The Hitman's Baby - A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (With extra added bonus novel for a short time only!)

by Ashley Rhodes

  I could maybe take a look at the Urban Violence whatever-it-was. I tapped my cup on the bar, slow, trying to imagine a life outside the city. In the end, I decided that maybe it didn’t matter where it was, what kind of world I learned to survive in, just like I did this one, as long as I was doin’ it with her.

  I dropped a ten on the bar, didn’t wait for change. I was a man on a mission.

  Naomi wouldn’t be off for another half an hour when I got to the hospital. Plenty of time to check this thing out. So I went to the reception desk and stood awkwardly in line, feelin’ like a rube. This sort of thing; I figured it was for beaten housewives or something. Not for guys like me.

  Still, I’d swallow my pride.

  “How can I help you sir?” The guy behind the counter asked. His eyes lingered on my bruised face.

  “All this is old,” I said, waving at it. “I’m looking for the Urban Violence, uh…”

  “The Urban Violence Outreach program help desk?” The guy offered.

  “Yeah, that. Where do I find it?”

  He pointed toward the long hall to my right. “Just down that hall, take the elevators at the far end, you want the fourth floor. There are signs, but you’ll hang a right and it’s room four two one four.” He paused. “Would you like me write that down for you?”

  I started to say somethin’ rude, but… “Nah, thanks. I got it. Elevator, fourth floor, forty-two fourteen. Thanks.” People saw a guy like me, they assumed they were dumb, or concusses. They weren’t always wrong, so, I cut him some slack.

  A few minutes later, I was lookin’ at the UVO sign, wondering who’d be on the other side of the door. Bunch of kids and women, maybe as beat up as I looked. All way ahead of me in line. A town like this probably kept this place busy day in and out.

  But when I pushed through the door, I was surprised how empty it was. One guy sat behind a desk, black guy, maybe late twenties or a little younger, looking down at something I couldn’t see, bored. He looked up when I closed the door. “Oh. Hello. Can I help you?”

  I looked around the place. Not as soul in sight. “Yeah, uh… Naomi sent me. Naomi Ellis.”

  “Yes!” They guy said. “She called earlier today. I’m Randall Cornish. I’m the UVO representative for the Saint Michael’s network. Please, come in.”

  He stood up from where he was sitting, came around the desk, and shook my hand. He was maybe the first person in a long time to look at me and not flinch. “You get a lot of guys like me in here?” I asked.

  Randall gave a disappointed looking frown and shook his head. “Not really. I mean, not guys like you; just not much of anyone in general. It’s a shame, given how many people come through here in need of help. What’s your name?”

  “Naomi didn’t tell you?” I asked. “Sorry… I’m tryin’ this new thing where I’m not an asshole. I’m Jack Hawke.”

  “Nice to meet you Jack. And, no, Naomi didn’t give me any details. Just that she’d had a new patient check in who was involved with the cage fights at the docks in the Downs.” He sighed, sympathetic, and squeezed my hand again before he let it go. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to you. That was a quick recovery, though; I’m surprised they let you out of bed. You checked in this morning?”

  I frowned at him. “A few days ago. You sure you got the right guy?”

  “Oh… maybe not. Though, I guess Naomi did call a couple of days ago…” He tapped his chin, and then rummaged behind the desk. “Right, of course. Jack Hawke! Sorry, I had a brain fart. Naomi did call to check up on you though. Said you’d checked out. I’m pleased to see you came to see us.” He came back with a clipboard and a form. “If you could fill this out for me—”

  “Wait,” I said, suddenly worried and trying hard to pin down why. “So Naomi called twice?”

  “No, just once. Another patient she had, she was just fact checking.”

  “Fact checking what?”

  Randal eyed me up, a little suspicious. “I’m afraid that’s privileged—”

  “Listen, you… Randall,” temper, temper, big guy, “you said something about the cage fights at the docks. When? Why? To Naomi? Why’d you tell her that?”

