Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  “Let you go.”

  “You’ve only now worked that out?” She banged her fist on his chest. “Do I have to hold you against your will?”

  “I like it that way so far,” she said. “Other than that, hold me against whatever you damn well please.”

  “You won’t struggle?”

  “Sure I will.”

  “It’s a deal, then. I’ll hold on to you.”

  She breathed hard. The moment was somewhere she never thought she would be. Never wanted to be. Or never knew that she wanted it. Now Princess was certain, nothing mattered to her as much as this.

  “Did you know that story?” she asked him.

  “No. Well, certainly not that version of it. Actually, all I knew was that he was fat when he was a kid, and now he’s not.”

  “So, aren’t you better off for knowing the whole story?”

  He looked at her as he drove. “You’ll get me killed.”

  “So, how long are you planning to hold me for?”

  He thought for a moment. Raised an eyebrow in that sarcastic way and said, “Hmm.”

  She banged his chest again

  “Ow! You really will get me killed.”

  “But you’ll love it.”

  “Every second.”

  “So?”

  He grinned. “Okay, how does ‘forever’ sound?”

  “It’s a start.”

  He accelerated, and she was glad. She couldn’t wait to get back to the dungeon.

  < < < < < > > > > >

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  Luka

  I could have gone anywhere else in Lower Manhattan for a quiet drink that night—anywhere but Bar Sicilia on the edge of TriBeCa—and my life would have taken a different turn. More accurately, my life wouldn’t have made the white knuckle swerve that it did.

  Vix, the beautiful dancer from the night before, she probably would have found me wherever I went. There may not have been much I could do about that; she was on a mission. I was on a stool by the mahogany bartop. When Vix came in, she shimmied over and stood beside me. Close beside me. Her voice was a low breath, hot in my ear.

  “Hey, big boy. You could get lucky again tonight.”

  I looked into her lovely green eyes. “Yeah, Vix. I expect I will.”

  She knew where this conversation would go as well as I did. I guess she was hoping she could make it take a surprise turn, while I was putting off the inevitable. Nobody likes disappointing someone, and a gleam of eager anticipation on their face makes it harder.

  Last time I’d seen Vix, she was spread out across the hotel bed, sheets ravaged, rumpled, and screwed around her fantastic curves. She slumbered away with her thumb gripped between her teeth after a long night of inventive and strenuous engagement, much of which also involved a bouncy little cocktail waitress who was still buried somewhere in the bedding.

  As Vix stood by me at the bar, she pressed up close against me. She pursed her lips as her shoulders shook. Those gorgeous tits bounced against me and lit a fire in my jeans. Soft flesh against hard. Always a thrill.

  She said, “I’ve always liked confidence in a man.” Her voice was a smooth purr and her fragrance was a blend of her natural scent and something expensive—probably from one of the private, appointment-only boutiques at the top of Fifth Avenue. She wore a pale, cream silk affair that displayed her luscious figure. The view had a stimulating effect on me.

  My cock thickened involuntarily in her direction. As she leaned on my shoulder and those lovely, soft breasts squeezed around my arm, she said, “You want another girl with us again? Or should we try to find that little tramp from last night?”

  Her eyes lowered. “I know you loved the taste of her hot, wet lips as much as I did,” she added, and her tongue pressed out between her ruby lips.

  After a longer pause than I really needed, I peeled Vix off of my arm. “I won’t be fucking her tonight.” The model’s face brightened and, in spite of my trying not to, I lowered my gaze to watch as her chest rose. Her breasts were fabulous.

  I took her hand off my arm. “And not you either, Vix.” Her face fell. Her lips tightened and she narrowed her eyes as I reminded her, “Our time was last night. I know I explained it, and I know you remember. Once, and once only. No tears, no exceptions.”

  She tilted her hips to rock against my thigh. As she pressed her mound against me and her heat called to my still-rising cock, visions from last night played through my mind and clouded my thoughts. And I remembered the taste of Vix’s soft peach of a mound, hot and juicy as she ground it into my lips.

  The scented tang of her, thrilling on my tongue as I’d trilled the tip around the base and the hood of her quivering bud before I slid, long and deep, up and into her lips.

  All the while, little Jaynie had stretched her lips all the way down the length of my fat, throbbing cock. She slid me into her throat and sucked on me. Her softness tugged on my hard rod.

  I snapped back out of the happy memory. “Sorry, Vix. It was a great night, it was a sensational fuck, but that’s the rule. You knew it from the start.”

  Her eyes hardened. “I did everything for you,” she hissed. “Everything. And you loved it all.”

  “You did, Vix, and you did it all fantastically.” I raised my shot glass in a salute. “Wouldn’t have missed a taste, a sniff, or a single hot grind of it.”

  Her hand slipped down the front of my white tee, grazing her nails across the soft cotton to feel the ripples of my abs underneath. She dragged her fingers down to the back of my jeans and gave my hard ass a tweak. “You’ll never get another night like that, Luka. You won’t find another woman like me.”

