by Tia Lewis
The Hitman’s Possession
A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
Tia Lewis
Salted Pen Publications
Contents
Mailing List
Books by Tia Lewis
About This Book
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
Chapter 26
Thank You
BONUS BOOK: THREAT
About This Book
Prologue
1. Nicole
2. Nicole
3. Drake
4. Nicole
5. Drake
6. Nicole
7. Drake
8. Nicole
9. Nicole
10. Drake
11. Nicole
12. Drake
13. Nicole
14. Drake
15. Nicole
16. Drake
17. Nicole
18. Drake
19. Nicole
20. Drake
21. Drake
Two Years Later
What’s Next?
Mailing List
Books by Tia Lewis
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Tia Lewis. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
First Published in October 2016.
First Edition.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact: [email protected]. www.AuthorTiaLewis.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of the book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic, or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published by Salted Pen Publications, Minnesota.
The Hitman’s Possession: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Book 1)
Editors: Brad Vance and Raeshelle Smith
Beta Reader: Yamina Kirky, Raeshelle Smith (Facebook Page) and April Marie.
Cover Designed by: Silver Heart Publishing
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FULL BOOK CATALOG BY TIA LEWIS
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FULL BOOK CATALOG BY TIA LEWIS
Sports Romance:
Draw Play: A Sports Romance
Stadium of Lights: A Second Chance Romance
The Blood Riders MC Series:
(Motorcycle Romance)
Threat: A Blood Riders MC (Book 1)
Reveal: A Blood Riders MC (Book 2)
Creed: A Blood Riders MC (Book 3) - Coming in 2016
Bad Boy Mafia Series:
(Hitman/Mafia Romance)
The Hitman’s Possession (Book 1)
The Hitman’s Property (Book 2) - Coming 11/2016
About This Book
I'm a hard, ruthless, and brutal killer… but I'm not letting her go.
I'm the most feared man in South Boston. I've earned that title and the nickname “The Animal.” Women may think it’s because I'm wild in bed, and one night with me and they’d f*cking know it.
But there’s a darker reason for my reputation... I think nothing about ending a life. Feelings are a luxury I can’t afford.
Until her.
I hear Tess cry for help and I give into the urge to help her. One look at her and I knew I had to risk it all to rescue her. I'm no knight in shining armor; I'm saving her so I can keep the sexy spitfire for myself.
But the mob wants her back. She wasn’t meant to live through that night.
No f*cking way I'm going to let that happen. Tess ignites a fire within me like nothing I've ever known. Her legs are meant to be wrapped around me, and only me. I'll take on the whole Russian mob ―hell, the whole world―to keep the one woman who’s meant to belong to me.
I'll kill every bastard that tries to take her away. She can try to run, but she’s not getting away from this hitman. She's my possession now.
WARNING:
The Hitman’s Possession is a full-length dark romance novel that's intended for mature audiences only. This novel address issues of a serious nature, including violence surrounding the nature of consent that may be a trigger for sensitive readers; contains disturbing situations, graphic language, violence and explicit sexual content. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Cliffhanger warning.
Author’s Note:
If you don't like your heroes dark & brooding, and your sex rough & dirty, look away now.
This book gets worse before it gets better.
This book is followed by The Hitman’s Property which releases in November 2016.
Thank you, everyone, for reading and supporting my work! I'm truly appreciative of your support and feedback! As a bonus for you, I've included my best-selling motorcycle romance novel Threat absolutely free! Enjoy! :)
1
If it had been a man screaming, I would’ve just ignored it.
You heard men screaming every time of the day in South Boston: some idiot who let a loan run on too long; some idiot talking shit about the wrong man’s girl; some idiot this, some idiot that. It was all the same to me. I’d grown up with the screams of men around me. One more cry of distress? This wasn’t even worth my attention. I would’ve kept strolling down the dark street, back to my apartment, and catch some sleep before the big job tomorrow, but, damn it, it wasn’t a man I heard. It was a woman.
Now, what asshole was beating on a woman at this time of night? My first thought was some whore getting roughed up which was a common occurrence around these streets. So, why should I care? Yet, for whatever reason, something told me to stop and see what the commotion was about. So, I kept walking.
