by Eve Langlais
Hitman Wedding
A Bad Boy Inc Story
Eve Langlais
Copyright © October 2017, Eve Langlais
Cover Art Razz Dazz Design © July 2017
First Printing August 2018
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com
eBook ISBN: 978 1988 328 90 4
Print ISBN: 978 1988 328 91 1
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email, photocopying, and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Introduction
The employees of Bad Boy Inc. are gathered for a celebration. The bride sported the latest in bulletproof corsets. The groom wore a gun. The guests came armed for action. But the cake blew up before they could eat it. As for the honeymoon, it’s going to be a mad dash to Russia for a final showdown.
Once upon a time, Darren fell for a woman while in the world’s most romantic city. In full view of the Eiffel Tower, he had his heart torn from his chest and stomped on.
Time for revenge. Francesca played Darren for a fool, but he won’t let it happen again. Now that he’s found her, she’ll pay for her actions. Problem is, she’s getting under his skin—rubbing against it. Making him remember those Paris days and hotter nights.
Before he can decide if he’s crazy enough to fall in love with her again, everything explodes after the wedding.
Chapter One
Someone had killed Stefanov. While not a nice man, or a close friend, her temporary partner didn’t deserve to lie in a pool of cooling blood. More disturbing, Francesca would likely be killed next, unless she escaped. Options for said escape, however, were quite limited.
The room she found herself in didn’t have many egresses. The patio doors led to a balcony overhanging a seaside cliff, currently whipped by a tropical storm. While agile and fit, she wasn’t about to climb the slick, rocky face. A locked door leading out to the main area of the house taunted, but she didn’t take the bait. It wasn’t any safer out there.
There’s a killer on the island. Someone with an unknown agenda.
With her two main exits crossed out, it left only one option, a poor one at that. She took the spiral stairs in the far corner of the room. They coiled upwards to a rooftop deck where safety was but an illusion as the storm buffeted the island situated off the Florida Keys. Wind whipped her skin and pelted her with raindrops. It soaked and chilled to the bone, but she didn’t let the poor conditions distract her. When the woman chasing her emerged from below, she was ready.
“Keep away.” Francesca snarled the warning, her gun aimed at Kacy’s face.
The petite Latina with a cool composure probably inherited from a cat, didn’t look daunted at all to be facing down the barrel of a gun. “I’m not here to kill you. Just making sure you aren’t planning to shoot Darren.” Darren being Kacy’s boss. And Francesca’s ex-lover.
“I should. It would make things easier.” So much so if all Francesca needed was to shoot him. “He wasn’t supposed to be here. He ruined everything.” Ruined it with his angry glares—and reminders of a time when those lips used to purse in pleasure, not disdain.
“What’s wrong? Did your new boyfriend not like the one you dumped showing up?” The wind snatched the words from Kacy’s mouth, but the woman stood close enough for Francesca to hear them.
“You don’t understand. No one does. There’s more at stake than you know.”
“Then perhaps you should explain.”
How to make clear that she had no choice? “I was trying, but then Stefanov arrived. He didn’t take kindly to Darren’s treatment of me.” A well-deserved harangue, given what she’d done to him. Some men had a hard time letting go.
“Was that the plan all along? To have Stefanov lure Darren to this island so he could kill him?”
“What? Of course not.” If Francesca wanted Darren dead, she’d do it herself. “You shouldn’t speculate on things you know nothing about.”
“I know that someone is trying to kill Darren, and right about now, you and Stefanov seem like the most likely suspects.”
Stefanov might have had his own agenda, but her? “I’m not trying to kill him.” She might be the only one other than Kacy who wasn’t.
“Weren’t you the one claiming the killer was on this island? How else would you know unless it’s you or your new boyfriend?”
The conversation was going nowhere, and Francesca recognized it for what it was. A stalling tactic. She kept her gun steady even when startled by the arrival of a new player.
“Francesca isn’t the one behind the murder attempts.” Darren’s voice cut through the storm—cold, angry.
She didn’t even think about it, simply angled the gun away from Kacy and pointed it at Darren.
Not one of her brightest moves.
The petite Kacy wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. She lunged forward, thrusting out and punching Francesca in the tit. It shocked more than it hurt and drew a gasp from Francesca. Her fingers loosened enough that Kacy knocked the gun from her hand.
But Francesca didn’t retaliate. Didn’t wipe the smug smirk off Kacy’s face, mostly because she knew that fighting wouldn’t win her this battle.
His face a stony mask, Darren moved until he stood between them. “I’ll take over from here.”
