Hit and Run: A Mafia Hitman Romance

by Natasha Tanner

  I gasp.

  “Do you like that?” he asks me.

  “Yes,” I moan back at him. “I love that.”

  He spanks me again, and I respond by moving even slower. He’s filling up every single inch of me. The feeling is beyond description. I feel like I could have a thousand dictionaries and never be able to describe how good his cock feels inside of me.

  “Faster,” he says.

  I go slower.

  He spanks me again.

  “If you want me to speed up, you should stop punishing me. Because I like it too much,” I say to him.

  He stops spanking me and I speed up. I’m riding him faster than I’ve ever ridden him before, feeling the head of his cock slipping in and out of me, filling me up more and more with each thrust.

  “I’m going to come,” I whisper to him.

  He grabs my hair and pulls my head backwards so I’m staring at the ceiling. “So am I. Oh God, you’re so fucking hot. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t-“

  We both scream out, coming together at the exact same moment, spinning into ecstasy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ELIZABETH

  “I think we should name him Michael,” Cain says as we walk hand in hand through the drizzly city. Most of the buildings are covered in Christmas lights, but the streets are nearly empty. We’re huddled together under an umbrella and passing a kebap between the two of us. The warm sandwich brings life back to my frozen fingertips.

  “How are you so confident it’s a boy?” I ask him.

  “Because I know these things. Don’t question me on this.”

  I laugh and hand him back the kebap so he can take bites of it. “Alright, fine. Let’s put money on it,” I say.

  “You don’t have any money,” Cain says.

  “Yeah, but I’ll win, so it doesn’t matter. It’s a girl. I know. I’m the one carrying this baby,” I reply.

  “You’ve only known you were pregnant for like five hours,” Cain objects.

  “Yeah, but I’ve known about three minutes longer than you’ve known. So I have more authority on this subject,” I retort.

  He finishes up the kebap and throws the wax paper wrapper into a garbage can. We wander into the middle of a cobblestone square and Cain pulls me close to him, the umbrella in one hand. He lifts me up onto my toes and kisses me. “You got infinitely more fuckable when I found out you were pregnant, you know.”

  I smile at him. “Soon enough I’ll be the size of a killer whale and you won’t think that.”

  Cain laughs. “Don’t say that. Your curves will just get bigger and that’s more of you for me to fuck. It’s a win-win situation.”

  Cain pulls me even closer to his body so we’re both safe and dry under the huge black umbrella. His torso is radiating warmth. I want to crawl into his muscular chest and stay there forever. His strong arms wrap me in an embrace that is as cliché as it is comfortable.

  He nuzzles his lips into my hair. “I feel like we should be dancing right now,” he says.

  I wish I were making this next part up. Then it wouldn’t feel so fake.

  The plaintiff wail of a street violin fills the empty air, echoing off the cobblestones and filling my ears with sweet music. I glance around but can’t find the source of the noise.

  “You planned this,” I say, my mouth pressed into his breastbone.

  He laughs and the sound rumbles through me. “I wish I did,” he says. “It’s almost too fucking perfect, isn’t it?”

  Then he starts swaying in time with the music. The violinist is playing a waltz.

  Cain tosses the umbrella aside and we’re both baptized by the now-pouring rain. He bows to me and takes my right hand in his, wrapping his right arm around my waist. Soon he’s leading me in a perfect waltz.

  “You know how to dance?”

  “Boxing and dancing are one and the same, Elizabeth.”

  I laugh. “If you say so.”

  Cain takes a deep breath. “This has been the best month of my entire life. I’ve never, ever had a normal time of things. Ever. Until I met you.”

  “Being on the run for our lives is normal in your book? And come on. You must have had some kind of normal childhood, what with going to your country house and all.” My voice is laced thick with sarcasm.

  “Yeah, I know. Poor little rich boy. But not really. I was aware of what my dad did for a living from the time I can remember existing. And he had me go out on errands starting when I was fifteen.” Cain’s eyes go dark with pain. “I’ve been hurting people since I was fifteen. And it only got worse from there.” He pauses again and I pull him closer to me, hoping I can absorb at least a little bit of his pain. I hate seeing him like this more than I can possibly say.

  “And then I had to start killing. I never wanted to tell you, but I’ve killed more people than you can imagine.”

  “How many?” I ask, almost not wanting to know the answer.

  “Thirty-nine people,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. “I’ve kept count of every single one. I know you don’t like knowing this. But I have to be honest. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to hurt people.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say, realizing as the words leave my mouth that I cannot possibly promise him something like that.

  Cain shakes his head. “We can pretend all we want, Elizabeth. But this only ends one way. We can’t hide forever, as much as we both want to.”

  We spin and twirl together through the empty square. The song ends, and between the lack of music and the conversation topic, the warm feeling that I’ve carried with me all day long evaporates into the cold, misty night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CAIN

  “You checking on telegrams again?” Elizabeth asks from our bed. She’s naked and it’s hard as fuck for me to leave her when she’s looking so tempting.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’d really like to hear from Flea. I figured he’d come back on the grid once Christmas was over. But there’s been nothing so far.”

