The Hitman's Baby: A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Novel

by Fox, Kimberly

  “Classy,” I say as I turn the old, dusty antique lamp on that’s sitting on the mini bar beside the ancient black and white TV.

  I turn to Colton as he walks in. “Wow, you really know how to treat a woman.”

  “I showed you last night how I treat a woman,” he says with a sexy grin. His eyes dart to the bed and mine follow. “I can show you again if you’ve forgotten.”

  I lick my lips and strut towards him, giving him a seductive look. The corner of his lips curls up into a smile as he watches me.

  I part my lips and stand on my toes, bringing my face closer to his. He’s already breathing heavier.

  I snatch the brown paper bag in his hands and give him a sour look. “In your dreams,” I say as I yank the bag out of his hands. I stuff a French fry into my mouth and pull out the four burgers. “Is there a veggie burger in here? I’m a vegetarian.”

  Colton takes a burger from my hands. “Carnivores only.” He sits on the bed and stuffs his frustrating mouth with the dead cow’s flesh.

  My stomach is growling as I stare down at the mouthwatering burger. I love burgers. I only gave up meat because I felt bad for the animals not because I didn’t like the taste.

  “So good,” he teases as he bites into the juicy burger. A trickle of grease tumbles down his chin and my resolve breaks.

  “They’re already dead,” I say, making excuses for myself. My hunger weakens my resolve. I sit down on the other side of the squeaky bed and take a bite.

  It’s murderously good. It’s been four years since I took a bite of meat and all of the tofu in the world can’t compete with an old fashioned greasy burger.

  I sneak a peek at Colton’s ass as he walks over to turn on the TV. There’s a snow storm of wavy lines and static on the screen. He slaps the side of the television and the flimsy table that it’s bolted onto nearly topples over.

  “Yeah slap the shit out of it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That’s sure to fix the intricate wiring inside.”

  He slaps it again and the picture clears up. I look down at my burger and shake my head as he turns around with a shit eating grin on his gorgeous face.

  Colton changes the channel as I reach for the iced tea that he bought for me. I gasp when I see my face staring back at me from the TV screen.

  It’s my passport photo.

  I look terrible.

  “Witnesses on the way to school said that a bag was thrown over her head,” the news reporter says, “and she was forced into the back of a navy blue SUV by a group of men.”

  “Congrats,” Colton says as he sits back on the bed while opening his second burger. “You’re famous.”

  His face pops up next. “So are you,” I fire back.

  He drops his hands. “Fuck.”

  Colton even looks sexy on his passport photo. “How did they ID me so fast?” he asks. “Fucking Carmen.”

  The news reporter asks the viewers to report in if they have any information on my kidnapping or the dead bodies found a few blocks away. I glance at the phone beside the bed. The cord is ripped out of the wall and the copper wires inside are splayed out like veins. They won’t be getting any information from me.

  I finish both burgers embarrassingly fast and grab three-quarters of the fries. I should split them evenly but hey, he kidnapped me. And if that doesn’t warrant me an extra handful of French fries than I don’t know what does.

  Colton turns the TV off when they jump to a story about a man upset that the city cut down a maple tree in his front yard. He stares down at the black screen and takes a deep breath.

  “This is so fucked up,” he says with his hands on his waist.

  “Does it usually go well when you kidnap an innocent girl?” I ask, rubbing the fry salt from my fingers into his wound.

  “It’s my first time,” he says turning towards me. He crosses his arms over his muscular chest and rubs the stubble on his chin.

  I give him a dirty look despite a part of me wanting to go over there and console him with a hug. “Well, there’s bound to be a learning curve.”

  He’s lost in thought.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask again. He still hasn’t told me anything.

  Colton sighs. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He walks over and sits on the bed and my fingers start to tingle with the need to touch him. I fold them in my lap instead.

  He winces as he lifts up his arm and looks under the bloody yellow bandage wrapped around his bicep.

  “Is that my tank top?”

  “I’ll give it back,” he says with a grin. “I saw a first aid kit in the truck. Go take a shower while I clean this up. You’ll feel better.”

  I’m about to argue for the sake of making his life difficult but a hot shower does seem nice. I agree and head into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. And for some twisted, perverted reason I don’t lock the door.

  I glance in the steamy mirror and comb my fingers through my wet brown hair. That shower felt heavenly even with the cheap soap and shampoo that the motel provided.

  “Fuck,” I whisper to my reflection.

  But I’m not swearing over being kidnapped. I’m swearing because I’m stuck in this little motel room with my sexy captor and I have no makeup and no clean clothes. I can’t compete with his looks without a little cosmetic assistance.

  I wrap the towel around my chest and open the door just a crack.

  Colton is sitting on the bed with his brow furrowed as he sews stitches into his arm. A bead of sweat is dripping down his temple but his hand is steady despite the tremendous amount of pain he must be in.

  Mesmerized, I walk out of the bathroom and stand beside him to watch. He looks me up slowly from my bare feet on the carpet, past the towel wrapped around my body and up to my wet hair. “Out so soon?” he asks. “I thought you were going to wait for me.”

