by N. Alleman
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Falling for the Hitman
Alexi
Nadia
WANTED: A Monster Billionaire Romance
Sample Read
Foster
Addison
About N. Alleman
About J. Chase
Also by Normandie Alleman
Falling for the Hitman
N. Alleman
J. Chase
Cover Design by
Mayhem Cover Creations
Copyright © 2017 by N. Alleman and J. Chase
All rights reserved.
Second Edition, Revised and Expanded. Previously published under the title, In Love With a Hitman by Marcie Fawn
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Falling for the Hitman
1. Alexi
2. Nadia
3. Alexi
4. Nadia
5. Alexi
6. Nadia
7. Alexi
8. Nadia
9. Alexi
10. Nadia
11. Alexi
12. Nadia
13. Alexi
14. Nadia
15. Alexi
16. Nadia
17. Alexi
18. Nadia
19. Alexi
20. Nadia
21. Alexi
22. Nadia
23. Alexi
24. Nadia
25. Alexi
Epilogue
WANTED: A Monster Billionaire Romance
Sample Read
Foster
Addison
Addison
About N. Alleman
About J. Chase
Also by Normandie Alleman
Falling for the Hitman
She hired me to kill her husband.
Trust me, that scumbag deserves to die.
Since I’m a professional, I’ll do as I’m contracted.
Typically, I never mix business with pleasure.
But the only thing I can think about is the pleasure I can give Nadia.
She’s vulnerable yet strong—not to mention sexy.
I want her.
Hell, I need her.
But when the job goes south, I’ve got to keep my eyes on the prize
…and do everything in my power to save her.
1
Alexi
There’s always a high circling through my veins when I successfully execute a contract. It might not be right in most people’s minds, since the end of a job for me always ends up with someone else being dead. I don't give a shit about that. After the life I’ve led, the direction I could have taken, this is like living the dream as far as I’m concerned. It’s fucking amazing.
Do I feel bad when I inevitably pull that trigger and put someone out of their misery? Not so much. Most of the time, I’m hired to kill someone because they are the scum of the Earth anyway, and the world becomes a better place without them in it. Perhaps they deal drugs, or maybe they kill people too. Occasionally a family dispute goes too far and someone decided to put a stop to it. The last one I completed was for a billionaire who had a fondness for girls who were way too young—a really bad guy. Total scum. He needed to go. His daughter-in-law was the one who actually put out the hit, and she was ecstatic to have him gone. Whatever the reasoning, I tend not to think too much about it. Instead I concentrate on the fat pay check at the end.
That’s the thing that really gets me going—the money. Now, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. I have an endless supply that just keeps on coming, and since I’m the best in the business at the moment. The jobs never end.
I grew up on the streets of Moscow orphaned and very poor, never imagining that I could live a life like mine now. So the fact that I actually have this much at my disposal amazes me. Here I am, in New York City, dressed in the finest tailored suits available, living in a penthouse suite like no other, with cash to burn. I’ve actually achieved my ultimate life goals. Some days I want to pinch myself, because I feel as lucky as those poor schmucks who win the lottery.
“Hey, dude!” Aidan cries out as I walk through his office door. This building is set up to resemble a private detective agency, which is how we’ve managed to continue work mostly under the radar from the cops. On the outside it’s all luxury and respectability, but on the inside we are trained killers who are quite serious about our work. Walking these halls are some of the most dangerous men in America, and that makes me feel right at home. These are my people, my family, and I don't know what I’d do without them.
That’s especially true for Aidan—he might be in charge of the entire operation now, but there was a time when he was nothing more than a deadly assassin. But he’s gone beyond the wet work, and now prefers to make his money from other people working for him. I think the most dangerous thing about the man is that he looks nothing like a dangerous killer. He’s tall, dark, and very handsome. Clean cut. The sort of man you’d assume was a Wall Street banker if you passed by him on the street. Unlike me. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I tell him, clapping my hands against his. “That one was a piece of cake. What do you have next for me?”
He laughs loudly. Aidan appreciates me. “Always hungry for the next job, aren’t you?”
“Well, you never know when the work is going to dry up,” I shrug only half-joking. It is a great fear of mine. I take nothing for granted. “Make hay while the sun shines. Isn’t that what you Americans say?”
“Maybe the Americans who live on a farm.” He grins. Aidan gets a kick out of my take on American culture. “I’ve got a file for you right here. From what I understand it’s a disgruntled wife so... you know, tread carefully!”
It’s a shame, but everyone in our office has a negative attitude towards women. They see jobs filed in by female clients as potential hazards because there’s the common belief that they might allow their hearts to rule their heads and they often pull out at the last minute. I play along with it but I disagree with that logic. In my experience, women are more ruthless than men.
