Hitman's Promise: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Naomi West

  Felice, her eyes swollen from lack of sleep, stared at him, her expression empty and cold. “How much?” she asked, her voice sounding robotic and icy.

  Kenneth looked at her like he didn’t recognize her. Perhaps, right now, I wouldn’t even recognize myself. But she continued to stare at him, unblinking.

  “How much for what?” he stammered in reply.

  “Your lease. How much do you owe the landlord?” Felice whispered, her voice quiet even in the silence of the office space.

  Looking nervous, Kenneth glanced at Jennifer, who shrugged. “About three grand, but that’s not — ”

  Felice reached into her purse which was nestled on her lap, pulling out a small stack of hundred dollar bills and threw it onto his desk. The motion scattered the money like a draft through an open window. Kenneth stared down at his desk, his eyes so wide, she could see the whites all the way around his irises. He looked like a frightened horse that was ready to buck his rider and run in the opposite direction.

  “Now, will you help Pierce?”

  Kenneth opened his mouth and then closed it several times, like a fish trying to breathe air. Then he closed his mouth, picked up all of the money Felice had given to him, and walked out of the door with it. He was only gone for a few moments before he returned, a big smile on his face. “Well, I get to stay in my office, my rent’s all figured out for awhile, and I happen to have the next two days off. I had been planning to use that time to move my office to my house, but I’m gonna use it to help your boyfriend out of jail now.”

  For the first time since this whole thing started, Felice felt her heart swell a little in her chest. The void seemed to shrink a little, and then she took a deep breath and steadied herself. Some like hope kindled in her, setting fires in her veins. “Then let’s make a plan to make sure that Pierce gets out of trouble. Whatever it takes.”

  Jennifer was worried, but looked a little happier now that they seemed to actually have something of a plan. Kenneth looked like Felice had smacked him over the head with a two-by-four. Secretly, Felice felt bad for him. Had no one ever done anything nice for this poor slob in his whole life?

  Kenneth looked at her, his eyes still too-wide. He still looked stunned as he said, “So, start from the beginning, Felice. And tell me everything.”

  # # #

  Pierce

  Sitting in the back of the transport van, Pierce stared down at the handcuffs around his wrists. It had been years since he’d been arrested last, and the memory wasn’t a fond one. Jail had been like a cage for him, pressing in closer every day until the walls squeezed him like a juicer.

  The world felt like it was tilting a little, and he wanted nothing more than to run. Break out of this van and run as fast as he could. But that’s what got you in this deep in the first place. I never should have run in the first place. I never should have left my people.

  But never running would have meant never meeting Felice. And even if he spent the rest of his life in jail, he would remember that week living at Felice’s white mansion in the desert as the happiest of his entire life. Being with her had taught him so many things; he wished he’d been someone else when they met. Someone completely unlike himself.

  The van continued to rumble on, the roads bumping up through the world’s worst shocks and jarring Pierce’s spine. He was the only one in the back of the police van; the only criminal being transported to the East Coast from Nevada, he supposed. It would be a very long and lonely ride with nothing but his memories to keep him company.

  “I hope Felice is okay. I hope Felice takes care of my bike for me. I wonder if Felice is thinking of me right now.”

  Every thought of Felice was like a shank to his ribs, pain lancing through him. But every thought was about Felice. In the short few days they’d known each other, she’d turned from a mystery he couldn’t touch to his everything. The whole empty world didn’t matter without her in it.

  “How did someone like her become so important?” It didn’t make sense; it was like some kind of Disney movie where the big bad beast falls in love with the pretty girl. Even though he knew she could never love him back. Pierce wondered if Felice thought about him now at all, or if she just shrugged him off and fell back into the arms of her ex.

  No, he realized with such certainty that it shook him, she wouldn’t have. In spite of what happened at the Gala, Pierce knew that Felice had feelings for him. She wouldn’t have jumped back into Clay’s arms.

  Although his hands were bound and the benches in the van were not exactly designed for comfort, Pierce managed to lie down somewhat comfortably. He hoped to at least get a bit of sleep. If he was going to make it out of this, he would need his wits and to be ready for whatever the interrogators threw at him.

  He slept fitfully, his dreams clogged with memories of Felice’s skin, her laugh, and her house that somehow now felt like home. Or it felt more like home than the Boston he was heading back to.

  In the long hours back to the east coast, Pierce tried to build a plan in his mind. He stared at the sides of the van for hours, its ugly white walls looking like they hadn’t been cleaned in decades. After a long hour of thought and a heavy sigh, he said, “I need to do what Felice wants me to do,” to the walls. He wasn’t expecting a response, but saying it out loud helped to quiet some of his thoughts. “I need to do what would make Felice proud.”

  He would talk to the police. He would tell them the truth. He would make Gunner pay, but through legal channels. He would give the police everything he had, hoping something he said would make them doubt just a little bit. Doubt enough to put some legwork into the case again.

