Hitman's Bride (Bad Boy Empire)

by Vanessa Waltz

  “I thought I made myself clear. You’re not going out. You’re staying here. That’s it. End of story.”

  “Or you’ll what?” I scream through my pain. “You’ll slit my throat, too?”

  “I don’t regret it,” he says, his warm breath billowing over my neck. “Stop pretending that you ever gave a shit about your dad.”

  “He was my father—”

  “He was a jackass,” Silas says, louder than ever, “and he got what was coming to him.”

  How dare he?

  I close my hand into a fist and I whirl it at his face, but he snatches it out of the air like a cat and pins my arm down over my head. He grabs the other one, smirking as I let out a scream of frustration. A wide, handsome grin spreads across his face as I struggle, twisting my wrists in his grasp.

  “You can accept that, or keep wasting energy hating me.”

  All I have to do is look at him to see that he doesn’t get it. He might be a Dragon, but he’s a new member. He doesn’t have a clue about what it’s like to survive in the syndicate. It’s not enough just to belong to someone. Everyone has a place, and I lost mine.

  “I was someone when he was alive. Then I had to watch as they raided my suite and took all my things. And the place I grew up in decided I was only good enough for their whorehouse, or the streets.”

  All the dreams I had about changing this place, climbing up the social ladder until I could actually make a difference, died the moment my dad was murdered. I look at him and feel another hot wave of fury ripple through me. He took it all from me.

  He takes both wrists in one hand as he lowers his body over mine. I fight the wave of heat rolling over my skin and then circling over my cheeks. His hair hangs down over his face as he grasps my cheek, and a thrill soars in my chest. It’s joy and confusion whenever he touches me, and then his thumb plays with my lip and I feel it burn with desire.

  “You were his, and now you’re mine.”

  “I don’t want to be anyone’s.”

  “You’d rather be a syndicate slut?”

  I glare at him. “You just wanted to fuck around with Ryan Haines’s daughter. You don’t actually want to keep me around.”

  “You’re more than just a girl I get to fuck. You belong to me. No one gets to feel how soft your skin is. No one gets to hear you moan. Just me.”

  Then he strokes my bottom lip, and his thumb sweeps to the side as his mouth covers mine. I inhale as he kisses me, torn between wanting to bite his lip and wanting to give in.

  He pulls back, breathing over my lips. “I’ve never had that before.”

  He’s what? Never had a girlfriend before? I can believe it, with his lifestyle. Moving from place to place, never sure where you’re going to end up.

  I’m falling under his spell. His tongue swirls in my mouth, and I kiss him back even though I’m supposed to hate him. I can’t fucking help it. He’s so warm, and he crushes his lips against mine, and I’ve never felt anything so incredible in my life.

  I’ve never had it before, either.

  All I had was a tryst with Paul, a one-time thing that I romanticized to the point where he might have declared his love for me, or I might have made it up in my head.

  Silas releases my hands, and I immediately bury them in his curls. My heart flutters and I feel lightheaded when he pulls back, surveying me through narrowed eyes. I spot the freckle on his lip and count the gray hairs peeking through his russet mane. His hands slide down my body, and I feel it like a slow, sensual massage. Every touch is heightened. Then he slides me toward the headboard.

  He pulls back for a moment, sitting on my thighs. A slow simmer builds deep in my core as my eyes feast on the expanse of hard muscle, his thick cock growing in his pants. He reaches down and grabs it, giving it a swift tug, and I don’t think I’ve seen anything so hot in my life. Jesus. Every inch of me burns as if there’s a wall of fire next to us. Silas’s blazing eyes rake my body, and he lets out a sort of low hiss that makes my core pound. Then he moves back and curls his fingers in the elastic of my panties, tugging them down my thighs with a torturous slowness. The smile he gives me sends a shock of heat rippling through my abdomen. It occurs to me that I’ve never had a guy take my clothes off, and I’m surprised by how erotic it feels. The panties dangle on my feet, and with one quick jerk they’re flying across the room. His warm hands splay over my inner thighs and my sharp gasp hits the cool air, which feels as though it’s trembling with electricity.