“Okay,” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “I’m gonna head out tonight, blow off some steam, then I’ll get right on it in the morning.”
“Oh yeah?” Aidan asks, knowing my reputation. “What’s on the menu tonight? A busty blonde? Skinny brunette? Fiery redhead?”
Admittedly, as soon as I got to New York and I started to earn a bit of cash, I let myself get sucked in by the constant stream of female attention. Nobody wanted a Russian guy without a dime in his pocket, but once word spread that I had cash, suddenly every bitch around wanted a piece of me. And the “dangerous foreign guy” with money to spend had his pick of women, and I took full advantage of it.
“Who knows?” I say mysteriously. “We’ll see what comes my way.” But already I imagined some foxy dark-haired chick with her lips wrapped around my cock, giving me the release I so desperately needed after the week I’d had.
“Well, here it is.” He hands me the thick bulk of paper. “See you soon, okay?”
“Alright, see ya.”
I end up back at my hotel room much earlier than I was expecting, which gives me a little bit of time to loiter around. I’m staying in a hotel for a while, because my apartment is just outside the city, and I prefer to keep my work and home life as separate as possible.
The clubs don't start to fill up until later, so there’s no point in getting out until then. I like to have my pick of women. Instead,
I pour myself a tumbler of whiskey, and I take a few minutes to read through the information for my next job. Usually I like to take a time-out, a moment to relax before I move on, but since I have the time I might as well take a look.
Plus, I can’t help but be intrigued by the disgruntled wife. I’m intrigued to find out what her bastard husband has done to make her feel so strongly. I mean, if he’s cheating on her or whatever then why not divorce him? Why not just leave? Why go to such extreme measures?
Nadia.
I flip through the folder, reading her name and the time, date, and location of our first meet. This one is set up for the following evening so I’m actually glad I looked at it now.
The less we know about our clients, the better. We don't want them to know about us either, so it’s only fair. Impersonal... that’s the way this works.
But as I read through the rest of her information, I feel something weird happening in my heart. Something that I know I shouldn’t... a flutter of emotions. I am reading the story of a woman who married too young, ended up with a horrid abusive husband and now cannot get out of her situation. It seems that she has considered divorce over and over again, but every time she brings it up he threatens to kill her. And since he’s held a knife up to her throat on more than one occasion, she’s pretty sure he will go through with it.
There’s also a little bit of information in there referring to the fact that she’s pretty convinced he’s involved with criminal activities, but I’m much less interested in that. He’s obviously a bad guy. That goes without saying, and he needs to go. I feel myself growing increasingly pumped up about this one. It’s going to be interesting. I’m looking forward to meeting Nadia and getting to know more about what’s going on in her life...
I shake my head, realizing I shouldn’t be getting myself overly involved with this one. Pushing all thoughts of Nadia from my mind, I force myself to focus on tonight. Getting a pretty blonde underneath me should do the trick. I stand up and glance at my reflection in the mirror for a few seconds, checking that I look okay before heading out. It was earlier than I’d planned, but it had to be better than sitting here thinking about the poor chick stuck with a guy who used her as a punching bag.
I tell myself she won’t be stuck with him much longer as I tuck my shirt in, my hand grazing the abs I work so hard for. Then I run my fingers through my slightly matted brown hair, trying to make it look at least a little presentable. It’s bad enough that I have a huge scar down my left cheek, I don't want to make myself look even worse. I rub my green eyes hard, trying to make them look a little less tired, before opening the hotel room door and heading out into the night.
The music is so loud it thumps painfully through my body and shakes my bones. As I stand at the bar, slowly sipping my beer, I realize it’s so grimy in here that my feet are sticking to the floor.
“You been here b-before?” A girl whose drooping left eye and slurred words give away her sloppy drunk status. I ignore her, turning to the dance floor. I’m getting too old for this scene. I may only be twenty-eight years old, but I’ve seen a lot in my life so I feel at least a decade older. Going out to bars just doesn’t feel as fun as it used to.
Even as I scan my eyes over the crowd, trying to decide which girl to take back to my place, my heart isn’t in it anymore. There are some very beautiful girls, several who I’m sure could get me off, but none are quite what I’m in the mood for. A few look seriously dirty, but this time instead of visualizing them with me, all I’m focusing on is the escape. If I’m thinking about getting the hell away then what’s the point? Is it worth going home with someone, or even taking them out into the nearby back alley, if I can’t be bothered?