  That made me sad. “Don’t say that, Vix.”

  She gripped and squeezed my ass with enough tease to make my cock stiffen more. Her breasts pressed against my arm again as she stretched on tip-toe to whisper, her breath warm and damp in my ear. “It’s true, Luka.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled as the tip of her tongue flicked around my earlobe. Her voice was low enough that I heard the moisture in the softness of her mouth.

  “And you can’t bear to hear it.” Vix lifted her chin. “You know it, right?”

  “No, Vix.” I peeled her off again, really hoping I wouldn’t have to do that another time. “You were sensational. Way better than most, okay? Don’t make me go on. It was great. It’s done.”

  My balls ached and I felt like my cock might walk out on me as I said, “Thanks,” kissed her on the tear dripping down her cheek, patted her ass, and gave her a smile. “Bye, Vix.”

  My cock never wanted to let them go, any of them, it would have kept them all. It pointed and jumped after every single one like an eager puppy. But then in no time it would be pointed at the next one. Another dancer or runway model. Or a beautiful bartender, a cabin attendant. A lawyer, maybe. A couple of lawyers from the week before had turned out to be real tigresses.

  My cock would have all of them, all of the time, if I’d let it. And they’d all have my cock too—there was never much doubt about that. That’s why I had to have a set of rules. If I gave in to my cock’s every whim, I would probably have been married to half the women I fucked.

  A navigator once—those guys love math and stats—told me on a long, outbound night flight over the ocean, “Luka, you have an average of twelve-point-eight women per week.” I was going to ask him about the point-eight, but then, when I thought about all the odd handjobs, the women I diddled in clubs and bars, the ones who’d suck me off in courtyards, back rooms, and—now and then—under restaurant tables, I decided I’d take the twelve-point-eight.

  “You could probably nudge it up to fourteen without too much of a sweat,” the navigator said. “Be an easy two a day, then.”

  “You’re much more interested in numbers than I am.” We both laughed. “I just love a good fuck, is all.”

  ~~

  Vix’s face fell into a sulk, then she let her eyes cast down. She went around the far side of the ba
r and clambered up onto a stool. She got Buzz to pour her a rum and slung it back. Then another. She tipped rum down her throat like a junkie who found their dealer’s stash. Still she was displaying her curves in my direction, letting her skirt ride up over the sheen of black nylon encasing her trim thigh.

  A big, broad guy with a Marine cut like a short mohawk lumbered onto the stool next to her. I didn’t hear what he said, but she turned away and quickly shifted onto the next stool along. Vix was an adult, but she’d been throwing overproof rum down pretty fast, so I decided I’d better keep an eye on her. The guy shifted to the stool next to her and straight away, she moved again.

  Again he followed her. I saw her shoulder was up like a barrier and her neck craned away from him.

  Not wanting to make anything of it, I slipped off the stool and moved around to where she was. Before I said a thing the guy gave me a glower, and I thought that was uncalled for. Then he bent to whisper into her hair. Vix coiled away and she sounded a little slurry as she said, “Just leave me the fuck alone, will you? I’m not interested.”

  He leaned in again so I raised my palm toward him. “She was pretty clear, pal.”

  He turned to me. “The fuck’s it to do with you, pal?” he spat. He reached for her arm. “Little lady’s just playing hard to get. Ain’t that right?”

  Vix tried to get out of the way of his hand, but she was too slow and he grabbed her high on the arm.

  I slammed a punch hard into the bridge of his nose. As his head snapped back, I drove the side of my open hand into his windpipe. Less hard. No need to kill him. Not so far.

  While he choked I pulled him near. Quietly, I said, “You can’t help being an asshole, but you don’t have to act like a douche.”

  He was still choking as I stood back. With one hand on his shoulder, I watched his eyes to see if he’d have the sense to leave it there, or if he needed some more.

  He looked up at me and his eyes blazed with anger. Not too hard to understand.

  I said, “You can have some more if you want it, but fair warning, that was just a preliminary. Damage from here on in may be permanent.”

  He lumbered off the stool and pushed his nose against mine. I saw his hand draw back in a fist and I slammed his jaw. The hard edge hurt my knuckles. His eyes lolled like they’d come unglued and his jaw stretched out almost a full inch. I grabbed his shirt as he slumped back so he didn’t smash his head all over the nice mahogany bar top.

  His lights were out. With my hands under his armpits, I hauled him up the short stair and dropped him on the wet sidewalk by the door.

  When I stepped back into the bar, Vix was pale but she had steadied up and the color was back in her face. She touched my arm and looked apologetic as she said, “Thanks. You were a good guy for me there.”

  I grinned. “All-American asshole. Comes with a free good guy coupon.”

  Her smile was faint and forced, but her eyes sparkled as she touched my arm. “Don’t. You only make it harder for me to go.”

  She turned to leave.

  I asked her, “Can I put you in a cab, Vix?”

  She said, “No, I’m good, thanks.” Her smile brightened. Maybe it was just bravery, but she added, “I’m pretty good, in fact.”