  Yes, I know that I’m supposed to hate him—I do hate him—but how am I supposed to ignore his hands? How am I supposed to shove him away, when every cell in my body screams for more?

  He makes a pleased sort of growl that rumbles at the back of his throat as he bends over, grazing my thighs with his lips. Fuck, he’s so close. I’m aching for his head to bend down—just a little lower—and put those lips to work on my throbbing pussy.

  But instead his hands grab my hips, my body heating as he slides them under my t-shirt, exposing my stomach, the fabric tugging over my stiff nipples. I gasp as he seals his mouth to my breast, sucking hard as he flicks his tongue. He keeps pulling the t-shirt over my shoulders, and then he stops when it covers my eyes. His mouth pulls away from my breast, and the cool air hits the wet skin. His hand immediately covers it, kneading me slowly. Holy fuck. I’ve never been blindfolded like this. Every sensation is magnified, even the little sounds he makes—the rustling of the sheets and his low, measured breaths.

  I search for him, feeling his warmth over my face, but he makes a tutting sound.

  “No, no, no,” he chimes. “Lie back, sweetheart. I’m going to make that body mine.”

  Then something freezing touches my wrist, and I jump in surprise. The hard edges bite into my skin as he wraps it around me, and then I hear a telltale series of clicks.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  A metallic sound of something clanging against the wooden headboard makes me instinctively pull back my wrist, and the hard edges cut into me. They surround me in a perfect circle just like a—

  “Did you handcuff me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Just pretend I’m fucking you against your will.”

  How can I pretend that I’m not close to screaming at him to get on with it—to fuck me already? And then I feel like I’m facing a mountain of shame because I am practically begging this hitman to fuck me. The same hitman who killed my father and gives no shits about it. He doesn’t give a damn about me.

  My flare of outrage is cleaved in two when suddenly his hands glide down my thighs again, and he parts my legs. His hair tickles my skin, and then I feel his steamy breath on my wet pussy. It contracts hard, and then he lowers his face. A wet muscle slips inside my pussy. Oh my God. Is he eating me out?

  He is. It’s unmistakable when he pulls back slightly and kisses my clit, rolling his tongue up and down. He’s done it before, of course, but I wasn’t blindfolded then. It’s a completely new experience. I can’t see a damn thing. All I can do is feel his fingers digging into my thighs slightly, his amazingly hot mouth, the way he moves his tongue in circles around my nub. He’s teasing the fuck out of me when I just want him to dive in.

  “Fuck you, Silas. Get off me!”

  I yank my wrist, hearing the handcuff jangle against the wood.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had my fill.”

  A small chuckle reverberates from his deep chest before the heat of his tongue caresses me again. Holy shit—the sound of him licking my pussy. I might come to the wet noises he’s making. A thickness slips into me as his mouth closes, and I feel him running his tongue from my clit deep inside.

  My back arches as though an electric current runs through my spine, forcing my body up. He seizes my thighs and keeps them spread-eagle, even though I want to tighten them around his face.

  Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

  Am I still pretending to not want it?<
br />
  “Please!”

  But I don’t know what I’m begging him for. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to stop. I want him to take his cock out.

  The t-shirt blocking my view shifts and I finally see him perched between my legs, his tongue running over his lips and sucking in greedily. Silas seems just as affected as I am. He sits upright, the bulge in his slacks almost comical because it’s so fucking huge. Good God, the look on his face is almost frightening. Dark eyes blaze as he violently undoes his belt, ripping it from his slacks. It scatters loudly on the wooden floor as he tosses it aside.

  “You’re going to open your legs like a good girl and take my cock without a fight.”

  This is my cue to do the exact opposite.

  I lash out with my foot, catching him hard in the chest. A pang of guilt hits me when he winces, but he quickly recovers with a savage grin, gripping my ankles so tightly that it hurts.

  “You’re going to pay for that.”