I sigh deeply, hanging my head for a second, before finishing my drink in one big gulp and making my way to the exit. If my heart isn’t in it anymore, if I don't enjoy what I once did, then what does that mean for me? Does that mean I would much rather settle down than continue on down this path? And what will happen if I do? What will become of my life? After all I can hardly carry on as I am right now, can I?
I can’t imagine myself with a steady girlfriend, never mind a wife and child, but if that’s what I’m starting to crave, then I’m going to have to think about absolutely everything. What sort of woman would want to be married to a dangerous criminal—a killer at that? I might know that I’ll never ever get caught by the cops, but there isn’t any way to convince a woman of that. A man like me, who is clearly dangerous might be great for a wild one-night stand, but not a prudent choice for the long-term…
Ugh, what the hell is wrong with me? What am I thinking? I must just be drunk and a little melancholy... everything will be fine in the morning, I’m sure of it.
I say goodnight to the bouncer at the front door and step out onto the sidewalk, the noise of the city rush past my ears, and I’m not convinced. I have the horrible feeling that something serious has shifted inside of me, and that I might not go back to normal. It’s possible I’m growing up, maturing—but what the hell caused that? Why the sudden shift? Makes no damn sense.
Just go to bed, I think sternly to myself as I get in a cab and give the driver my hotel address. Get some sleep and all will be okay tomorrow. I’m sure after this next job, I’ll be back to myself again and I’ll feel just fine...
2
Nadia
My heart pounds anxiously in my chest as I wait for Damien to come home. It shouldn’t feel this way. A woman should be excited for her husband to come home. She shouldn’t fear it so desperately like I do, but I just can’t help it.
How the hell did I ever manage to end up in this situation? How did I end up married to such a horrible man?
I don't remember ever living in Kazan in Russia, but from my mother has told me, our life there was really good. My father was successful and my mother was happy, I was growing up well... but then my father got greedy and he wanted more. He made the decision to try and move his shoe business over to America, thinking he would be able to live the American dream and become an instant billionaire... a dream which very quickly got turned on its head.
What my dad didn’t realize was that America is filled with competition. When his business failed, he was forced to get a mediocre job in a factory and got paid less than what he would have gotten in Russia, he quickly turned to the bottle.
Once the alcohol infected our lives, everything went downhill. Combined with his financial problems, the booze made him angry, aggressive, and violent.
At first his behavior only affected my mother. She tried to keep it from me, but despite my young age I still knew all about it. I was still aware that my dad was an asshole, that he beat up my mom, and it turned me into a rebellious teenager. At first, I just wanted to see how far I could push things, and it didn’t take long to discover it wasn't going to be very far. Before I could get into too much trouble, his fists put a stop to that, and I retreated back into my shell—quiet and shy. And that’s how I remained for a long time.
Until Damien came into my life.
I was only sixteen years old and he was like my knight in shining armour. Four years older than me, he was sweet, charming, he had money and a house of his own, impressive cars that blew me away. He seemed like a God send, and I instantly became hooked. It helped that he was gorgeous too—tall, sinewy, strawberry blond with a very cheeky grin. He was even charming enough to win my parents over, and for a while things were actually all right.
The abuse began insidiously. At first he only made small, snide remarks. He’d say things to put me down, to make me feel bad about myself. Then, he slowly drew me away from everyone I knew. It started with the couple of friends I’d made at school. Gradually, he made life so difficult for me to spend time with them that it wasn't worth trying to hang out with them. I hated the arguing so damn much. Next, he separated me from my family too.
I was easily swayed in that department because the negative things he said about my dad were true, so I soon cut my parents
out of my life completely. It wasn’t until it was too late that I realized this left me completely isolated.
I really have tried to make the best of my married life, to recall the man I fell in love with, but now I’m afraid he’s involved with drug trafficking and it scares the shit out of me. At first I didn’t dare question him about it because I knew how it would turn out, but one day my curiosity got the best of me, and I brought it up.
As soon as I mentioned it, he lost his temper and delivered the first blow. He smacked me so hard across my cheek that I fell to the ground and hit my head hard on the way down. I was shocked, stunned to find myself in a situation so similar to how I grew up. But I figured it was my own fault for marrying someone in haste, someone I barely knew.
So I continued to try. I put my head down and got on with it because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I had no money, and since Damien didn’t want me working, I had no connections to the outside world either. So I did my best, but the beatings kept coming. As soon as Damien realized I wasn't going to leave him, his behavior grew even worse. He started attacking me more regularly and for smaller things.
Then came the cheating.
The first time I caught him in bed with another woman, I sobbed and begged him for a divorce. I told him it was clear I couldn't make him happy and that he should just move on. I was devastated to have to say goodbye after I’d tried so damn hard, but at the same time I was relieved too. Finally, this might be my way out.