  Randall didn’t back down, but his eyes searched me quick like, maybe trying to guess the odds I’d hit him if he didn’t talk. They were low—real low, if I wanted to keep things straight with Naomi—but he didn’t know that. He swallowed, and then sighed. “She called about a new patient who said he was forced to fight at the docks and got beat up. Real bad. She wasn’t sure he was telling her the truth about it, so she called up to ask. Of course we know about the Docks; lots of people know, but it’s a bit of a blind spot.”

  “Did you tell her where it is?”

  “Well… not an address, per say… the docks aren’t a big place and—”

  “Shit,” I muttered and turned to leave.

  “But, we can still help you—”

  I didn’t hear what else he said. I tore down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, feeling every pounding step in my ribs until my teeth were aching and I could barely breathe. Didn’t care. Naomi had pulled the wool on that guy; she was trying to find out where I was. She thought I’d left and gone back to the cage. This was my fault. I should have left her something… if anyone there found out she was looking for me…

  Thinking about what might happen was pointless. Instead, I grabbed the first cab I saw, and focused instead on what the hell I was gonna do when I got there.

  Naomi

  “How long you known Jack?” Valentino asked, casually, as though he weren’t the skeezy, hardened crime boss everyone at the table knew he was.

  I shifted in my seat a little. “Not long,” I said. “I saw him once… here, and I thought—”

  “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” Valentino crooned. “This’ll go easier if you just tell me the truth. Jack hasn’t been around here for a while now. Almost a week, right Tatya?”

  The tall blond nodded. “Five days.”

  “And besides that, it’s Tatya’s job to know everybody that comes through here.” Valentino looked to the woman again. “Tatya, do you recognize Naomi?”

  Tatya looked me over, then shook her head. “No.”

  “So, either I’m paying Tatya here way too much,” Valentino said, “or you’re already lyin’ to me. And here we just met. That’s not a way to start a relationship, sweetheart. Hell, it’s downright rude. And, I was raised with impeccable manners, see? Rudeness…” he shivered like something had crawled down his shirt, “…it just gets under my skin. Like nails on chalkboard. Gives me this visceral urge to put a stop to it.”

  I kept my lips sealed. If they had any idea what me and Jack had between us, if we had anything and I was sure that we did, they’d use me to get to him. I should have known that was the case—now that I was here it seemed so obvious. Jesus, what was I thinking?

  “So I’ll ask again,” Valentino said slowly, politely, “before I go to some length to put a stop to this rudeness that so greatly offends my sensibilities: how do you know Jack Hawke, and when did you see him last?”

  “I’m an EMT,” I lied. “I saw him when we picked him up, after your thugs beat him half to death.” It was close enough. I could sell it.

  Some of the men around the table were clearly those ‘thugs’ because they put hands to their chests, wounded at the epithet, and shook their heads.

  Valentino looked around at them, then clucked his tongue and shook his head. “See, there you go again with that rudeness. I bet I know what Jack sees in you; he’s rude, too. See how that worked out for him?”

  “Jack doesn’t see anything in me, I barely know him he just told me about this place and I thought I’d check it out and—”

  Valentino held up a hand to stop me rambling. He didn’t seem quite as polite, now. That mask of his was slipping, giving the monster underneath it a chance to peek out. “Now you’re changing your story. Naomi—can I call you ‘Naomi’? ‘Course I can, you�
�re at my table—let me tell you a little about this Jack Hawke guy that, I’m guessing, you probably think you know because hell, why else would you be here looking for him?

  “Jack Hawke cares about exactly one thing, and that’s Jack Hawke. You know how he got started? Workin’ for my old man. Yeah, he was a heavy. That’s what we call the guys that go around and make sure the boss gets paid, see? He’d show up, loom a little, look intimidating—you know what I mean, right? You seen the guy—and then, like magic, money would appear in his pockets and he’d bring it here.

  “Well, one time,” Valentino said, telling a story about an old friend that from his expression promised to be amusing, “one time, he… he and this other heavy get into it a little, right? About which one had a bigger dick or something—I don’t know, it was a long time ago, it was some disagreement—and lo and behold but Jack goes absolutely ape-shit on this other heavy who’s like, twice Jack’s size and just lays him out cold. It was a thing of beauty, seein’ that man lose his cool.”