  With one rough tug he pulls down his slacks, flattening his cock against his legs until it springs free. He’s so hard that his skin is almost translucent. There’s hardly any give when he wraps his hand around himself and pulls. A smirk tugs at his pouty lips as he grips his cock, almost as if he’s proud. Fuck, he should be. I’ve seen dicks that size before—but only in porn videos.

  Then his slacks slide down his muscular thighs, and he kicks them away. The moment his knee bends the mattress and I feel him sliding toward me, a jolt of fear hits my chest and I yank my ankle out of his grip. His predatory grin makes my heart hammer against my chest, and my wrist is still attached to the headboard. He wouldn’t hurt me.

  Would he?

  That tiny, niggling doubt is enough to make my breath catch in my throat when he grabs my legs and yanks my body toward him. I know we’re pretending, but the darkness inside him is real. And right now its sights are set on me. Suddenly his hand smothers my frantic breaths and his hips dive into me, forcing my legs apart. A hard, swift pressure plunges inside me, and I scream into his hand. His back rises like a wave and then his muscles flex, driving every inch of him as deep inside me as he can. My free hand shoves against his chest, and he bears down on me and bites my neck in response, sinking his cock so deep that my breath feels knocked out of my chest.

  Silas’s lips drag over my sensitive skin as animalistic grunts blast from his throat. He wraps his body around me, locking me into a position that makes him free to fuck me as hard as he wants. I love listening to his hand swallow my cries and the desperate way he claims me. It hurts to fight him, but I do it anyway because my pussy contracts when he takes my hand and slams it into the mattress. I’m powerless for the first time, and it’s okay to enjoy him thrusting inside me even though he fucked my life.

  “Give your body to me.”

  The fury and passion builds into a crescendo as he fucks me. It’s as though his life depends on burying every inch of him inside me. It’s as though he’ll die if he doesn’t come inside me.

  Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.

  He slips his hand from my mouth, and I hear my voice burst into the air for a brief moment until he crushes his lips against mine with a cry of his own. A deep, guttural sound reverberates from his chest, and his hips slam against my wet pussy, flooding me with his hot cum. Holy shit—this is an entirely new thing for me. It’s warm and very wet, and I feel his thighs contracting as he buries himself to the hilt. He pulls back, smiling, his black hair damp with sweat, and then I feel his hand on my pussy. He pinches my clit as his cock swells inside me, and then I’m unraveling in his arms. I contract hard, the convulsions running up my body as his hot mouth descends upon mine.

  His arms wrap around me again, but this time to hold me close. It’s like being doused in a hot bath. One moment he’s fucking me as though he hates me, and in another he’s nuzzling into my neck. My eyelids flutter when Silas kisses my cheek.

  “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

  I shake my head, still too dazed to speak.

  His chest pulses against my aching body as I try to wrap my head around what the fuck just happened. Then his lips bump my cheek in a brief kiss as he rolls off me and stands up in front of the wide window. I admire the view, taking my time to look at his perfectly shaped ass and broad back, which is dotted with a handful of freckles.

  “Are you Irish?”

  Silas turns halfway, running a hand through his black hair streaking with gray. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I never had a mom or dad to tell me where I came from.”

  I did. And then you killed him.

  I don’t say it out loud even as heat rushes to my face. As he walks, I notice the scars slicing up and down his arms: proof of a hard childhood, or occupational hazards?

  I move to follow him into the bathroom, but my wrist is still attached to the handcuff.

  “Hey! Uncuff me!”

  He gives me a brief glance and smiles as though I’ve asked him how his day was. Then he walks out of the bedroom, ignoring me completely.

  The light flickers on in the bathroom and I hear him pad barefooted on the tiles. Then the sound of the shower blasting on. Maybe he’s waiting for it to heat up?

  I lie there for minutes, yanking on the goddamn wooden rod until my wrists scream with pain. The unmistakable sound of a glass door opening and shutting reaches me, and then a red-hot fury overcomes my body.

  That motherfucker.

  “Silas. Silas! Let me the fuck out!”