The screaming continued.
Against my better judgment, I decided to turn around and head back to the source of the disturbance. In hindsight, I should have known that doing so would bring me more heat than I ever bargained for.
My expression was blank as I turned toward the woman’s screams and followed them down a dark alley. The alley was grimy, and the smell of week-old garbage lingered in the air. The walls were covered in gum and ash marks, and God knows what else. The further I walked, the dirtier the alley got. I had been in places which smelled and looked much worse. I wasn’t about to start panicking now.
A cool breeze swept through the night, and I breathed in the smell of chaos. Ahh! I exhaled. Just another night in the streets of Boston.
I was wearing a black leather jacket, T-shirt, jeans, boots and of course my prize possessions—two Heckler & Koch P30L pistols. In the past, I’d worn the same thing while killing. Heckler & Koch could never disappoint. The cold, hard nature of the guns on my waist assured me that tonight's results would be no different.
The woman’s screams grew louder with each step I took. I wasn’t angry. My job kept me desensitized to anger. I wasn’t scared, either. Perhaps a little excited. Maybe my hairs stood up a half a centimeter as my body prepared itself for whatever was coming next.
I yawned out of boredom.
I knew I should’ve been taking this a little more seriously, but, fuck it.
I was tired.
“Help me! Please!”
I double backed, rounded the next corner, and that was when I saw the altercation. Three men and one woman with a sparkling earring and long, flowing blonde hair. The men were holding the girl underneath a flickering street light, and by the look of it, these men were Russians. They had that Slavic look about them. They stood beside two trash cans which had spilled over onto the ground and spewed their waste.
“Help! Help me!”
She was desperate. Panicked.
The men grinned at me as I approached. Russian mobsters always had that cocky confidence, like nobody could touch them. They thought I was going to back down and walk away because they were packing heat and were covered in tattoos. Instead, I just watched them, waiting to unleash the animal inside of me. I was a professional, and this confrontation didn't mean shit to me so I remained calm like the quiet before the storm.
All three men were wearing black business suits. A tall and husky man stood at the front, looking me up and down, while the two shorter men were behind him. The husky man had a large tattoo of a snake climbing up his neck, and on his left hand, he wore two thick brass rings.
A short man with a shock of white hair like he’d been electrocuted, was holding the distressed woman in a tight bear hug, trying to cover her mouth with his hand and attempting to drag her down the alley. He looked like Doc from Back to the Future, his eyes wide open and crazed while his hair stood up all over the place.
“Let me go!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Shut your mouth you bloody whore!” The man shouted back.
Just then, the woman elbowed the man in his mouth, and he grabbed a fistful of her long hair. He yanked her back and slammed her against the brick wall. She was now pinned against the wall squirming to break free. He used his forearm to pin her face to the wall while his other hand reached underneath her dress, and started groping her body. He struggled to unbuckle his pants, and I decided then and there that if it came down to it, I’d smash his skull first.
The third man was also short and had a bald head covered with tattoos. He now stood next to the husky man and both of them were licking their lips, grinning and nodding their heads in approval at the other man.
“Let go of the girl,” I said. My voice was low, still calm and reasonable, but ready to do my job. I knew that if my younger brother Kevin were still alive, he would’ve tapped the side of my head and said, “Brother, you can’t go around fixing everybody’s problem with your guns. Sometimes, you have to use your head.” My brother may have been right, but he was dead, and three Russian men were about to do something terrible to this woman. I wasn’t in the business of saving whores, but I guess I could use a little excitement tonight before hitting the sheets.
“You hear this young lad, aye? He said, let the whore go!” The roars of laughter from the Russians echoes throughout the alley. The sound of their merriment amused me. They thought that I was joking, but I wasn’t fucking around.
I will be the one who has the last laugh.
“Please help me! They’re trying to take me back to him!” The woman was hysterical, desperately holding back tears. Her eyes implored me to intervene.
The man holding the woman finally let go and joined the other two Russians. I stared at the trio as they walked towards me and I could feel my jaw clench and my temple pulsing. I could see the woman had nowhere to run; otherwise, she would have escaped off already. Instead, she crouched down behind a nearby trash can with her hands covering her head.