  Valentino swigged his drink, and gestured at one of his ‘heavies’. “Quincy here had to see the doc and everything, make sure his head was on straight still. After that, Jack got a taste for it. He’d get a little more physical with my organizations’… clients. And after a while he liked it so much, he jumped in the cage. Instant success. The crowd went wild for him.

  “But see, every horse goes to pasture eventually. Don’t nobody spend too long in the cage or people get… bored with it. Gotta get new blood in there.” He shrugged—it was just a fact of life, apparently. “Except Jack… well Jack’s primary sin is pride. One of the big ones! Seven deadlies and all that. The same sin as Lucifer himself, if you believe all that, and I do.”

  He paused, considered, looked almost… righteous. “The prideful have to be put in their place, see? God cast Lucifer into the lake of fire. I cast Jack down into a hospital bed. Only because the cops showed up. I can’t have that kind of defiance here. And lady,” Valentino leaned forward, craning his neck, a snarl on his suddenly twisted face, “if you think he’s worth dyin’ for, by all means be my guest. But he ain’t. So you tell me everything you know about Jack, or Tatya here is goin’ to show you everything she learned in Mother Russia ‘bout gettin’ people to be nice and polite, and honest, startin’ with those pretty fingers of yours.”

  Tatya grabbed my wrist. She was fast. I barely saw her move before her iron fingers had my hand pinned, and those brass knuckles were poised above my pinkie finger. She looked entirely unconcerned about the prospect of breaking it—not eager, not unwilling. I struggled against her out of instinct but quickly subsided.

  I bit my lip, and tried to keep from crying. That’s what he wanted, right? So fuck him. I set my jaw, and braced myself for the pain.

  Valentino gave Tatya a barely discernible nod. Do it.

  I closed my eyes tight.

  “Valentino!”

  The voice bellowed through the warehouse. It was Jack. My heart leapt, then twisted, and then fell. No, no, no… He’d come looking for me. It was the only reason. I couldn’t see him from where I sat, but I guess he could see me.

  “Let her go. I’m here.”

  Valentino smiled. It was a vicious, almost inhuman rictus of excitement and rage. “So you are! I’m glad you could come. Kill ‘em both.”

  Chapter 14

  Jack

  Valentino’s face screwed up like he was gonna shit. “So you are! I’m glad you could come. Kill ‘em both.”

  In the cage, each round is five minutes. They let you go over, in case things are gettin’ real good, real bloody, but officially, it’s five five-minute rounds. Of course, the last one usually runs until someone goes down, if it gets that far.

  I’d been doin’ it so long, my whole life ticked by in five minute chunks. If anyone was comin’, we had about five minutes until they showed up. Maybe a little more.

  Quincy moved first. Too many people here for a gunfight, so he thought he’d tackle me straight away, get me on the ground for him and his buddies to kick my skull in. I fell for it the first time.

  This time I dodged sideways, got a fistful of fancy suit in my good hand, and jerked him sideways. Quincy rolled into the crowd with a bellow, his huge bulk sending people scattering like rolling pins.

  In the book, I had time to see Tatya struggling with Naomi, who’d clawed bright red streaks down the Russkie’s face. Get ‘em, baby! I wanted to tear the blond’s head off, but Matty-boy was almost on me. He was more careful than Quincy. A jab-feint, a quick dart to one side; he went for my knee.

  I turned, met his shin with mine. I’d spent years hammerin’ my bones against stuff like heavy-bags and concrete. My leg won. I twisted my hips and planted my heel into Matty-boy’s hip and pushed. He stumbled, but wouldn’t be down for long.

  Problem was, if the cops shows up and I was covered in blood, they’d take me in, too. Valentino would spout some kind of lie about how we were all involved in some drug deal gone wrong, or whatever, and I’d be with them behind bars. Especially if Desouza had a say. So I was on the defensive. I kept my eye on Naomi when I could, but Valentino had no beef with her now I was here.

  Somebody grabbed me from behind. Agony crushed into my chest, my injured ribs screaming in pain. I pushed through it, sunk my hips and twisted, and Quincy came sailin’ over my head, upside down.

  Then the right side of my vision went bright white, and all the noise from that side of the room switched off. Instead, there was just a high pitched whine. I staggered sideways, turned to get my good eye on Matty-boy, who looked real proud of himself.