“Go ahead. Toss her over the side.” Kacy waited for Darren to act, and Francesca wondered if his anger was great enough to do it. To actually murder her in cold blood.
I don’t think he will. Not the Darren she knew. That man was a lover, not a killer.
Darren shook his head. “I’m not killing her yet. I need to speak with Fran. Alone, please.”
Kacy sputtered. “The girl just had a gun pointed at you. You can’t seriously expect me to go.”
“I do.”
“What about her boyfriend?”
Stefanov wouldn’t be coming to her aid. Darren already knew that.
“Marcus took care of him. So you can leave us alone. I assure you, I can handle Fran by myself.”
Yes, he certainly could. He had a knack for making her melt and do whatever he wanted—in the bedroom. But she doubted he was here to seduce her into giving him a second chance.
When Darren and Kacy turned to look at her, she made sure to look weak. Shaking in the pouring rain, hunched in on herself. She even managed to bat her damp lashes and let her lower lip tremble.
The fine act didn’t fool Kacy for a second. “She’s fucking with you.”
Smart girl.
Darren didn’t budge. “Leave, Kacy. That’s an order.”
Th
e urge to stick out her tongue was strong, but Francesca kept her lips clamped as Kacy walked away muttering, “If she kills you, expect me to say I told you so.”
Except Francesca wasn’t planning to kill Darren, no matter what outside forces wanted. The bigger question was, what would Darren do with her?
“I’m scared,” she stated, trying to be the person he expected. Weak and afraid, a woman who needed a man to take care of her.
For a moment, his expression softened, just a flicker before he shuttered it. “Bullshit. I don’t think you’re scared at all.”
“Stefanov is dead. Murdered.”
“Did you do it?”
The very question had her mouth rounding and an indignant “No!” spitting from her lips. “You said your man did it. Killed him in cold blood.”
“Actually, I don’t know who killed your boyfriend.” Said with a sneer.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” For some reason, it seemed important to clarify that.
“I really don’t fucking care.”
Words that shouldn’t have hurt. “What do you want with me?”
“What do you think I want, Fran?”
For a moment, he let the anger shine through, so much resentment, and well deserved, too.
As Francesca stood on the rooftop, storm wind whipping at her hair, face-to-face with the man she used to sleep with, a guy she’d coldly rejected, her gun lying uselessly on the ground, she had to wonder how she’d gotten here.
Her boss, Sergei, being a bit of a smartass, would say, “You took the stairs.” The truth, however, was much more complicated.
The reason Francesca was here had to do with a mysterious invitation. Normal people didn’t turn down a chance at a tropical vacation. Even deadly ones.
Since they were alone, she could at least speak freely. “You need to leave the island,” she declared. “It’s not safe.”
He lifted his face to the sky overhead. “It’s just a little tropical storm.” Fat, wet drops soaked them while lightning lit up the sky.
“I’m not talking about the storm. I’m talking about the fact that this island is a trap.”
“You don’t say,” Darren said flatly, his granite-like countenance rigid.
He was angry. Rightly so. She’d done something pretty cruel to him. Low even for her.
I made him love me. Then she’d left him.
“No matter your feelings for me, you have to listen.”
“Why would I listen to you? You are obviously not who you said you were.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean that you’re not a real model. Whom do you work for?”
She tried her best to appear innocent. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”
“Yeah, you fucking do. Who the fuck are you? Other than a lying cunt.” He cursed at her, and she flinched from the harsh words then jumped again as lightning sizzled, followed by an immediate crack of thunder.
“I don’t have to listen to this.” When she moved, he grabbed her arm, painfully tight.
“Yeah, you do. Because I think you’re involved with whatever is happening here. Did you kill Stefanov and the others?” By others, he meant the other guests on the luxury island.
“I’ve killed no one.” Not today at least, and not since her arrival. But the day wasn’t over yet.
“I don’t believe you.”
With good reason. “That is your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you that the island is a trap. I’m leaving.” Before something regrettable happened. She yanked free and didn’t look at her gun lying on the deck as she whirled, but she knew where it was as she started for the stairs.
“I can’t let you leave, Fran.”
“Then you’ll have to stop me.” She expected him to act. To attack her. What she’d not braced herself for was the soft query.
“Why, Fran? Why’d you do it? I thought we had something special.”
They did, but falling for Darren hadn’t been part of the plan. “Work called.”
“And you couldn’t stick around to explain or say goodbye?”
A glance over her shoulder showed him walking slowly toward her, the look on his face vulnerable. Soft. She turned away, unable to face him as she lied. “I didn’t want to deal with the whining.” A callous slap of words.