  I was, I almost say.

  “There wasn’t much hot water,” I answer instead.

  “Is that why your nipples are so hard?” he asks motioning to my breasts with his head.

  My hands dart to the towel over my chest and cover my breasts with a second layer.

  “Relax,” he says with a laugh. “I’m only kidding.”

  He hisses in pain as he pulls the needle through his tattooed arm. He wipes the blood leaking out of the wound with a cloth.

  “Where did you learn that?” I ask. I take advantage of his averted eyes and get an eyeful of his hard arms, big chest, skillful hands and swift fingers. I’m glad that I have a towel wrapped around me because I’m getting wetter by the second.

  “My mom was a nurse,” he says between grunts.

  I study his concentrated face as he works. His eyes are focused and narrow, his jawline cut like a diamond. He’s literally the hottest guy that I’ve ever seen. And I slept with him.

  And I want more.

  “So how did you become a killer when raised by a healer?” I ask, smiling at the irony that is his life.

  He looks at me with sadness in his eyes. The emotions behind them stun me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step back.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head and turning back to the stitches. “It’s a valid question.”

  He dumps a splash of vodka onto the wound from a tiny bottle. I glance at the open mini bar beside the TV.

  “My mom was a single mother,” he says as he wipes down his cut and continues with the needle. “She worked long hours at the hospital when I was a teenager. We lived in a shitty part of town and she would take in patients on her days off.”

  “Take in patients?” I ask confused.

  “She wasn’t a doctor but she was as smart as any doctor in that place. She learned from watching them. She would help the people in our neighborhood who couldn’t go to the hospital.”

  I sit down on the bed beside him and inch closer. “Why couldn’t they go to the hospital?”

  He looks at me and shakes his head. “Not everyone grows up rich with access t
o private doctors,” he says. “Some had no money but most couldn’t go to the hospital for legal reasons. Cops tend to ask a lot of questions when you show up with bullet and knife wounds on your body.”

  “She would perform surgery? At home?”

  He laughs. “On our kitchen table where I ate my Lucky Charms cereal.”

  “That’s so…unsanitary.”

  He shrugged. “For the patients it was either that, die in the streets or spend hours in an ER waiting room only to go to jail afterward. We saved a lot of lives.”

  “You helped?”

  He grimaced as he pulled the needle and string up through his inflamed skin. “I was her assistant.”

  “So how does you becoming a hitman for the mob work into this?” I ask.

  “Well one day we took in a brother from a nearby gang who had been shot,” he says, jabbing the needle in with more force as he tells the story. “Two bullets. One in his abdomen and one in his thigh. I had to hold him down while Mom pulled them out.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Nah,” he says. “It was just a regular Sunday afternoon. We got him all stitched up and good to go when I went to the garbage chute to throw out the bloody rags. When I was walking back I saw four gang bangers rush out of my apartment and flee into the elevator. They had purple handkerchiefs wrapped around their arms. I ran back to my apartment and the guy who we just healed had a fresh bullet wound in his forehead. They had come back to finish him off.”

  “And your mom?” I ask, fidgeting with the bedspread.

  He shakes his head as his mouth pinches closed. “They killed her too.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. My hand gets away from me and I rub my palm over his stout shoulders. He doesn’t seem to mind so I keep doing it.

  “After that I got a couple of guns,” he says, cutting the string with a pair of scissors. He ties the end into a knot. “And a week later every guy in the city who was wearing a purple handkerchief was dead.”

  I gulp as I picture him lurking through the dark city like a crazed vigilante taking his vengeance on the soulless men who killed his mother.

  “When you’re as proficient at killing as I am,” he explains, slipping his shirt off over his head, which makes me sit up straight. “The bad guys come to you with jobs. Years later your dad approached me to work in his organization.”

  Of course he did.

  Colton winces as he checks out the knife wound between his ribs. It looks nasty. He gasps as he touches it.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask. My hands are shaking as I look at his wound.

  He nods as he winces in pain. “Can you grab me the little bottle of Jack Daniels in there?”

  I rush over to the open mini bar and search through the army of little bottles. I grab the bottle of Jack and almost throw up my burgers when I see him already stitching up the wound. I hand him the bottle so he can sterilize the needle.

  He opens it and chugs the whiskey instead. That will work too.

  I watch him with hungry eyes as his skilled fingers move swiftly on his naked skin. He works quietly and quickly with an intense focus.

  I place my hand on my chest. I have a strong awareness of my heartbeat as it increases in speed. Surely he can hear it too.

  This man risked his life and saved me from the Russians. He got those injuries for me. The pain that he is going through now was all for me.

  He winces as he nears the end of the knife wound. He stops, takes a few deep breaths and presses on.

  I am fully aware that I’d be getting gang raped by a whole crew of Bratva mobsters right now if he didn’t risk his life to save mine. I’d much rather be here with him than, well, anywhere else.

  “I better get dressed,” I say as he ties off the stitches and cuts the excess string.

