What I wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone with this girl to teach her a lesson about teasing men.
I look back at him calmly, wondering how the fuck to navigate through this minefield. One wrong word…
“I wasn’t aware—”
He points the steak knife at me, his face reddening with rage. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
A ripple of anger runs through me. What am I, some kid?
“Daddy, be nice.”
“I don’t have to be nice,” he snaps at his daughter. His beady eyes suddenly widen as if he’s just become aware of her presence. “What the hell are you wearing?”
It’s safe to look at her again. My throat tightens as she fingers her shirt and glances down her body briefly.
“What’s wrong with this?”
Absolutely nothing.
“You look like a syndicate slut.”
The briefest show of anger crosses her pretty features as slut passes his lips. I’m sure that asshole calls her that all the time.
“Well, I think I look nice.” Her head swivels around, and a pair of blue eyes stab at me. “Silas, what do you think?”
Now even he’s waiting for my response.
Fuck, do not drag me into this.
“She looks beautiful.”
She glows with pleasure, her cheeks burning brightly as she meets my gaze under those long lashes. I’ve practically got her wrapped around my finger.
To tell you the truth, beautiful is not among the words I’d want to use. I wish I could say them out loud: hot, fuckable, gorgeous, sexy, racy, seductive—yeah, that’s a pretty solid list to choose from.
Shit—I’ve been looking at her for too long again.
Her father grinds his teeth as though I just called his daughter a cow. “Fawn, go back to your room and change right now.”
The name doesn’t suit her at all.
Her lip curls as Ryan’s voice cracks like a whip. For a moment I think she’s about to explode, and I wince at the contempt dripping from her voice.
“I stopped taking your fashion advice when I was twelve.”
“If you were a man, I’d knock your teeth out.”
“Instead, you get to slap me around.”
I press my lips together firmly, impressed by the waves of heat radiating from her face.
She stands up, and one of the guards pulls her chair out for her as she gives her father a withering look. “Don’t worry, I’ll go.”
Fawn’s heated gaze lingers on my lips as another smile tugs at her mouth. I dig my nails into my palm and wish I didn’t cut them so short.
Ryan slams his silverware on the table. “Get the fuck out of here!”
The sounds of her heels rap on the marble floor like gunshots. A breeze of juniper floats across my nose. No doubt she sprinkled the perfume at the base of her neck. I breathe it in, letting it burn my nose and lips.
“I’m going!”
She casts a heated glare in his general direction before she opens the door and slams it shut. The walls vibrate in the wake of her explosive exit, and I wipe my palms on my slacks, letting out a deep breath.
He stands from the table, ripping the napkin tucked into his neck. That sour look is back on his face, but this time his tiny eyes are narrowed with malice. He walks closer to me, until I can smell the reek of cow’s blood on his breath and the stink of wine. The steak knife wavers near my gut, and behind me I hear both guards move slightly, blocking my exit.
“What the hell did you mean by that?”
Is he fucking kidding me?
“It was just a compliment, Mr. Haines.”
It was such a bad idea to stay here so long.
He looks slightly mollified, but still suspicious. “Your eyes were all over her.”
“Mr. Haines, any man with a pulse would look at her.”
Especially when she’s flashing her tits at me every other day.
Ryan’s lips stretch, revealing a row of small, squarish teeth that he gnashes together.
“I will cut off your balls and shove them down your throat if I catch you talking to my daughter. She’s my little girl, and you’re just some street thug.”
A street thug with hundreds of high-profile clients. A street thug who could take the knife pointed at me right now and filet his body before getting rid of the guards behind me.
I want to kill this prick. My insides seethe and my skin heats as I imagine his blood pooling over the beautiful marble, but I can’t do it. Silas is my mask. He’s polite, thorough, and professional. Always professional.
He would never fuck your daughter.
But the man behind the mask might.
* * *
I’ve got to get the stink of this place off my body.
I descend the elevator, and then the syndicate guards prod me with metal detectors as I leave, and return my weapons to me.
My feet hit the streets as I pound the sidewalk, easing into Powell Street’s busy foot traffic. Steam from the subway rises from the vents, and the foul stench makes my stomach turn. I look back and see the tall, faceless building of San Francisco’s biggest crime syndicate, the black and gold dragon emblazoned on the entry windows. It’s right smack in downtown, among all of the counterfeit designer shops, and the department stores, flooded with tourists. Mingled with the slightly salty air from the sea is the smell of piss, the telltale yellow streams running from the walls of the buildings. People walk their dogs and let them shit all over the sidewalk. It’s disgusting.
I hate this city. I can’t wait to leave.
It used to be beautiful. Back when I was a kid, I would walk along the piers where it was cold. The wind would numb my face, but it was almost a magical sight to watch the waves crashing on the rocky shores of Alcatraz. It was home.
But a hitman’s life is constantly moving. I never stay in the same place more than a few days. Two weeks? I must be out of my fucking mind. It’s only a matter of time before that nut job decides he wants me dead because I looked twice at his daughter.
Fuck, I haven’t gotten laid since I came to this place for work.
