by Frankie Love
Belonging to the Hitman
Men of Ruthless Corp.
Frankie Love
Contents
Belonging To The Hitman
1. Flynn
2. Fiona
3. Flynn
4. Fiona
5. Flynn
6. Fiona
7. Flynn
8. Fiona
9. Flynn
10. Fiona
11. Flynn
12. Fiona
Epilogue
About Frankie
Belonging To The Hitman
Men of Ruthless Corp.
By Frankie Love
* * *
Yes, I’m ruthless. I have to be. I kill for a living.
Since I began working for the man who’s like a father to me, I’ve been able to separate myself from my job.
Then I meet Fiona O’Grady.
She’s bright, beautiful, and takes my breath away.
Suddenly the gig is personal. Very f*cking personal.
This girl belongs to me, heart and soul, and the last thing I want to do is break her.
But someone has to die, and it sure as hell’s not gonna be me.
* * *
This June, meet 22 heroes who are downright dangerous. These alphas do nothing half-way. They may have blood on their hands, but they have love in their hearts. Some romances were written in the stars — but these hitmen must fight heaven and earth for the women they love.
1
Flynn
As I finish my deadlifts for the day, I grunt, hell, I growl, "Really?" Looking around this gym puts me in a foul mood.
It's supposed to be the place where I can come and clear my head, not the place where I get distracted.
It's not my job that's weighing me down, which is crazy considering what I do for a living.
It's the fact that everywhere I look in the workout room, I see another couple. Since when are gyms the hot place for a date? I don't get it. If I had a woman, I sure as hell wouldn't be bringing her here, in a pair of tight shorts and a sports bra, letting all the other men stare.
No way. If I had a woman, I'd take her somewhere safe and private, where we could be alone. Where I could be the one to give her all of my attention.
I reach for a towel as I head to the locker room, wondering when I got so bent out of shape about dating in general. It's been a long ass time since I've gone out with anyone. But I'm going to have to find another gym if this is the new trendy hookup spot.
Turning the shower on hot as it can go, I strip down. The water runs over my biceps, my six-pack. I clean myself up wishing I had a reason to smell nice and fresh. Truth is, I don't. The only thing I have on tap today is a meeting with my boss. After this I’m headed down to the Ruthless Corporation’s warehouse to have a little conversation with Rogue. That's not exactly a reason to get all dressed up.
I shake my head. Maybe I'm getting old. At twenty-nine, I'm tired of thinking about chasing pussy. What I want is a woman, a real woman, a woman who knows who she is and what she wants. I'm sure as hell not finding that here in Los Angeles. Every woman I come across seems to be more and more plastic, spray tanned with fillers in their lips. Nothing against getting work done. Hell, you got to do what you got to do.
But I want a woman who’s comfortable in her own skin, who would be just as happy getting hamburgers and fries and hanging out as she would be dressed up at a five-star event.
I check my phone as I walk down the sidewalk toward Ruthless Corporation. I've missed a few calls and texts from other hitmen who work in the corporation. Jordan says he's going to be in town in two days’ time, just finishing up in Munich. And Tommy says he'll be flying back from the Maldives tomorrow.
"Drinks?" he texts.
I reply with a Hell yeah. I love the guys I work with. Sure, our work is dirty, but besides taking a shower, I have no interest in being clean. Why would I? What matters to me is family. And, since I no longer have any by blood, I figure the men who work for Rogue at the Ruthless Corporation are as close to a brotherhood as I'm ever going to get. So yeah, if they want to meet up for drinks, I'll go. They want to catch a game, I'm in.
The men of Ruthless Corporation are my family now. We're thick as thieves, and our bonds go deeper than blood.
I punch in the passcode once I get to the warehouse and take an elevator up to Rogue's floor. When his secretary tells me he's been waiting for me, I nod, give her a smile. She's a sweet thing who has no idea who she's working for.
The moment I open Rogue's mahogany door, entering his office lit with skylights and walls covered in modern art, I shake my head. This man has been like a father to me, but sometimes I feel like he's still a playboy, living it up. And why the hell shouldn't he? He's not in a relationship, he can spend his money however he damn well pleases, which is usually on some six-figure piece of art.
He asks if I want a cigar.
"I'm good," I tell him, "I just left the gym."
"Oh yeah. Where are you working out these days?" he asks me, sitting down in his leather chair.
I sit opposite him, looking at him sitting behind his desk. "I'm working out down at Fitness World."
"You like it?" he asks.
I shake my head and tell him how it's become the local date spot.
He chuckles. "Well, maybe you could meet someone there."
I roll my eyes, ignoring the comment. "Hey, you should use one of your spare floors here at the warehouse and turn it into a gym. I bet the guys would like it."
"That's not a half bad idea," he says. "But I'm not sure I want to dirty up this place."
I laugh at that. "You’re scared about getting things dirty when you run a corporation like this?" I shake my head.
He runs the world's largest hitman operation. He has something like fifty guys working for him, taking jobs that they're hired to complete. Speaking of, Rogue slides a folder across the table.
