A Hitman's Kryptonite

by Cage Thompson

  Dark brows drew together as he scrolled through something on his watch before looking at her again and back at the device.

  She bit her bottom lip with bated breath as she watched him, wondering why she felt so safe when she shouldn’t. Nothing about this man’s demeanor spoke anything but danger, danger, and more danger! Yet somehow, she wanted to pull closer to him more than running as far away as she could. It really didn’t make any sense because if he’d found her, that means that Ignacio could easily do so as well and the person who she should be protecting was now in danger.

  Who says that he doesn’t work for Ignacio? Her conscience questioned.

  He would’ve killed me already, she pointed out.

  Not if he was told to bring you back for Ignacio to do the job, Reason quipped candidly.

  She swallowed nervously as she started to mentally calculate an escape route. Getting Gabby from the room behind him would be the hardest thing, though. Their things could stay as long as her daughter was safe. She switched her weight from one foot to the other as she assessed how far she could run before he’d catch up with her with those endless legs.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he murmured definitively, dragging her eyes to his still down-bent head.

  Her teeth sank more painfully into her bottom lip as worry held onto her tightly. His sharp, navy eyes flickered to hers as if he had come to some conclusion, even though he swiftly covered the weak emotion that fluttered across his face.

  “Now it all makes sense,” he started as if he was talking to himself and her brows drew together. “You were calling your father.”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs and she stepped back in undiluted fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she began.

  “Skipp Bass is the reason you almost enabled Ignacio to find you,” he stated concisely.

  Her arms tightened some more around her slight frame. What could she say to that? What does it even mean? Was he working for Ignacio? By the sound of it, no, but if he wasn’t, then who was he working for and why?

  “That’s the reason there is no record of Brooke Genovese before three years ago,” he murmured as he shook his head in disgust. “Did you run away to be with him?” he demanded.

  Her heart jumped into her throat as his eyes froze over.

  “A man is languishing in jail because of your selfishness!” he spat as disgust briefly slid across his face.

  She opened her mouth to defend herself, but nothing came out.

  “My friend worked your case for almost a year; trying to find you,” he growled and she automatically stepped back.

  What could she say?

  “Andy McDowell has been hospitalized one hundred and fifteen times in the past three years because people respect your father so much that they took it upon themselves to try and avenge your death,” he said in a disgusted tone.

  Her hand flew to her mouth as tears sprang into her eyes while horrid images flashed through her mind.

  Poor Andy! Her heart wept. I’m so very sorry!

  “Was the lay that good?” he snapped and anger washed through her.

  Suddenly, she found her voice. “I never asked for any of this!” she bit out, her caramel skin darkening as rage brought the blood to the surface of her skin.

  “They say good sex brings out the best and the worst in a woman,” he began. “It must be even worse for an immature, over-privileged brat!”

  “You son of a wretch!” she hissed as hurt poured through her.

  Something deadly passed through his eyes but instead of moving away, she stepped closer to his towering frame and slammed her diminutive palms against his wide chest. He didn’t even register the impact because his body hadn’t even shifted.

  “I didn’t ask to be kidnapped, nor did I ask to be raped,” she said ever so quietly as his strong hands stilled her hands midair when she moved to scratch his face.

  His throat worked as he swallowed but he said nothing. His eyes, however, roved over her face as if trying to spot a lie.

  “Your kind knows how to spin a good tale when it suits you best,” he murmured as he dropped her hands as if they would somehow contaminate him.

  This time, something distracted him enough for her open palm to meet his cleanly shaven cheek. She cried out in pain when he twisted her hand behind her back before touching a finger to his ear.

  “Trent not now,” he barked down the line.

  “What bug is crawling up your rear?” Trent questioned.

  “Raine Bass is standing before me.”

  “That’s not possible,” Trent breathed.

  “As there is light, my friend,” Wyatt murmured.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “When someone challenges you, fight back. Be brutal, be tough.”

  —Donald Trump

  “Fill me in later, will you,” Trent instructed as he came to the realization that Wyatt truly couldn’t exchange details with him at that moment.

  Wyatt grunted an answer before his friend disconnected and he continued to bore his eyes into the little spitfire that he had in knots before him. His body tightened as heat poured through his frame from her closeness and his stomach turned over.

  How could he even conceive to think of her in that manner, he didn’t know. Even with knowing all he did now, his body seemed not to be partial to the information; it just wanted what it wanted. What it wanted was Raine against any surface. With self-disgust, he propelled her from his hold and she staggered as she spun around to face him before quickly righting herself.

  “You have no right!” she hissed, always mindful that her daughter and his niece lay sleeping just a door away.

  He chuckled scornfully. “I really thought all this time you were an undercover agent who got sucked in too deep…”

  Her brows knitted in confusion.