My skin burns just thinking about her. Once, while her father and I were talking, she lifted her bare foot and stroked my inner thigh under the table. It took every ounce of concentration to ignore her and focus on her dickhead of a father. I learned that she does this to nearly every outsider who visits the syndicate. In the end it doesn’t matter. I’ll find some way to fuck her before I leave just to spite that piece of shit.
I climb the steps of Pier 39 to my extremely shabby hotel room. There’s a window facing the Bay, and the overpowering salty smell clings to the furniture. I close the screened window, which cuts the noise of the tourists and the barking sea lions, and then I pause.
The air feels different—shared.
I’m not alone.
They try to keep quiet on the wooden floorboards, but it’s really hard. The pier is decades old and in desperate need of renovations, and the wood creaks easily. Two heavy sets of feet. I can picture the height and weight of the men, and then a third one approaches my door. He’s less cautious, his footsteps almost obnoxiously loud. My heart thumps against my chest, blood flooding to my hands as I drop them, slipping the pistol from my waist. I should have known this was going to happen. Silas has hundreds of clients and even more enemies. Why the fuck did I stay here for so long?
But I’m not worried. I could take them out now as they pause behind the door. I aim the gun where I’m sure to hit his chest.
A hard series of knocks hammers the door and I almost squeeze off a shot in surprise.
“Silas? We’re from the syndicate. We just want to talk.”
I don’t recognize the muffled voice. “The syndicate has my number.”
“This is—ah—too sensitive for a phone call.”
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
The tone darkens. “You’re going to hear me out. Open the door.”
The problem with
working for a bunch of hotheaded syndicate members is that they’re entitled assholes. Do this. Do that. I’m not a fucking servant.
“It’s open,” I say, aiming my gun at the door.
It creaks loudly as a man with blond hair and soft, fine-boned features walks into the room with his bare hands held up. I recognize him. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. He’s still here?
How?
I lower my gun as two syndicate men enter, standing on either side of the hotel room door.
A small body lay facedown on the beach as freezing waves crashed over her shoulders.
A cold sweat breaks over my body as I stare into his smiling face, nausea rising like a line in my mouth.
He looks different. Older. His cheeks hollowed out. We used to call him Achilles. A torrent of memories flood into my head—images flash by: a blond boy with a slight limp, his hand outstretched toward mine, a snub-nosed girl ripping off a piece of sourdough.
He’s dressed in the black suit that all syndicate men wear, along with the blood-red tie and shirt. So he moved on from cracking heads in San Francisco’s seedy streets and joined one of the biggest criminal organizations on the West Coast.
I hoped he’d be dead by now.
“Roach,” he says, looking straight at me.
The name stirs a hornet’s nest and I clench my teeth.
“I don’t go by that name anymore.”
He smiles. “I’ve heard. Jesus, it’s really you.”
Shock registers in his voice. I don’t think he ever expected the runt of the crew to grow into the man he is today.
I can’t say that I’m happy to see him.
“What the hell are you doing here, Achilles?”
He shuts the door and approaches me. Disgust unfurls in my stomach, but my mind races, searching for why. I can’t remember.
“I’m Viper now.”
It suits you.
“When I heard Silas was in the city, I had to meet you for old time’s sake.”
“I had no idea you joined the syndicate.”
Viper or Achilles or whoever the fuck he is no longer has the limp. I watch his left leg, but he puts his weight on it easily. It was deformed—stunted. He couldn’t really run. Then again, Achilles never really needed to run from anything.
“Yeah. It beats beating up other street crews.” His eyes twinkle. “It’s a good gig.”
“Well, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
I can’t believe he’s still here, hanging around our old haunts as if nothing happened. Potent rage boils in my guts as I stare into his arrogant eyes. I could fucking kill him, but he’s a goddamned member.
“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about in particular?”
His green eyes burn. “I wanted to offer you a contract.”
“Can’t do it. I’ve already promised Ryan Haines one more job.”
“You haven’t heard my offer.”
Viper’s tone, which had been pleasant, has a slight edge. I recognize the boy who used to terrify me and remember how quick he was to rage at any sign of disrespect.
Fucking bastard.
“What is it?”
“I want you to kill Ryan Haines.”
This has to be a joke.
“No fucking way. He’s a Council member.”
I’ll be hunted to the ends of the world by the syndicate. This must be why Viper sought me out, because he thinks he can bully me into doing his dirty work. He’s still a slimy fuck. Fuck him, I’m not doing it.
“You’ll become a member of the syndicate. You’ll have a room to yourself, access to the club whores, doctors, whatever the hell you want.”
“I’m not interested in becoming a member.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Really? You like moving from place to place, sleeping in,” his pale eyes take in the shabby hotel room, grimacing, “places like these?”
“It beats having to answer to someone.”
“Why have you been here for so long?”
My fingers tighten around my gun as Viper’s eyes bore into mine.
The girl.
The beach.
Her mouth gaped open in the sand, stretched in an unnatural O. The white foam kept clawing at her body like desperate fingers, slowly dragging her into a watery grave.