"What's that?" I ask.
"Your next hit," he says.
"Who's my target?" I ask, opening the file up and scanning my eyes over the paper. I know this is going to be shredded the moment I walk out of here. Later, it will be incinerated in the basement of this warehouse. No evidence. We keep our fingerprints light. Later, a brief will be emailed to an encrypted account.
"His name is Cane O'Grady," Rogue tells me, lighting his cigar. He leans back, legs crossed, takes a puff.
"Seems pretty simple," I say, scanning the major details. Las Vegas. Saturday afternoon.
I want to ask who hired him, who wants him dead, but I don't. That's none of my business, and one of the reasons I can separate this job from my personal life. If I don't ask questions, I don't have to worry about the ethics of the answer.
"So, you're good? You can head out?"
I nod. "Yeah, I'll catch a flight tomorrow. Maybe enjoy the Strip for a night before I get to work."
Rogue nods. "That might be good for you. I don't think you've had much fun lately."
I frown. "What do you know about me and fun?"
Rogue shrugs. "I know you work like a horse, that you take on more and more jobs without really needing to."
"I like to save my money," I say.
"I know, but..." Rogue pauses, shaking his head.
"What?" I press, "What aren't you saying?"
"Look, I've known you since you were what, eighteen years old? After your parents died, I took you under my wing, and I told you I would do anything for you, but is this really what you want?"
I clench my jaw, running a hand over it. "You saying you want me out of the business?"
Rogue shakes his head. "No, that's not what
I'm saying at all. You're like family to me. Hell, you are family to me, but Flynn, you're a family man."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"It means I don't want you to end up like I am, single and alone. I want you to get married, have a family, have a real chance at life."
"I can't have a family and do this job," I say.
"I know that," Rogue says.
I swallow my anger. "Why does it feel like you're trying to fire me?"
"I'm not," Rogue says, "I swear to you. I'm not. I'm just telling you, maybe, you know, think about options. Go have some fun, let down your guard for a moment and take in what the world has to offer. When's the last time you did something just for you?"
"Is this a pep talk or fatherly advice?" I ask.
"Maybe it's both," Rogue says, "but I mean it. You've been working too hard. If all you'll do is take one night off, fine, but I wish you'd take more."
"Why?" I ask. "Why are you bringing this up now?"
"Because, when you're not on a job, you go to the gym, that's it. You eat, you sleep, you work out, you kill. There's more to living than that," he says, "and I wish I would have figured it out when I was your age."
"You have regrets?" I ask him.
He shrugs, taking another puff of his cigar. "I'm not here to talk about regrets. Hell, that's a slippery slope, considering the business we're in. But I am talking about enjoying yourself. You're only young once," he grins, "and to be honest, Flynn, you ain't that young anymore."
When the plane lands at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, I grab my carry-on from the overhead compartment and slide on my sunglasses. The last thing I want to do is make eye contact. I'm here to kill, not to make friends, even if Rogue tried to convince me otherwise.
I take a Town Car to a new hotel on the Strip, the Crown Casino, and it's pretty fucking nice. There’s a valet service waiting for me when I enter the lobby, and I'm whisked to a suite. There's fine ass art on the walls and it makes me think of Rogue. Thinking of him makes me wonder if maybe he's right. Maybe I ought to have a little fun.
In my hotel suite, I check my phone and see Tommy's texted me again, "Dude, change of plans. I’m coming to Vegas. Let's go to a strip club."
I type back, "I’ll pass. Enjoy yourself though. We can meet up tomorrow if you’re not too hungover."
I turn off my phone, honestly uninterested in a strip club. That's never been my scene. Like I said, I'm a low-key guy and I'm looking for a low-key woman. I don't need high heels and glossy lips and fishnet stockings. I need laughter. Maybe a girl who looks like sunshine. God knows my life could use a few rays of light.
I change and head down to the lobby, wanting to check out the pool. It's hot out, nearly a hundred degrees, even though it's late afternoon. At the pool, I order a beer and jump in the water while I wait for it to arrive.
The water is refreshingly cold. Maybe I should take up swimming instead of weightlifting if I want to clear my head, because suddenly I feel alive like I haven’t in a hell of a long time.
When I come up out of the water, I see her.
A sun-kissed, freckle-faced, bright blonde haired woman. In a barely there bikini.
Her eyes meet mine. I swear to God they do. She looks at me as if I am someone familiar. As if I’m someone she’s known forever.
Then, without so much as a glance around, she dives into the water headfirst.
I shake my head. Damn.
Rogue said I needed fun, but this feels a hell of a lot more like fate.
2
Fiona
I know Dad well enough to realize having this conversation via text message or a phone call won’t cut it. My dad is many things, protective, supportive, but above all else, a little bit old school.
I don't mind it. Honestly, it makes me feel like I'm his princess. And I figure there are worse things to be than your daddy's little girl.
Still, I'm apprehensive about this conversation. I hate the idea of letting him down.