  “We have wasted the time and resources of so many agents trying to keep your butt protected when you really just like the cat and mouse game. You want Ignacio to find you? Don’t you? You just want him to chase you like a dying dog—”

  “You don’t know who I am!” she bit out. “You have no right—”

  “I know exactly who you are, Raine Bass. I remember every single detail of your case.”

  She swallowed visibly.

  “How you went missing on your way back from school and how conveniently your bloody clothes were found in Andy McDowell’s trunk months later…”

  She trembled and his fists tightened as his urge to grab her and shake her intensified unbearably.

  “You played with another man’s life so that you could run off and live in the lap of luxury with your drug lord and when that didn’t work out, you ensured that his own people had him killed.”

  “I had no part in Stephano’s death,” she whispered. “And if I could do it all over again—”

  “Don’t play the damsel in distress with me,” he growled. “It will get you nowhere.” Her lips pressed together as if she was fighting to control her tongue and he was glad because at this rate, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions and Gabriella might quickly become an orphan. “The only good thing that will come of this is that I’ll be able to extricate Mr. McDowell from the hell you’ve introduced him to. I doubt that at this point he could ever reintegrate into society normally.”

  With each word, he drove the nail deeper and he watched dissatisfied as her hands rolled into tight fists.

  “It’s a pity that I can’t drag your butt through the mud right now because I have too many men under who’d be put in danger because of you. But I swear on my parents’ graves that as soon as this is over, you will pay for your crimes.”

  “Who the heck made you lord and master of the universe?” she questioned coldly and he couldn’t help but move towards her. Surprisingly, the menacing look on his face didn’t faze her. “You. Have. No. Idea. The hell that I’ve been through for the past three years and you have no flipping right to stand there and judge me without the facts,” she
grounded out coldly.

  “I already have all the facts right here, Brooke—”

  This time, her wrist twisted painfully before her palm came throbbing back from connecting with his cleanly shaven cheek.

  In a heartbeat, his strong fingers dug into her wild curls and he yanked her up before his lips slammed down on hers. The blood that he tasted only served to intensify the inferno that tore through him. She moaned into his mouth and he reached between them with one, powerful hand to rip the cheap, cotton fabric of her nightgown clean down the center. Her cry of dismay shocked him back to the present and he pulled back with a swear. His eyes, however, couldn’t help but feast on her almost flawless figure. His eyes drew together as the landed on a fading but evident scar.

  Her hands had come up to drag the tattered garment together as the blood drained from her skin at what could’ve and what had just happened. But he was more intrigued with the scar that ran under her breasts; each letter was distinct. He moved forward to untwine her fingers from their death grip around the cloth and she whimpered in distress before she realized that this time, his touch had a different intent. Her luscious, perky bosom, not far from his hand drew his attention, yes, but the jagged scars called to him and he couldn’t help but trace them. Her eyes squeezed shut and he could only murmur one thing, “Why?”

  To her credit, she didn’t play ignorant. “I tried to run away after he raped me the first time,” she breathed and he flinched as he took in the jagged-edged, because he knew that she had been trying to get away. The slices were clean and even in some places, belying that at some point she had either suffered through or had passed out. He had seen these scars many times throughout his career; whether on the combat field or working as an operative. Conceited torturers always stuck to this special trademark. The very faded bruises scattered over her skin weren’t at all surprising. Her skin held the evidence of a lot of trauma and it was obviously taking a while to fully heal itself. “He said that I needed a reminder of who I now belonged to—”

  “So he decided to carve his name on you with a steak knife!” he bit out.

  Her fingers flexed on the edges of the material and her body trembled as she tried to hold back whatever was going through her mind. She bit down on her lip and the metallic smell of blood filled the air. How could he have judged this so wrong?

  “Raine—”

  She chuckled darkly at his attempt at apologizing. “Even my name he thought I needed reminding of,” she laughed. With an unsteady jerk, she pulled the sleeve of the gown to her elbow. Brooke was written unceremoniously across her forearm.

  He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m—”

  He was truly lost for words but she sure as hell wasn’t. “I don’t care who the hell you are or who you’re working for but I need you to leave the same way that you came and to forget that you ever saw me,” she grounded out. “Close the door on your way out.” With that, she walked away from him and placed a door between them with a soft but firm click.

  “Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” he breathed into the empty room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I feel like I’ve known you forever. Like I’ve held you in my heart for centuries. (Talon)”

  —Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Raine’s hand trembled as she slid the tattered garment off her shoulder. For a second, she had almost done the unthinkable. How could she even fathom allowing him to touch her and enjoy it? What did she even know about finding pleasure in a man? Stephano had never allowed her that privilege and whoever this man was, somehow, her body knew that he could and she cried out to him for release.

  She grimaced as the cotton chafed her raw, throbbing palm, reminding her that she had been boldface enough to hit him twice and he hadn’t even flinched. It was so weird how he and Stephano were night and day in their reactions; her body knew that clearly but her eyes and mind were tricked by the copied face. Mentally, she knew that if it had been Stephano, she would’ve been dead from the first second she had even dared to talk back. But with him, it was like her whole mind and body were lit and just waiting for the sound of his voice for a spark to fly.