He sucked in a breath. “Nice to see what you really think of me.”
Why did he sound so close?
She opened her eyes to see him right in front of her. She only had a second to register it before the needle entered her arm.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you, I want answers.”
“You can’t do this. I’m not here for you.”
“Why are you here? Who sent you?”
Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t reply. The world in front of her got blurry, her tongue thick as the lethargy took hold almost instantly. Her knees buckled. She slumped to the ground, yet didn’t smash her face on it. She could have sworn arms cradled her, familiar and warm.
She turned into that heat and mumbled, “I’ve missed you.”
To which he replied, “Liar.”
Chapter Two
Liar, liar, pants on fire. For some reason, that song kept playing over and over in Darren’s head. Ever since he’d captured Francesca.
More like kidnapped. This time, she wasn’t running away.
You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.
Darren took his time tying Francesca to the chair. He wanted this moment to be just right. After all, he’d waited months for a chance to get his revenge. No point in rushing something that should be savored.
Fuck what anyone says. It does taste sweet.
As luck would have it, the yacht carried just the right tools. The wooden chair made for sunning on the deck that he’d pulled from a storage locker was a special surprise. Lots to admire in its sturdy teak construction, wide frame, and—best of all—perfectly placed slats. Plenty of places to loop rope to keep someone from moving.
I wouldn’t want her to escape. We have so much to discuss.
Such as why she’d lied all those months ago.
The anger still burned hotly, as did the hotter shame that he hadn’t caught on. Never realized as he sank into her willing flesh, her nails raking down his back, that she was planning to play him for a fool.
Now, who’s the fool? He’d found her again, and she would answer for her actions.
In repose, her head leaned forward, her eyes still shut and her breathing even. The sedative he’d administered kept her asleep, stopped her from impeding his progress as he took her from the mansion—and in the nick of time before it exploded. When a home relied on propane for much of its utilities, it was easier than expected to blow it up.
Francesca slept through it. The sedation kept her from asking questions as he navigated the dark trails on the island, ignoring the sound of gunshots occasionally cracking behind them.
The quiet respite wouldn’t last much longer, though. Darren pushed silken, damp, chestnut strands from her face, layering them over her shoulder so he could wrap the rope firmly around her upper body. Her clothes still bore the dampness of the storm they’d fled. The tempest that still raged outside—and within.
What a wet and wild run his escape to the yacht had proven to be. A few times, he’d questioned his sanity—especially as the lightning crashed, illuminating the darkness and giving it a nightmarish feel—but vengeance kept him going. The hot burn of his anger gave him strength to carry Fran, to cast off, and set them rocking in turbulent seas.
She slept the entire time, but she’d wake soon. He had to be ready.
He wound more rope around her upper body. The slide and tug of the nylon over her blouse brought a frisson to her skin. It affected him, as well.
Revenge could be so exciting. Almost sexual. Not that he would ever touch her in that way again—even if he still remembered the sweetness of her mouth.
Her lying lips.
She’d pay for what she did.
Pay for making a fool out of me.
It seemed as if Darren had waited forever for this chance. An eternity to discover what went wrong. Why did she do it? How could she drop him so callously? Not that he cared. Not anymore.
Now, he had another reason to hate—yet he still found himself stirred by the sweet curve of her cheek. Another reason, other than revenge, to question her.
She stirred, her long lashes fluttering against her pale skin, her body undulating as she tried to stretch her limbs and found them caught.
It brought to mind another time, another place. Her body, clad in only the thinnest of lingerie, spread and bound to four posts with silken scarves. Undulating with pleasure. Lips parted on the most musical of moans.
Now, those same lips pulled tautly in displeasure as Francesca realized she was a prisoner. Things had changed since those naked days in France. For one, Darren hated her. She was now but a tool in an ongoing mission. If only his body would listen. But no, he couldn’t stem his arousal as he remembered how it felt to sink balls-deep into her.
Her brilliant blue eyes opened wide in shock. “Darren. What’s happening?”
“Hello, Fran. Have a nice nap?”
She pulled, and her gaze narrowed. “Untie me at once.”
He would.
Eventually.
But first, he held up a knife. “We need to talk.”
“Are you seriously threatening me?”
He arched a brow. “Who’s threatening? I haven’t said a thing. I just want to chat. We’ve spent a few days on the island now”—an island he’d been brought to by devious means—“more or less avoiding each other.” When she saw him coming, she turned the other way. “I thought…you know what, this is silly. Surely, as reasonable adults, we can discuss what happened.”