  This time, he would be the good guy. And no matter what happened next, he planned to stay that way. For Felice.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Felice

  “What are we doing here?” Felice asked, glancing around the inside of the bar. It looked like a shady little place, filled with people that looked like mugshots on a grimy wall. She’d dressed down for this occasion, forcing Jennifer to dress down, too. But even in their bargain bin jeans with tears in them and ill-fitting Walmart t-shirts, they still looked too good for this place.

  The wood walls were ancient, lanced with a thousand holes from darts and broken glass. The clear coat over the top of the bar looked inches deep, added one layer at time over decades, grime and the soot of cigarette smoke caught between the layers.

  The few stragglers that were in the bar at this hour glanced up at the three of them with a mix of wariness and anger. Felice tried not to look at any of them too long, ignoring the mottled tattoos that bled out into their skin with time, like she was looking at them through etched glass. A few of the patrons had missing teeth. Something made the inside of the bar smell like trash and body odor.

  “There better be a damned good reason we’re here.” Jennifer glanced around with a look of barely concealed disgust; it must have matched the expression the Felice herself was wearing.

  Kenneth just grinned at them. His lackluster appearance fit this place in a way that the girls never could. It was probably the poorly tied tie and mustard stains on his clothing. “You remember how you asked your mom’s private investigator for tips? Well, one of them contacted me; he found that this bar was a frequent haunt of your boyfriend’s people. And I think we might find something here if we look hard enough.”

  Felice winced. “What kind of looking will we be doing?”

  “Watch and learn, Princess,” Kenneth said, snapping at the bartender.

  The old man came over, his rock hard expression matching his rock hard body. He looked to be about sixty and was completely gray, but looked like time had not touched his muscles. The man seemed like he could tie their limbs together with those bulging arms. He looked like he’d seen some things that Felice could only imagine in her deepest nightmares.

  She had a hard time meeting his clear, ice blue eyes that were as cold as snowfall.

  “Greetings, I would like a beer an
d two of something girly,” Kenneth said, waving dismissively at the two ladies. He then handed the bartender a enough money to pay for all of their drinks and stock in the bar while they were at it. Felice frowned at the obvious bribery, and the bartender did, too.

  “What are you digging for?” the man asked, his voice like cigarette smoke and gravel. “I most likely can’t help the likes of you.” His eyes ran over Felice and Jennifer. Not in a sexual way, though; it was more like he was sizing them up, reading their pasts and personalities in every inch of their skin. It was too obvious they didn’t belong here, no matter what Felice was wearing.

  She took their glasses of wine without so much as a grimace. Felice even managed to sip hers without making a face.

  “I hear that Pierce Normandy and his boys in the Millennium Mayhem frequented this place.” Kenneth glanced around, his eyes tracing the outlines of the bar’s ceiling. “I also hear Pierce might have been arrested two nights ago.”

  The bartender’s bushy, salt-and-pepper eyebrows flew up into his hair, his icy eyes becoming unbelievably huge in his tanned face. “Who told you all that?”

  “A friend,” Kenneth said, ignoring the glare from the bartender. Felice glanced around, but none of the other patrons seemed to be able to hear them speaking, for which she was thankful. “We know he was set up by Gunner, and we want to ensure Pierce isn’t doing time for someone else’s crime.”

  “Pierce?” The bartender looked surprised, then suspicious. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could be anyone.”

  “We might be anyone, sir,” Felice whispered, wincing as those cold eyes landed on her face. But she forced herself to stare him in the face. “But I need Pierce out of jail.” She didn’t have to fake the wobble in her voice. It had been there since the moment Pierce had been dragged off of the floor and out of her arms. “If there is anything you can do to help us…” Her voice trailed off, but she kept her eyes locked with his.

  It was the bartender that turned away first.

  “Alright, I might have something to help you.” The bartender called to his backup to watch the bar as he took the three of them into the back. His shoulders looked tense and unhappy. “Here.” He handed Felice a tape. It was unmarked. “This tape has Gunner threatening the guy Pierce supposedly killed, telling the guy he was going to kill him. Pierce is a good guy and he had no beef with Snake Eyes.” The old man crossed his arms over his shoulders. “I thought Pierce had disappeared, gone into hiding. I didn’t think I’d ever have to turn this over to anyone.”

  “Do you only have the one copy?” Kenneth asked, a smirk in his voice.

  The bartender nodded. “But you can get Billy to make you a copy, if you need it. He’s down on 5th Avenue; has a video repair place. He’s trustworthy.”

  Kenneth grinned. “Thank you, sir. Yah have a good day.”

  Felice clasped the tape to her chest, and it warmed her all the way through. Perhaps there was some hope in this fool’s errand. Now she just needed to find someone at the police station to listen to her. “How hard can that be?”