“Young lad,” The husky one said. “You my friend need to walk away before we…”
Before he could finish, I ran and lunged at him. A jolt shot up my arm when I punched the man in the side of the head. I heard and felt the bone in his jaw crunch, and the man fell back on the murky ground. I had moved like a lion leaping from beneath the cover of darkness. My expression was stone. The last thing you wanted to do was threaten someone like me.
I backhanded one of the men across the mouth, sending him spinning. I turned and tackled the other man—the one who groped the woman— into the nearby wall. My arms flew, landing wild punches on his face until he slid down the wall.
I heard feet crunching on broken glass. I spun, and my hand caught and crushed the fist of the husky man before it could connect with my head. My hand was smaller than the Russian’s, but my grip contracted on contact, made strong by years of fighting. The bones in the Russian’s tattooed hand cracked under the strain. He let out a whimper, and I kicked him in the balls, then kneed him in the nose when he bent over. Blood sprayed. I backed away from all three men, putting myself between them and the distraught woman.
“Fucking pussies,” I spat, annoyed.
Just then, the husky man reached inside his suit jacket, but I was faster. I pulled out two pistols from the inside my leather jacket, leveling one at him and the other at one of the shorter men.
“Try me,” I dared them to challenge me.
“You’re a man with a death wish, yes?” The husky man lets out a wicked grin, slowly removing his hand from beneath his jacket. “Do you know who you’re fucking with?”
“Don’t let them hurt me!” The woman cried.
“Do you know who we work for?”
“Nobody cares,” I rolled my eyes. I didn’t raise my voice. Only weak men needed to raise their voices. I’d already made my point. I held the pistols steady, and my fingers stroked the triggers like they were old friends. “Get out of here.”
“Who the bloody hell do you think you are?”
“Five, four, three…”
The sinister laughter of the Russians echoed in the dark alley once again.
“Two…”
“We’re not going anywhere…”
I was so over this shit. I let out a yawn, aimed my pistol at the husky man’s head and pulled the trigger, firing twice. He dropped, as they always did. Blood and chunks of brains blew back into the air and onto the ground, mixing in with the dirt and grime.
“Oh, my God,” I heard the woman whisper underneath her breath.
The two other men stepped back. A worry line had appeared at the head of the bald man. The man with the shock of white hair gaped at his former partner, staring at the holes which had appeared like magic in the center of his forehead. Smoke wisped up from the barrel of my pistol.
I narrowed my brown eyes like a wolf on the prowl daring its prey to make a move.
“One...”
The men scurried, running with all their might out the alley.
Who the fuck hired these
men? I yawned again and holstered my pistols back inside the pockets of my jacket as I turned to the frightened woman with the sparkling earring. My breathing was calm and collected. I had done this sort of thing a thousand times, and I’d happily kill ten more men to ensure that I was the last one standing.
Now that it was over, all I wanted to do was go home and sleep. I had two contracts to complete tomorrow, and standing around here wouldn’t make those jobs any easier. I looked down at the woman, who was still crouched down in fear.
“Go home,” I instructed before turning to walk away.
I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could see the movement of her head as she looked up at me.
“You just… is he?” The woman whispered with wide, teary eyes. Her accent revealed that she was not from around here, but she wasn’t Russian either. She sounded English. Definitely foreign.
“Dead?” I smirked. “That was the goal. Now go call your John or something.”
“I’m not a whore, and I don’t have a phone. They took everything.”
I put my hands in my pockets and casually walked down the alley.
“Don’t go! They’re going to come back kill me if you leave.”
I kept walking.
All of a sudden, I heard the click-clacking of heels running behind me. I quickly pulled out my pistol from my jacket, turned around and aimed the gun at the women.
“I’m sorry, sir,” her voice quivered. She held her hands up in the air and looked behind her at the dead Russian laying on the ground. “I have no other place to go.”
“That’s not my problem.”
I turned back around and holstered my pistol back inside my jacket. I made it to the end of the alley, and I cautiously scanned the area for any signs of police or Russians.