  I scream his name, but I might as well be shouting into a hurricane for all the good it’ll do. The sound of water trickling down his shoulders incenses me. Then the shower shuts off and he comes back with a towel wrapped around his waist, his curly hair combed to the side. He digs through his dresser for a pair of underwear, and then he grabs a fresh suit from his closet.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  What?

  “You said you needed to sleep!”

  “I have to find out what’s going on out there,” he says as he removes the towel and pulls on a pair of slacks.

  My chest constricts suddenly as all the sickening details of yesterday come back into full force.

  He buttons up his shirt and shoves the tail in his pants, ripping the jacket off the coat hanger.

  “You can’t just leave me like this!”

  Silas pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t trust you to stay put.”

  “No—I’ve got to get out! There could be hundreds of injured people—”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he says in a harsh voice. “You’re staying here.”

  Suddenly the air blazes. I feel as though I’m stuck in a furnace, because I hate him so much.

  “You can’t just lock me up whenever you step outside!”

  “I don’t trust you not to do something stupid, so that’s exactly what I’ll do from now on. There are a bunch of guys out there willing to rape and murder you. Is that what you want?”

  “I’ll be careful!”

  “You’ll be dead!”

  His scream of fury makes my heart jump into my throat. He takes several strides toward me, and I instinctively back into the headboard, away from him. I don’t understand what I’ve done, but I’ve never heard a sound like that from him. It’s as though I struck an exposed nerve. The last syllable of his voice trembles in the air as he glares at me.

  “What the fuck is your problem?”

  His gaze drops and he winces as though with pain. There’s bitterness all over his face. I’m alarmed by the change, but I don’t relieve the attack.

  “Why do you even give a shit about what happens to me?”

  “Stay here, Fawn.”

  Then he disappears behind the door before I can shout another word, and he’s gone.

  * * *

  Fuck him.

  I’m sick to death of being told what to do. All my life I’ve had a father who thought he knew best when it cam
e to every aspect of my existence. I was told to sit down, shut up, and be good.

  Those days are over.

  My old man’s gone, and I’m sure as shit not going to let another one tell me what to do.

  The wood groans as I wrap my hand around the bar and pull hard. It’s cheaply made, and it bends in my hand. I yank hard, and the rod pops out of the socket, nearly bashing into my face.

  Goddamn it. Finally.

  The wooden rod slides out of my handcuffs and I spring out of the bed. Now where the hell did he hide the key? I yank open the drawers on the nightstand and rifle through their contents. Something rattles inside and I scrape the corners of the drawer, finding a small key. It fits in the handcuff’s lock and the metal falls from my wrist. Then I toss the damn thing aside and head straight for the bathroom. Son of a bitch thought he could keep me locked up.

  I shower quickly, anxiety ramping in my chest as I think about what lies behind that door. There’s no rapid rat-a-tat of gunfire, no sound at all that would indicate that anything is amiss, but what keeps flashing through my mind is the bloodstained marble floors of the throne room, and Viper, sliding his gun casually from his jacket and firing it into Mrs. Lee’s chest.

  I shiver in the blast of hot water. When I was a kid, I used to be proud of this place. We were the most powerful organization on the West Coast. I saw police commissioners shake my father’s hand. I wanted to help the syndicate grow—I wanted a part that was more than marrying some man and helping him climb the social ladders of this place. There were plenty of areas where the syndicate was still sorely lacking. Its treatment of women, for example. What started out as a street gang grew into a fraternity that only accepted women behind its walls in the last fifty years, but most of them leave the syndicate when they turn eighteen anyway. My mom only stayed long enough to have me, and then she left. All we’ve ever been in this place were Madonnas or whores. I wanted to change it. Why the hell should I have to leave to be in control of my own damn life?

  Water trickles down my skin as I close the shower and reach for the towel. Then I rake through the pile of clothes on the kitchen table and find a pair of shorts and a black tank top. It’ll do until I reach the infirmary. There, I’ll be able to find scrubs that fit me, and hopefully help out the staff.