  I swallow hard and head into the bathroom before I drop my towel and assist him by sucking on his magical cock.

  ten

  Colton

  I can’t stop picturing it. Olivia’s dead body on the ground, her heart still. The tiny heart in her belly stopped before it even had a chance to live. And Ichiro standing over her with a hot, smoking gun in his cool hand.

  I lower my head and let the scolding hot water of the shower pour down my neck, burning my skin on the way down.

  It’s been over five years since it all went down.

  Five years of pain.

  Five years of working with the killer and not even knowing it.

  Five years of wondering what could have been.

  I lift my face to the shower head and grimace as the water burns my skin. It took five years to find Olivia’s killer. I can wait a few more days to get my revenge.

  I have to put it aside and focus on Sara. I have to get her back to her father alive if I ever want to set foot in New York again.

  I shut off the water and bury the image of Olivia’s smiling face down deep where she’s lived for the past few years. It’s best not to think of her. It’s too painful. It stirs up too many emotions. And a hitman is not supposed to have any emotions.

  The bathroom is steamy as I step out of the shower onto the moist bathmat. I wipe the mirror with my hand and take a deep breath as I stare back at my bloodshot eyes.

  I’m in deep.

  I’ve been in over my head before but never with three different organizations out for my blood at the same time.

  The police I can handle. They’re the easy ones. I have four passports with four different names in the trunk of my car parked back near the University. All four passports have my picture in them. I can leave town, dye my hair, change my identity and no one would ever know.

  The Russian Bratva, or Brotherhood, are a little harder. But I am more than willing to put up a fight now that I know they were behind Olivia’s death, even if I don’t know the reason why they killed her in the first place.

  Carmen and Ichiro are the most problematic. I can probably smooth things over with Carmen if I show up with his daughter in mint condition.

  Ichiro on the other hand. He’s the one who should be worrying about me.

  A jolt of burning pain travels through my torso as I check the knife wound on my ribcage. The stitches look good. I just need some time to heal.

  And this is a good place to lay low and heal up for a few days before bringing Sara back to Carmen. This is an ask-no-questions kind of motel and I’m sure I’m not the first customer to come into this room bleeding from a knife wound.

  We have to spend at least a week here. That would give us enough time for the Russians to cool down and for the police to lower the manpower that they have looking for us. I’ll steal a car, drive her back to Carmen and try to talk my way out of eating a bullet.

  But I’ll be eating a lead buffet if he finds out that I fucked his little girl.

  And I have to admit, it would still have been worth it.

  I’ve never had a girl like Sara before. Ever since I took that sweet pussy I haven’t been able to take my mind off it. She was so tight. Her body so supple. Her tongue so eager.

  Maybe this week won’t be so bad after all. And if her father is already going to be upset that I fucked her once then it won’t make a huge difference if I fuck her for the rest of the week. Boner logic. Gotta love it.

  Just thinking of her has got my cock rock hard. I wrap the white towel around my waist and open the door, flexing my chest as I walk out.

  Sara is on the bed watching some crap on TV. She’s still in her towel. That’s a good sign.

  I walk in front of her, watching through my peripheries. She glances at the bulge of my hard cock pushing against the towel and she swallows hard.

  “I thought you were changing,” I say with a smirk.

  She doesn’t take her wide eyes off the television. “There’s some dead guy’s blood on my clothes and I don’t feel like putting them on. Plus you ripped up my underwear last night so thanks for that.”

  “Hey,” I say, standing in front of the TV. “You want to fuck
a bad boy you get your panties shredded.”

  She looks up at me and rolls her eyes.

  “You should see what I have planned for that towel,” I say with a grin.

  She rolls her eyes again and looks down at my bulge. “I can see what you have planned.”

  “We’re going to be locked in here for a few days,” I say. I grab the power cord of the television and yank it out of the wall. “And we’re not going to be spending it watching TV.”

  She looks at me with a look of disgust but I can see the desire behind those beautiful eyes. I can see her taking quick glimpses at my abs, my chest and, of course, the huge rod pressing up against the cheap towel around my waist.

  “What are we going to be doing?” she asks, crossing her arms over the towel that’s hiding her gorgeous tits. “Let me guess, Monopoly?”

  “I have another game planned for you.” I hook my thumb into my towel and she stops breathing.

  “No,” she says shaking her head. “I don’t make love to killers.”

  I step towards the bed, never taking my eyes off hers. “You fucked a killer last night.”

  She glances at the door and then back to me. “That was before I knew you worked for my father. Before I knew you were a hitman.”

  I slide the towel down an inch or two, showing my toned pelvis that looks carved out of marble. Her chest is rising and falling quicker as she tries not to look. “It’s the same hard cock that made your toes curl last night.”

  “I faked it.”

  She looks sexy when she lies. Her face is serious but her eyes can’t fool me.

  I walk beside the bed, right up to her and look down at the cleavage poking out of her towel. I’m picturing what her tits would look like with my cock gliding through them. I’m so hard that my dick feels like it’s going to explode.

  “I was drunk last night,” she says, her voice raspier than it was before. “And you took advantage of me.”

  A deep laugh bursts from my throat. “I took advantage of you?” I ask. “You’re the one who came crawling back on the dance floor, begging for my cock.”