  She came back and touched the top of my arm. “One day, you know, you’ll find that girl. No, wait—you won’t be looking, but one day the lucky bitch will find you. When she does, bang her ass and, just once, think of me, okay?”

  Still one honey of an ass as she walked up the steps and out.

  Buzz, the barkeep, poured me a fresh bourbon.

  “Sorry about the Marine,” I told him. “I’d hate to lose you a good customer.”

  He said, “No, we’re okay for assholes right now. If you want to help with marketing, we’re looking for more of the urbane, diamond smuggler types. The kind that buy magnums of champagne for the ladies and sink a bottle of single malt without ever slurring.”

  “I’ll be sure and spread the word.”

  I took the bourbon to a quiet corner table. My plan was to finish that drink and leave. But then the door opened and my life changed forever.

  Him. Of all the muscle for hire in New York, Tony chose him.

  The first words out of his mouth would likely get me killed, and the stupid lunk may not even have a clue as to why. The only possible consolation would be the chance that those words might get him killed, too.

  Strike that. He was an arrogant, womanizing cock, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. A sharp slap—maybe even two—across his high, sharp cheekbones, but not death. No more than I deserved to die for no other reason than he had been in a bar, and I went into the bar and saw the flame in his eyes. The arrogant tilt of his lips.

  I even remembered his name. Nice name, too. The sound of it made me think of the Italian lakes, still and cool, high in the mountains. Seafood salads, crisp white wine from a wooden table on a small jetty in a soft breeze. Not that I had ever been to Italy.

  Now he and I were both likely going to be killed in a fit of my fiancé’s rage.

  So I was about to get dead over some sex. For doing what the Italian idiot—the big, gorgeous fool—the sculpted, inviting stranger—had demanded that I do the moment he saw me two nights ago in the bar. The one time that I’d been able to escape Tony’s henchman, I slipped into a random, anonymous bar, just for the pleasure of a quiet drink. Alone.

  A drink that I could choose for myself and drink at my own speed. Have as many or as few as I wanted with nobody breathing down my neck or telling me what to have or how to do everything. Was that so much to ask?

  Now I couldn’t decide if I was sorry or glad for the choice that I made. Did I choose well enough, make the right call? I saw him at the same time as he saw me. He looked up to watch me as I walked in and made my way to the bar. His eyes fixed on me so hard it felt like he actually touched me.

  From my legs, slowly up my body, he assessed my soft curves with his eyes. He didn’t smile, and that set me humming inside.

  Those piercing, hooded, ice-blue beacons—those beams that I couldn’t avoid or drag myself away from—they set all of my warning signals flashing. My instinct had been to turn on my heel right then and walk out. No, I told myself. You’re just being ridiculous.

  Now that he had been delivered to my apartment, I looked at him again, and in better light this time. Six-foot-four with the physique of a Roman sculpture, the mournful face of a Renaissance angel, and the quick eyes of a killer. Any second he would flash that smile and I would collapse. Or he’d say my name and Tony would fly into a rage. This time, he’d think there was a good enough reason to make an end of me.

  I was sure that was what he wanted and what he had been working himself up to. He just needed an excuse that was strong enough to justify the act to himself.

  Well, at least then I wouldn’t have to marry the hideous, psychopathic bully.

  A few minutes of agony and a bloody end would be preferable to a lifetime of torment at Tony’s hands. I’d already experienced more than enough agony from him. Enough to know that it was never anywhere near as bad, never hurt as much as the fear that came before it.

  Slow, awful seconds to do nothing but watch and wait as he unbuckled his heavy belt. Recollections of all the other times, as he drew it out through the loops in his pants and snapped it tight between his fists. The long, slow breaths that I fought to keep steady under the cold burn of his hard, green eyes. Those moments were many times worse than any of what followed.

  No, strike that, too. The waiting had been horrible, but what came afterwards was the worst thing I had ever known.

  Tall, heavy, and brooding, my new ‘protector,’ as Tony called him, stood no more than ten feet away. I could practically feel his heat. My own heat was rising, and now I dreaded that I would be the one to give us away. Inside I still shook from the quake that went off deep within me when he’d entered the room. When my fiancé—how I hated to call him that—showed him into the apar
tment.

  For the first time now, I could really see him. His cheekbones were higher, sharper, his body even more stunning than I had fully appreciated in the low light of the bar.

  Here in broad daylight, in my lounge, under the menace of Tony’s eyes, I tried to keep my gaze off the powerful thighs and the arrogant tip of his hips, hugged firm and tight in his heavy, faded blue jeans. Especially I fought to keep my eyes from lighting on the huge, unmistakable bulge below the hefty buckle on his thick leather belt.

  My plump, too-dry lips parted and my tongue traced the tops of them before I even realized I was doing it.

  I couldn’t risk a look into his eyes. His lips looked ready to flex open. Red, full, in a cupid’s bow that reminded me of a classical painting, a cruel half-smile sat waiting to break into his sarcastic laugh or a lascivious grin.