just crosses his arms. He says one more word, sternly. The man looks at the money and nods. He sits, and hands Vincent some keys.

  Vincent comes back and opens passenger side door. “This way,” he says gently. He helps me out. He takes my phone and his and puts them in the trunk of the Bugatti.

  I frown. “What are you doing?”

  Vincent ushers me to the pickup and helps me in. “Buckle up,” he grunts.

  “What was all that?”

  “A car sale.” He gets behind the wheel and starts the truck up.

  “Vincent, what are we doing?”

  “The Bugatti is more than a little conspicuous. And probably tracked.”

  I tremble. “Tracked? By who?”

  “So I bought that man’s truck and paid him more to drive the Bugatti as far down the highway as he can before he runs out of gas. Or before someone asked him about it.”

  “Vincent, who would be tracking the—”

  “They might take it back, but he’ll have a fun ride. And I’ve paid him a small fortune.”

  “Vincent!!” I yell.

  He turns to me with a cold look.

  “Who would track the car?” I whisper.

  He grinds his jaw and takes a breath. “Your father, Bellamy,” he says thickly. “Your father would.”

  I don’t ask because I don’t want to know what that means. So we drive in more silence. The day fades away, and it grows darker. Finally, we pull over to a motel as the sun is setting. The place looks dingy, but not sketchy.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says quietly. Vincent goes inside and puts cash down on the counter. The front desk guy gives him a key and he steps back out. “This way.”

  We walk down to a door and step into the room. Vincent locks the door and closes the blinds.

  “I—I’m going to shower…” I mumble.

  He nods. Then he frowns in concern. “Bellamy, are you—”

  “I just need to shower.”

  There’s blood on me. I’ve never had this much blood on me. It’s Nico’s I think. And Vincent’s too. I step into the bathroom and shut the door. The water runs hot, and I step under the spray. It doesn’t hit me until after that I’m still wearing clothes. Even then, I don’t step back out.

  I sink to the floor, and I start to cry. The door opens, and Vincent steps in.

  “Baby,” he says softly. I start to cry harder. “Come here, baby,” he says gently. He lifts me out and strips me. It’s not a sexy strip, it’s like he’s taking care of me. He wraps me in a big towel and carries me out of the bathroom and onto the bed. He cradles me in his arms as I sob.

  “Did my dad…” I frown. “Did he send Nico and those guys?”

  Vincent is silent.

  “Vincent?”

  “I don’t know,” he growls.

  “Yes, you do.” He looks at me. “Please, Vincent.”

  He nods. “I think so.”

  “He… he was trying to kill me?”

  Vincent hugs me tight. “He was also trying to take this.” He reaches for my neck and lifts the locket.

  “Why?”

  Vincent looks at it. Then he thumbs it. He pushes on the back, and a piece of it slides away. I gasp.

  “You broke it!”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  He turns it and shows me the little opening. I stare at it. “Is that a… what is that?”

  “A thumb drive. A disguised one.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your dad is fond of hidden ones that contain important stuff.”

  I curl up and hug him tightly. Vincent winces, and I gasp.

  “Oh God, Vincent!” I gasp. “Shit, your arm!”

  “It’s fine,” he grunts.

  “No, it’s not. You’re bleeding!” I lift his arm gently and look at the blood through the soaked towels. I pull them back and wince. “Vincent, you need a doctor.”

  He smirks. “Well that’s not happening right now. I could sew it myself. I’ve done it before.

  “You’d need both hands.”

  He frowns.

  “I can do it.”

  Vincent’s eyes snap to mine. “No, Bellamy.”

  “I can do this,” I say softly. “Did the front desk sell toiletries and stuff?”

  He frowns. “Maybe?”

  “Stay here.”

  “No,” he grunts. “No damn way.”

  “You’re bleeding all over the place. Stay here.”

  He frowns, but he knows I’m right. Eventually, he nods tightly. The front desk does have toiletries, including a sewing kit and a small first aid kit. The clerk looks perplexed by, but is silent about my wet clothes from the shower. I end up also buying an overpriced and oversized t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that say “Motor Lodge” on them. I thank the man and go back to the room. Vincent smiles when I step in. I smile back and realize it’s the first time I’ve done it all day.

  “Check the mini fridge for alcohol. We need to—”

  “Sterilize.” I smirk at him. “I’m not an idiot.”

  He grins. “I know damn well you aren’t.”

  I open the little fridge and look in. “Pick your poison. Vodka or whiskey?”

  “Both.”

  I nod and go over to the bed. I pour the vodka in one of the motel cups. I dip the needle and thread from the sewing kit into it.

  “Rub some on your hands too. The rest you can pour over the wound” he grunts. “It’s a graze wound. So no bullet to fish out or anything like that.”

  I nod. I try and prepare myself for what I’m about to do. “And the whiskey?”

  Vincent grins. “That’s for me.”

  I smile and twist off the cap. He swallows it back and hisses. “Okay,” he nods. “Let’s do this.”

  I nod and lean in to start. I push the needle through a
nd glance up at his face. But Vincent doesn’t even budge. He doesn’t flinch once the whole time. I sew up the wound one stitch at a time, until it’s tight and closed. I glance at my handiwork when I’m done.

  “Not bad,” he grins.

  “I think you’re going to have a weird looking scar.”

  “Yeah, but from you,” he grins. “I like that.”

  I take some bandages out of the first aid kit. I gently cover the stitching and tape it tight. When I’m done, Vincent pulls me into his arms. My heart soars when he does.

  “What now?”

  He frowns. “We stay here. Tomorrow, we’ll need to figure it out though. They might have gotten to the Bugatti by now. “

  They. I remind myself that we’re talking about my own father. The though makes me cold.

  “But even if they did, the farmer doesn’t know where we went with his truck. We bought ourselves some time,” Vincent says.

  “How long?”

  “We’ll keep moving.”

  I nod. I frown and reach for the locket again. “What’s on this?”

  Vincent shakes his head. “No idea. But…”

  “But he wants it bad enough to send people to kill for it.”

  Vincent scowls.

  “Even if that means me,” I say quietly.

  “Bellamy…”

  “It’s fine,” I say quickly. It’s not, obviously. But I can’t think about it right now. I think Vincent understands that. He doesn’t push the issue.

  “Vincent?” I say softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Before, with your phone call…”

  He growls. “Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.”

  I shake my head. “No, that wasn’t any of my business.”

  He stares at me. “Of course it was.”

  “No, that was your private life. And before…”

  “You?”

  I blush. “Yeah. If it was reversed, I know you’d have—”

  He laughs. “Bellamy, if it was reversed, I’d be just as pissed as you.”

  I grin. “Well, so there.” He chuckles and pulls me closer. “So I guess that means you like me.”