  She turns on the television and lowers the volume. “Be back quick. I demand more sex from my husband.”

  I walk over and kiss her sweet lips. “Of course I’ll be quick.”

  I lock the door behind me, head down the staircase and out into the freezing cold streets of Munich. A passerby bumps into me and the hackles on my neck stand upright. It’s been all too easy to let my guard down the last two months here with Elizabeth. It’s just been so normal.

  I’ve never had that in my entire life.

  I walk to the telegram office a few blocks over, flipping up my collar to protect my skin from the bitter wind.

  “Anything today, Elspeth?” I ask the buxom woman behind the counter.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that you do?” she asks.

  I hustle over to her. “Hit me with it.” She hands me a small rectangle of paper that I unfold.

  Edinburgh STOP New Year’s Eve STOP Greyfriars Kirkyard STOP – F

  I crumple up the piece of paper. “Keep this between you and me, alright?”

  She grins at me. “Always, Mr. Smith.”

  That’s the name I gave her when I came in here the first time. I know that she knows that it’s made up. But it’s become sort of a joke between us.

  As I step back into the frigid Munich air, I feel a pang of regret that I’ll have to leave all of this behind so soon.

  I pass a flower vendor and pull a few Euros out of my pocket to buy Elizabeth a thick bouquet of peonies, which might be the only flower left on earth that I haven’t given her. I still have yet to figure out her favorite flower.

  I pass the corner market and realize that she’d likely enjoy a big chocolate bar more than flowers.

  Who says I can’t get both?

  The line at the market snakes through three aisles. I tap my foot impatiently, listening to the chatter of German all around me. It’s easy to get lost in your head in public when you can’t understand the nor
mal chit chat. It’s almost become a meditation for me. The line snakes slowly, hardly moving at all.

  It takes a good half hour and I nearly abandon the chocolate idea entirely until I consider how hungry Elizabeth’s been over the last few weeks.

  I pay for the chocolate with cash and run into the street. Icy sheets of moisture fall from the sky, hitting the pavement with a cascading clicking sound. Tiny beads of hail pelt my face and sting my skin. I run up the stairs and get out my keys. I slide the metal into the lock and turn it in place.

  That’s when I realize that the door is already unlocked.

  “LIZZY!” I yell into the apartment, my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest.

  The bedsheets, still rumpled from our early morning fucking, are covered with fresh spots of blood.

  I kick my foot against the bedframe, completely enraged.

  I pull at the hair on my head, tossing the rumpled flowers I just crushed between my fingers onto the floor along with the heavy bars of chocolate. When the red clears from my eyes, I realize there’s a note taped above the headboard.

  “Edinburgh. New Year’s Eve. We have what you want. Want to trade?”

  It’s in a tidy scrawl that I recognize.

  The note is from Damian.

  I know only one thing as I shove clothes into the secondhand duffel bag I bought our first day in Munich.

  I’m going to kill him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ELIZABETH

  I tried to fight the two men who broke through the door of our flat. I fought for my life. I fought for my baby’s life. I fought so I could see Cain again.

  If there is one thing I’ve learned in my decades of being a woman under my father’s protective thumb, it’s that you never leave two crime scenes. You fight as hard as you can so they can’t take you from the first to the second.

  I didn’t do that, no matter how hard I tried.

  I managed to scratch the arm of one of my kidnappers pretty badly, though. I think I left his blood on the sheets.

  But I did fight.

  It wasn’t enough.

  I choke against the cloth gag in my mouth. I open my eyes and feel the jostling of some kind of moving vehicle.

  It’s dark in here and I can smell diesel fumes. I cough again, tears stinging my eyes.

  Then I take a deep breath. Think.

  Cain would tell me to stop and think. That’s what he would do.

  So I do. I listen to the rumble of the engine and take in every detail I can. I must be in the trunk. I’m still wearing the pajamas I had on in Zurich. My mouth is dry. I have to pee. My hands and feet are bound. I strain against my bonds but they don’t budge. They pinch at my skin.

  A good amount of time has passed. I just don’t know how much time.

  Two men had taken me. They hadn’t bothered wearing face masks, which I know in my gut doesn’t bode well. That means they aren’t afraid of being identified. That means that they don’t plan on me getting out of this alive.

  I try not to let this thought take over my brain, but my heart races against my will.

  The men had put a gun against my back and led me downstairs. If I made a noise, I was dead. That’s what they said.

  I remember sitting quietly in the back of a car on the way out of Zurich. The last thing I can recall is the sharp pinch of a needle entering my forearm. They obviously drugged me.

  There’s no way for me to tell how much time has exactly passed since they took me. I can only guess.

  I’m kept from wondering any further by the trunk opening. I have to blink several times to clear the black dots from my eyes. Wherever we are, the sun isn’t shining. But the light from behind the clouds is still searing my eyes.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  I know that voice without clearing my eyes any further.

  It’s Damian.

  He reaches down and brushes my hair back over my scalp. I cringe against the feeling of his touch against my skin. It feels fake and disgusting.

  “What, nothing to say now that your husband isn’t here to defend your honor?”