  How was that even possible when she’d barely known this man for half an hour?

  Her eyes washed over Gabby briefly as she stopped to grab a cheap t-shirt from her overnight bag before heading to the bathroom. Her little angel laid spread-eagled across the small bed as if the world had stopped when she’d closed her eyes and there was nothing to worry about. She swallowed at what the man in the other room now meant to their escape plans.

  He knew her real name and he knew who her father was. Essentially, he now knew where she was heading. Who he worked for and why he was tracking her was anyone’s bet but he sure as hell didn’t work for Ignacio because he wouldn’t have cared if he could trace her calls or not.

  She paused ever so slightly as her eyes caught the scar that he had seen and her lungs squeezed in her chest at the memory. She pushed up the bathroom door, just enough so that the light wouldn’t bother her daughter but enough to allow her to keep a side eye on her. He didn’t seem like the type that would harm a little girl, but for her sanity, she wanted to be able to do something just in case.

  How do you know so much about a man whose name you don’t even know? Her conscience questioned dryly and she pressed her lips together in annoyance.

  I just know! She shot back mentally and the voice laughed wildly.

  You have no idea what you’re up against, Raine Bass; just pray that he isn’t pulling your string until Ignacio gets here.

  She swallowed shakily before pushing away the voice and dragging the cotton over her head to cover her near naked frame. Flicking off the lights, she went back to the bedroom to curl up beside her daughter even though another small bed rested right beside it. Brushing back her soft waves, she took in her beautiful shade in the dim light. Her skin, though lighter than many of her mixed peers in high school, was still darker than Gabby’s lightly tanned skin that obviously came from her Italian father. A small smile fluttered over the little girl’s cherub lips and her mother’s heart squeezed at the thought that harm could come to her again. For that, she hated Stephano with every fiber of her being but she would never wish away her beautiful little girl.

  Her mossy green eyes flickered to the ceiling as her ears strained to hear any movement from him but none came. Instinctively, she knew that he hadn’t left and she didn’t know why she felt safer knowing that he was still there. She’d felt the guns when he’d pressed her into his frame but they hadn’t fazed her. Stephano had always used them as forms of intimidation but he had many instances in that brief moment to do the same and he hadn’t. If she hadn’t gotten that close to him, she would’ve had no idea that he’d been packing.

  She bit her lips as the flesh on her chest tightened and the tips hardened at the memory. Why on earth did it have to be him? She wondered.

  ∆∆∆

  Wyatt touched a finger to his ear as he dialed up his boss, not caring what hours of the night or morning it was.

  “Coleman,” Oliver answered groggily.

  “It’s more complicated than her being an agent,” he stated candidly as he watched the slight rise and fall of her chest in sleep on his iPad.

  He could hear Oliver stirring from his plush bed. “What do you mean?” he questioned.

  “Brooke Genovese is Raine Bass…”

  A loud exclamation of swears passed the old man’s lips and Wyatt heard his wife grumble something before there were farther movement and the closing of a door. “That’s not possible—”

  “I know; the evidence was stacked up against andy mcdowell but he’s an innocent man.”

  “Crap!”

  “The justice department moved with the evidence that they had but at this point, it would seem that those evidence had been planted to achieve Stephano’s goal.”

  “He’s a man with many connections,” Oliver admitted.

  Wyatt grunted
in response.

  “Was it from a combined effort of the two?” the old man questioned.

  “I don’t believe that she went with him freely,” Wyatt admitted, grimacing at how crassly he had found that out. He brushed a hand over his slightly sore cheek before running it in frustration through his hair.

  “You made contact with her, didn’t you?” Oliver muttered, catching onto something in Wyatt’s voice.

  “Something like that—”

  “How did she take it?” his boss asked, intrigued at whatever he thought he’d caught on to.

  “She knew that I wasn’t Stephano but she still hasn’t pushed to find out who I am.”

  “I think it would be obvious that you couldn’t be Stephano. She watched him die, Wyatt.”

  He hummed a response, distracted by her sleep-induced movements.

  “I take it that you’re still there?” Oliver inquired.

  “She kicked me out but didn’t bother to check if I had left—”

  “Wyatt—” The older man began but his understudy cut him off.

  “She’s safer with me here; they both are!” he snapped.

  Oliver made a strange sound that caused Wyatt to become irritated.

  “I called you about Andy, not Raine,” he started. “We need to get him out of prison without alerting anyone who’d be privy to Raine still being alive.”

  “You know that he’ll never be the same again even if we wipe all this filth from his name publicly…”

  “Yeah; he had to kill in prison to survive,” Wyatt admitted. “But none of this was his fault and we have to give him a chance to start over.”