  # # #

  Pierce

  Pierce glanced down at the photos of him, prominently displayed, next to Felice in a gossip magazine. “You two look cute together,” the detective said, a wicked smile on his mouth. Pierce rolled his eyes, his jaw tightening as he kept his mouth closed around the angry retort. “So what made you run to her?”

  “She’d broken down on the side of the road, and I gave her a ride back home,” Pierce answered smoothly, his eyes locked with the wall behind the policeman. He felt nervous; cops always made him nervous. But he repeated his mantra over and over in his head, trying to keep cool. “Do what Felice would want you to do ...”

  The interrogation room looked just like they showed on TV; ugly drop ceilings, a single chair and table in the center. The police had offered him coffee and water, both of which he had declined politely.

  One of them leaned in towards Pierce. “Why did you kill Snake Eyes, Pierce? Was it a hit?”

  Pierce sighed. “I didn’t kill him. I barely knew him. Gunner — I mean Jeffrey Tatum — killed him, in hopes of pinning the murder on me and leaving me to rot in jail while he took over the MC.” Pierce glanced around to see nothing but mistrust in their eyes. He added, “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “We talked to this Gunner; he insisted that you did it,” the detective said, then sat back in his chair, looking relaxed. But his black eyes watched Pierce like a hawk.

  Pierce sat stock still in his chair, his mouth pulling down at the corners. This was going badly; what could he do to make them believe him? Their hard faces insisted they didn’t believe him, and no matter what he said, they wouldn’t change their minds. Sighing, he started over from the beginning, telling everything that happened that night, hoping they would be able to find a kernel of truth in his story that would break those hardened expressions. He told them how Gunner had called him out to that warehouse. How they had gone shooting together at the shooting range the day before. How Gunner had used gloves to keep his prints off it, and keep Pierce’s intact. How Pierce had run, knowing this would have been the reaction of the police.

  Not a single face softened during his speech. Ice formed in his stomach as he watched them, every single one of him having already determined his guilt without a jury.

  “You were wrong, Felice. I wanted you to be right, but you were very wrong …”

  “I’m not a hit man, anyway. If I really wanted someone knocked off, which I don’t, why would I do it myself when I have people I can order around?” he asked, flippantly, trying to dislodge the hopelessness spreading like freezer burn. It burned with cold, filling his veins with ice and pain. His heart burned with it.

  But nothing he said seemed to get through to any of them. Feeling deflated, he stopped trying. They already had evidence piled against him, and nothing Pierce could say could alter that.

  “Forgive me, Felice.”

  With a heavy heart, he closed his mouth and didn’t open it again.

  A man in a police uniform entered the room, whispered to the two detectives interviewing him, and then left abruptly. The detectives followed him out, leaving Pierce alone in the room for what seemed like an eternity. A young looking woman in a brand new uniform was sent to look after him, and she stood by the door and pretended Pierce didn’t exist. Even when he asked for water, his request fell on deaf ears. “Did something happen?” he asked the woman, trying to squash the tiny flame of hope that was growing in his chest. Maybe they found something to liberate him? But no, there was no way. Right? They weren’t even looking.

  The young officer ignored him, staying at stoic attention against the wall by the door. She must have been ex-military to be able to stand so still for so long. All those drills seemed to be carved into her muscles, holding her as motionless as a person can be.

  Pierce quickly tired of watching her to see if she would move, so he started counting tiles on the ceiling, then tiles on the floor. Then the number of times his jailer blinked.

  After a lifetime, Pierce’s two detectives walked back into the room, looking bewildered. “Well, Mr. Normandy. You have some influential friends, don’t you?”

  Pierce blinked at them, unsure of what they meant.

  “Someone named Kenneth Vanderbilt brought in some evidence that we still have to verify, but it looks like you just might just be getting out of this one.” The detective was frowning as he threw the case files he was carrying down on the table between them. “We’ll review it; if we find what we think we will, you just might have slipped out of the noose.” The officer looked unhappy about it, but he seemed determined to find out the truth at least. “For now, anyway.”

  Pierce felt hot, then cold, his mouth going dry. “What has Felice done?” He knew if Kenneth was involved, it had something to do with her. His heart jump started and came back to life, melting the ice in his chest.

  Perhaps this will work out after all.
>
  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Felice

  The moment the police released Pierce from the building, Felice nearly fainted from relief. Although his clothes were dirty and his boots dragged behind him, leaving lines in the gravel he walked, Pierce was free, and that was all that mattered.

  Running from the car, Felice slammed into him with nearly enough force to topple him over. As it was, he swayed under her weight, his eyes reddened and puffy. But Felice didn’t care. He was out, he was free. She had freed him.

  “Felice, why did you — ”

  Her eyebrows furrowing, Felice looked up into those eyes that set her heart on fire. “Because I couldn’t leave you in there to rot in jail. You don’t deserve to.”

  His gaze sliding to her shoulder, Pierce made a face that shook her to the core. “Perhaps I do belong in jail, Felice. Perhaps I belong there — ”