  I scream against the gag and he puts his palm over my mouth. “Shh. Shh now. It’ll be alright. I’m here with you.” He smiles and I try to convey as much hate and disgust as I can with only my eyes.

  He reaches into the trunk and puts his hand under my back. I protest through the gag. “You can’t very well walk yourself into the house, now can you? It’s been a cramped ride.” He lifts me out of the trunk the same way Cain has carried me so many times before.

  It’s amazing how different the same action can feel coming from a different person. His touch is cold through my pajamas, far different from Cain’s warm skin. I shut my eyes so I don’t have to look up at him.

  The surrounding hills are verdant and lush around us; mist hangs in the air. It’s cold. The temperature soaks through my clothes and nips at my skin unpleasantly. Damian carries me inside of an old stone house and across creaking wooden floors.

  This house is old and musty-smelling. He tosses me on a threadbare velvet sofa.

  “Don’t go too far,” he says, walking out of the tiny living room and shutting the door behind him.

  This place is dark and dim, with peeling, rose-covered wallpaper. It smells like cats. If I had to guess who lived here, it would be a woman in her eighties with failing eyesight.

  It smells of damp and mildew. There’s a small window set into the thick stone wall. I shiver. It’s cold in here. There’s an empty fireplace that I wish had flames in it. Then maybe I could set the house on fire and escape.

  I sit upright, wiggling my body into place on the dusty cushions that let up puffs of dust every time I move. I hear muffled voices coming through the walls, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  I look around the room one more time and realize that a rusty metal latch hangs on the window frame. I scoot my body to the end of the couch, pausing every few inches to make sure the voices are still at work.

  I push my bound feet against the rickety wooden coffee table to move it by inches. I need to get it far enough away that I can fall off the sofa onto my knees. Then I think I can move like an inchworm over to the window. The coffee table creaks and groans as I push against a lopsided leg. I nearly have a wide enough gap when the leg snaps.

  The inset marble tiles of the coffee table crash to the floor with an almighty racket.

  “Dammit,” I hiss to myself as the voices in the kitchen come to a stop.

  I fall over on the sofa and try to worm my way back into the position Damian left me in.

  I mean, it’s sort of pointless. I doubt he’ll think that the coffee table collapsed on its own. There’s just no way.

  The door flies open and Damian looks furious. “What the hell was that noise?”

  I stare at him with no answer on my still-bound lips.

  His eyes go down to the coffee table and he walks over, crouching on the ground and lifting up a tile shard. “Thought you’d break this so you could get away?” He grins at me and I wish I could spit in his face through the gag on my mouth. “Oh, sweet Elizabeth. I wish that would have worked for you. I honestly do.”

  He reaches out to touch me but I squirm away. He sighs. “I guess I’ll just have to wait to touch you until your dear, dear husband gets here.” He laughs and it sends chills down my spine. “Hey!” he yells over his shoulder. “Get in here and clean this damn mess up.”

  He stands up but pauses, reaching a shard down to my cheek and tracing my skin with the pointy side. The sharp pain turns to a dull throb; a thin, warm bead of blood leaks out of my skin. There’s evil in his eyes, but I don’t want to close my own so I don’t have to see him.

  I know that I’m bound and gagged and completely vulnerable, but somehow I feel like it would be even worse to also have my eyes closed in his presence. My sight is all I have right now. I can’t relinquish that tiny, fiery bit of power.

  Damian walks out of the r
oom and his two henchmen return, picking up the table and removing it.

  It turns out that the table is my lucky chance. It seemed like a disaster when it shattered. But now Damian thinks that was the only thing I was reaching for.

  He was wrong.

  I look at the window and know that a single, rusty latch stands between me and my life being saved.

  I have to make this count.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CAIN

  I have to take a train to Edinburgh. I know it isn’t fast enough, but I can’t buy a plane ticket on a fake passport right now. Damian probably has paid off enough people in Europe to catch me if I so much as sneeze.

  I buy a ticket with a hat pulled low over my ears, sunglasses on my face.

  I stand up almost the entire train ride, leaning against the window of the sleeper car. There’s no way I can sleep. No way. Not with Elizabeth and our child at risk.

  I know Damian well enough to know that he won’t hesitate to kill her.

  I weigh my options in my head.

  I have what Damian wants; the thumb drive.

  But there’s a reason I have this list; it’s my ticket to getting both Elizabeth and me out of danger. If I can hand it over to the government, they might let both of us live.

  It’s my only form of leverage.

  I pull it out of my pocket and spin it through my fingers.

  I’m halfway to France when I realize how I’m going to play this.

  It’s risky. It’ll put both of our lives in danger.

  But what the hell do I have to lose?

  We’re already probably going to die anyway.

  This is the only option. The only chance.

  The only possible way out.

  I have to try.

  I hop off of the train as it stops at a station in Northern France. I hail a taxi cab and head to a cell phone store to buy a burner phone. I dial the last number I have for Flea.

  He picks up within two rings.

  “You really shouldn’t have called me, dude. I think they intercepted the telegraph,” he says breathlessly.

  “Where are you right now?” I ask him.