  He went for another cross. I caught it on my cast, turned on my heel, and pushed. Matty went flyin’ into the crowd, and they scattered back to let him fall. They cheered. Some of them even cheered my name, “Hawke, Hawke, Hawke!”

  “Jack!”

  I spun at the sound of Valentino’s voice, fists up and ready, and then froze.

  Naomi had a bruise across her right cheek. She didn’t look scared; she looked furious. She was pullin’ at Valentino’s arm, which was stupid because he had a shiny pistol pressed against her temple.

  “I’ll make this real easy,” Valentino said. “Lay down on your stomach, or I will paint this booth with sweet little Naomi’s brains.” His eyes were crazy. He’d do it. Get his hands dirty for once, just to make a point.

  Maybe a minute left. Maybe less.

  I could take a minute worth of beating.

  Valentino would drop Naomi as soon as the police showed up. He had to, or he was goin’ away a long time.

  I sank to my knees.

  “Jack, no!” Naomi screamed at me. She reached back to claw at Valentino’s eyes.

  “Naomi, stop!” I sighed, and shook my head. “I’ll be fine, baby. I’ve taken a worse beatin’ than this from you. It’s like Jason said. I got this comin’.” I tried to make those words, Jason and coming, clear to her. If all I had to do was take a few licks till then, I could do that.

  Valentino gestured at the ground with the barrel of the pistol. The crowd around us had gone quiet. They kept their mouths shut, of course; nobody wanted to piss off Valentino, especially not when that crazy bastard was waving a gun around. I lowered myself to the floor. Breath, tense, count.

  “Do it,” Valentino said.

  I lost count and track of where the blows were comin’ from right away. My legs, my hip, my sides, my already cracked ribs. My head and arms. Somebody stomped me. I tried to meet each one the way I did in a fight when I was wearin’ a guy out—tense and release, twitch this way or that way, try to absorb some of the impact.

  A shoe got me in the mouth and I tasted blood. Somebody got me in the back of the head and angled my face so my forehead took the impact when I hit the floor. It took forever. I wasn’t sure I’d make it until the police got there.

  Sorry, Naomi. I tried. Shit.

  I grunted as they beat me, and my body started to curl up on its own, some deeper animal instinct to surv
ive takin’ over.

  People started screaming.

  “Metro PD! Hands up! Peter Valentino! Hands in the air!” I didn’t recognize the voice. My ears were ringin’, my head was poundin’, and my whole body hurt.

  Even so, I smiled a bloody smile up at Valentino, and at Naomi, and started laughing.

  EMTs came, and Jason put Valentino in cuffs. I didn’t see Naomi right away; the police split us up to get statements. Jason was all over Naomi when I saw her before they dragged me off. Eventually, though, he came to me.

  “The fuck were you thinking?” he asked me when he got there, his cop mask slipping.

  That got my hackles up, but I smoothed ‘em down. “She came lookin’ for me when I checked out,” I said. “I was gonna let her go, like you said. Good thing I didn’t. Valentino woulda took her fingers or worse if she didn’t talk, and she didn’t know nothin’ to talk about.”

  He smoldered, arms folded over his chest, and stared me down like that would change somethin’. Jerk.

  “So how did you end up here, then?”

  I told him about the UVO, about gettin’ outta this life, goin’ somewhere else. For me and for Naomi, if she wanted to go—but that I was goin’ either way. I didn’t tell him that if she didn’t want to go with me I wasn’t sure I could do it.

  “I let go, but she didn’t,” I finished. “Whaddya want from me, Desouza? I tried.”

  His jaw muscles tensed, and his nostril twitched. But, he looked across the way at her, sighed, and turned back to me. “She’s stubborn,” he said. “She’s always been that way. She never listens to sense, and she’s a pain in the ass to deal with.”

  “Sounds about right,” I agreed.

  “She’s…” he swallowed hard, and shook his head slow. “She’s got the kind of heart without a bottom. The kind people take advantage of.” He eyed me on that count.

  “I won’t do that,” I said. “Maybe I’m not good for her; maybe she’s not good for me. We gotta find out, though.”