A blanket of overpowering rage smothers me. It’s like a plastic bag wrapped around my head, flattening against my mouth and nose. I want to claw at my neck.
“The money’s good.”
Viper’s smile is a little too wide. “You’ve been in SF for too long. You shouldn’t have come back.”
No, I shouldn’t have.
“Kill him, and I’ll make you a member.”
If I don’t?
He takes a step forward and every instinct screams for me to aim and fire, but a decades-old memory has me rooted to the spot. Viper leans in, and I feel his breath billowing over my ear.
“You can’t run from me forever, Roach.”
2
Fawn
Silas burns in my head longer than he should.
Beautiful.
I can still hear it falling from his perfect lips. I don’t care if he’s a hitman—he’s hot as fuck. I’m talking crawling on your knees, begging to suck his cock kind of hot. He’s a guy who doesn’t really have to do much to get laid. All he needs is to dress in one of his suits and point at any woman in the room. Best of all, he’s not from the syndicate. He’s not going to treat me like a piece of glass.
I’m like a kid with a new toy to play with. I grew up in this goddamn place, and I know every face, even the syndicate girls I see wrapped around members’ arms at parties. We’re a few hundred strong, packed carefully within the four black walls of this place. Every man my age knows that Ryan Haines has an unusual fixation on his daughter’s private life.
The last man I dated was Paul. He had a wicked smile, and an even wilder tongue. My first time was with him. He was sweet about it. We made love all night and in the early hours of morning when we could barely open our eyes. He told me he was going to ask my father for permission to date me.
Two days later they found him in a ditch in the Tenderloin. Stabbed. Dad said he was a drug addict.
I knew better.
The memory is like a sharp jab to the happiness swelling inside me. My eyes well up even though it was five years ago.
Dad hunches over his plate of food, scowling at the misshapen pieces of broccoli, and a bitter tang hits my mouth. The broccoli is limp on my fork. I let it fall with a small thud on the still-hot porcelain plate, and Dad looks up at me with a frown.
“Don’t play with your food.”
I fucking hate him.
“I’m not hungry.”
Truth be told, there’s a gaping hole in my stomach.
“Good,” he says as the maid standing behind me clears my plate. “You can leave before you embarrass me again.”
“Who—?”
“Mr. Haines,” one of the meatheads posted near the door calls out, “Silas is here to see you.”
Silas.
I nearly bounce with glee in my chair.
Maybe a small part of me enjoys torturing men as much as I’ve been tortured all these years. Allowed to look, but never to touch. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. I can’t resist teasing the new guys when they come to the syndicate. It’s fun, and as long as I don’t let it go any further, nothing bad will happen to them.
“Come in.”
Don’t stare at him this time.
But I can’t help it. He’s built like a model, and he’s exotic looking for California. Irish, maybe. When I sat across from him yesterday, I noticed dark freckles on his hands. His skin is like pale milk, but it suits him.
“Good evening, Mr. Haines.”
He has a deep voice that makes my skin burn. The moment I hear it, I feel a glow between my legs that grows hotter with every second.
Silas, dressed in a dark blue, gracefully steps into the dining room, his white shirt st
ark against his skin. The snug-fitting suit hints at a lean and hard body. His hair looks black, but it’s more like a very deep red, with gray strands running along his wings. The gray hints at an older age, but his eyes are youthful. It all suits him. He’s fucking gorgeous. The air vanished from the room the first time I saw him.
He’s the kind of sexy that you just can’t ignore. Danger sexy. A man who spends his time using his hands. A killer who probably doesn’t give a shit about the syndicate or me. Rough around the edges and brimming with testosterone. I need a guy like that—one who’ll fuck first and ask questions later. Who looks at me dead center and calls me “beautiful” right in front of my dad.
My eyes linger on his wide mouth with just the right amount of pout, his long, straight nose and hooded eyes. I look at his hands—no ring—but a hitman wouldn’t likely have a wife.
“Ms. Haines.” My name rolls off his tongue as he spares me the briefest glance, and then his gorgeous eyes slide off me like I’m a piece of furniture.
Ouch.
“Ah, shit!”
Dad shoves himself back as a wave of red wine bleeds over the tablecloth and spills on his lap.
“Goddamn it.” He attacks his pants with the napkin, but it’s drenched in alcohol. “No,” he snaps to the maid. “Just leave it! I’ll be right back—I have to change. Dinner service, you may leave. Silas, have a seat while I get changed.”
My heart leaps in my throat as Dad lumbers to his feet and gives me a cursory look as he walks out of the room. The maids standing like sentries behind us begin picking up the plates and glasses, the clatter of silverware the only noise in the hall as Silas stands against the wall and folds his arms. Slowly the room is emptied of people and my heart picks up the pace, knowing Dad will be back any minute.
“Silas.”
My voice wavers in the dining hall, and a set of murky eyes look up from his folded arms. It’s hard to ignore the intensity of his gaze, and for a moment a stab of fear hits my heart.
His Secret Baby (A Bad Boy Romance) Page 21