Driven to the Edge: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance

by Morgan Black

  Jake tips the bellhop and he skitters away, leaving us with only Jake’s single silver case. I don’t know what’s in the bigger case, but given what I saw him do, I can imagine.

  I’m glad that case is still in the car.

  “While we’re here, we may as well act the part,” Jake says.

  He strolls into the kitchen, where there’s another bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice on the gleaming white stone counter.

  Oh no.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re reclined on one of those big leather sofas, champagne flutes in hand, and I can’t believe it, but I think I might actually be relaxing.

  I try to remind myself over and over that Jake Hawthorne--or whatever his real name is--is a dangerous man. That nothing good will come of this. But the sweet champagne tickles my tongue and caresses my brain and tells me it’s okay to just let go for a bit.

  After all, seducing Jake was my goal, wasn’t it? I’m a lot closer to that now. He’s sitting close by, suit jacket removed, lounging back against an overstuffed cushion like he might actually enjoy being here.

  I wish I knew just a little bit more about him.

  Surely the same charming man who tried to coax me back to his hotel and the man who bought me dresses and joked about free range meat at dinner can’t be the same man who cold-bloodedly shot a security guard in the face.

  It makes my head spin. I just can’t believe it.

  For a moment, I have a horrible thought: that it isn’t fair. Because otherwise he’d be such a good guy.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I down the rest of my drink in a hurried gulp, which causes Jake’s eyebrows to raise.

  “In a hurry to get completely fucked up?” He jokes. “I can order some pills or something. It’s Vegas. Won’t be hard.”

  My head swimming a bit, I also laugh, though awkwardly.

  “No,” I say. “It’s just... really good.”

  It’s a weak lie. But he doesn’t press the subject. I’m grateful.

  There I go feeling grateful to him again.

  “So Alicia,” he asks after a while, running a finger along the rim of his crystal glass. “I have to ask you.”

  Caught off guard by that, I tilt my head, my bangs falling into my eyes.

  “How does a girl like you end up working as a driver?”

  I cock my head at him, silently wondering.

  “I mean, not that you’re a bad driver. You’re great. But isn’t it an odd line of work for someone as obviously intelligent as you?”

  I can’t tell if he’s being genuine or just flattering me. But either way, I play along.

  “It’s a job,” I say. “I need the money.”

  One corner of Jake’s mouth twitches upward.

  “Student loans?”

  I snort.

  “No. I... had a business, actually. It fell through. Real messy. Owe a lot to the bank.”

  Surprise passing over his features, Jake leans in a little closer, resting his hands on his knees. He watches me like a hawk, equal parts captivated audience and predator. It sends a chill up my back.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  He sounds sincere.

  Then he says something that blows my mind.

  “Look, if I... if I get through this unscathed, I’ll take care of that.”

  “Take care of what? My debt?”

  “Yes.”

  He scoots closer to me, setting his empty champagne flute aside. He dares--the man that kidnapped me dares--to put his hands on one of my knees, over the smooth merino of my dress.

  “I dragged you into this mess. You weren’t supposed to get involved. If I don’t end up with a bullet in the back, I’ll pay it all off.”

  I lean back a little, avoiding the penetrating intensity of his eyes.

  “I don’t need your dirty money. I’m paying it off fine on my own. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you do for a living. I don’t know how you can afford all this. But I know it can’t be legal.”

  Jake begins to massage his thumb along my knee, running it in a small circle. I can’t help it, the touch sends a fire racing up my thigh. My leg stills under his touch.

  “I’m not a bad guy,” he says. “I just worked with some people who did bad things.”

  I look him in the eye, even as his fingers smooth over the fine wool covering my leg.

  “You killed people. I saw you.”

  He’s staring at me with those eyes now, the darkness in them almost tangible. I could fall into them and drown, never see the surface again.

  “They’re bad people.”

  Then he leans in closer, takes a deep breath of my scent. The tickle of his breath on my ear is almost unbearable. One of my hands curls into the leather of the sofa. I take a deep breath and hold it.

  “Besides,” Jake whispers, his voice coming from very, very close. “I saved you.”

  Then he leans in and gently, oh so gently, slides the tip of his tongue over my earlobe. I shudder reflexively, both from surprise and how good it feels. How does he do this to me? He’s a dangerous man. I can’t.

  Yet I can feel the heat radiating off of him. I can feel how close he is. I can feel the puff of his breath on the sensitive skin of my neck.