As the family jet lands in Vegas, I repeat the words I’ve memorized. "I want to quit college. I want to make it on my own as a businesswoman." I swallow as I leave the plane, waving to our pilot, Jetson. "Thank you," I tell him, blowing a kiss.
He smiles. "Anything for an O'Grady,” he says. I appreciate the warmth that comes from the men and women that work for my family. Well, work for my father.
My dad, Cane O'Grady is an affluent businessman based in Las Vegas. He has companies all over the world, dealing in fine art and finer wines. I always laugh that he decided to make his home base Las Vegas of all places, but he loves the desert heat and his brother Liam O'Malley lives here.
I suppose my father really is a family man, even if I am his only child. My mom died when I was young. So he and I, we've been like two peas in a pod. I know eventually I'm going to have a man at my side that isn't my dad. But until then, until I find my Prince Charming or my knight in shining armor, I won't mind showing up at my dad's estate, single. Here, I am treated like royalty.
A minute later I’m tucked into a Town Car and whisked away. The air conditioning is on and I'm grateful because my skin already feels dry. It shouldn't be that big of a climate change considering I'm going to school at UCLA, but it is. The heat here is different, drier, and I don't exactly crave it. I love living near the ocean, going on runs at the beach. I've been thinking about getting a dog to help with my workout motivation. Maybe I'll bring that up to Dad as a way to ease into the conversation.
My dad wants the best for me, and for as long as I can remember, that’s meant going to college and working my butt off. But what good is a 4.0 grade point average if I'm not happy? I just have to find a way to explain that to him—gently.
When I arrive at home, I enter the foyer of the mansion. "Daddy," I call out, not sure where he is. Our housekeeper, Esmeralda, tells me he's in his study.
"Thanks so much," I say, giving her a quick hug in greeting. It's been a while since I've been back at Dad's place. For Thanksgiving, we flew to Milan. And for Christmas, we decided a trip to Tahiti would be a perfect way to celebrate the traditionally cold holiday.
Dad's in the study, just like Esmeralda said, facing his computer. He doesn't see me come in. I knock on the door with my knuckles. "Daddy," I say.
He looks up, a smile spreading across his face. "Fiona," he says, standing, forgetting his work and coming over to me. He wraps me in a warm hug and I tell him how good it is to see him again.
“Look at you,” he says.
"I've missed you," I tell him. "I can't believe it's almost summer."
"I know," he says. "I've been buried in work."
"You shouldn't work so hard, Dad. You should be enjoying your life. You should retire."
"Retire?" Dad chuckles, shaking his head as his butler, Gerard, walks in with two drinks on a tray.
"Ice-cold lemonade, sir," he says.
I smile, lifting a glass from the silver tray in his hands. "Thank you."
Dad and I clink glasses. "What are we toasting?" I ask.
"You're home," he says.
"It's like you were expecting me," I say.
Dad smiles. "Well, to be honest, I was. Jetson called and told me you’d landed."
"I suppose that makes sense," I say. "Nothing really gets past you, does it?"
"Is that a bad thing?" Dad asks.
Together we walk outside toward the veranda and I take in a deep breath. "I came because I needed to talk to you."
Dad frowns. "Something wrong?"
I shrug. "Not wrong exactly."
"Are you in trouble?" he asks, "because I can get the O'Malleys on it right away."
"The O'Malleys," I say, balking at the mention of my uncle’s family. "Dad, I don't need the mobsters involved in this. It's just my life."
"I know, but Fiona, you're my whole world."
I twist my lips. "Maybe I shouldn't be, Dad. Maybe you should find someone and get married and live happily ever after."
"I know, Dad. Sorry. I wasn't trying to bring up painful memories."
Dad shakes his head. "It's okay, sweetheart. Tell me, why did you come all the way out here? What do you need to talk about?"
I press my lips together, making sure I have the words right before I spill the beans. "I don't want to finish college," I tell him.
His eyes widen. "What?"
"I know it's what you want for me, but Daddy, it's not what I want for me."
"What do you want?” he asks.
I look down at what I'm wearing. It's all handmade by me. Clothing I'm proud of. "I want to start a clothing line," I say. Dad immediately scoffs. "No, just hear me out," I say. "You know that I've been making clothing for the last, what? Three, four years? And I know you think Instagram is silly, but I'm able to sell my pieces there. They get snatched up in seconds. Would you believe that this top would sell for $300?"
Dad laughs. "It's a t-shirt."
"I know, but it's vintage, and I hand-embroidered the neckline."
Dad nods slowly. "You always were creative, just like your mother."
"I know," I say. "I remember when Mom taught me to embroider when I was a little girl. I think I poked my fingers a dozen times before I got the hang of it. She was so patient with me."
"Good memories," Dad says.
"Yeah," I say. "They are, and I feel like I'm letting myself down by not pursuing what I want. It's more than memories. I want this to be my life."
Dad sets down his lemonade, listening. As a businessman, he's shrewd. He listens for details and pays attention to cracks in stories. But I know he hears me. He listens. That's never been his problem. "You just want to quit? You only have a year left."