  I remain frozen in place, unmoving, even as Jake leans down and slowly presses his mouth to my throat. His tongue slides along the hollows there, slow and teasing, ‘til he finds my pulse point. He grazes his teeth ever so slightly along the skin and it’s like there’s a fire burning inside me, eating me from the inside out.

  My fingers digging into the leather of the sofa, I down the last of my champagne like it was a shot. My head’s spinning.

  When I lower the glass, Jake is there. He replaces the champagne flute with his mouth, crushing me in a sudden kiss that’s far more intense than anything we experienced in the bathtub. I groan hotly into his mouth as he leans in against me, his massive frame bracketing me against the arm of the sofa.

  The dim, almost candlelike light of the suite is fuzzy, surrounded by halos that blur in my drunken state. I fall backwards, pressed against the arm of the couch, as Jake all but climbs atop me.

  He kisses me like he’s trying to steal the breath from my lungs, the claiming pressure of his heavy body atop mine a constant reminder of his power, his strength, of how easily he could crush me. He slips the blazer off my shoulders and I realize the implication there but it’s too late, I’m too far gone.

  Once he’s bared my shoulders, he traces his fingertips over my flushed skin, exploring every inch of bare flesh. He kisses down my neck to the collar of the dress, then slides his fingertips up the smooth fabric. Over the dress, he gropes roughly at my breasts, hauling them into his hands, squeezing, caressing. I clench my eyes shut.

  While one of his hands works my breasts, he slips the other beneath the hem of my dress, skating his fingertips along my inner thigh. I shiver with nerves at his touch. He hikes my skirt up hard. I cry out as he hauls the fabric up around my waist, almost hard enough to tear it.

  When I next catch a glimpse of his eyes, I can tell he’s lost. He’s all animal instinct now, all desire. There’s no man left.

  Jake hauls the dress up around my waist and drags me down, pressing his body against mine on the couch. I feel the weight of him, trapped beneath it, and savor the feeling. While it’s a little alarming to be pinned like this, there’s a certain seductive allure to it. A protective quality.

  Then he’s yanking my panties down my legs and my eyes go wide. I cry out in surprise.

  His fingers brush over my sex, hot and ready and wet for him, and I bite my tongue as he begins to explore the deepest parts of me, the parts he’s only seen beneath the water before. He wastes no time going straight for my clit, thumbing hard at it, causing my hips to buck involuntarily.

  This is so wrong. This is twice now I’ve let this man who kidnapped me bring me to a writhing mess beneath him.

  Then Jake’s crawling beneath
the drape of my dress, his head disappearing between my thighs. I tense up, I know what’s coming, but when I feel his hot breath on my thigh I still gasp.

  Then I feel his tongue. Oh. His tongue.

  Jake slides his tongue along the seam of my outer lips, gentle, teasing, caressing the hairless skin there. He dips his tongue just barely inside, then parts my folds with a fingertip.

  He takes his time, slow and teasing, and oh God, I just want to rip out handfuls of his hair if he just doesn’t hurry up...

  My thighs clenching at his broad shoulders, I cry out when his mouth first descends on my clit. He laps his tongue over that most sensitive place, then works a finger deeper into me while doing so. Within seconds, I’m squirming on the couch, panting, breathing with my mouth open, thrashing every time he flicks his tongue along my nub.

  It’s going to be over so soon. I’m almost embarrassed.

  But then he pulls away, right when I’m on the edge. He sinks back a bit, working at my sex with only his fingers now, thrusting two fingers slowly in and out. On the way out, he curls them just a hint, the pads of his thick fingers pressing against my inner walls. I shudder. It’s a different type of pleasure. Deeper, more long-lasting. Less intense, short spikes.

  Rolling my hips in time with the thrusts of his fingers, I let myself go. There will be all the time in the world to wonder why I let him do this. All that matters now is how good it feels.

  When was the last time I just gave in and let myself feel good?

  Jake growls against my thigh, nips his teeth into the skin there. I squeal, heels kicking, and he drags my legs up and over his shoulders. Then his mouth descends on my sex again and I lose control.

  The first time his teeth hit my clit, I scream. I cry out hard, then twist on the sofa to bury the sound of it in the leather. Jake keeps his mouth working, his fingers twisting inside me, milking my body through the shuddering orgasm that he draws out of it.

  My internal walls spasming around his hand, I clutch at him with my thighs, shuddering and shaking, sweat beading on my brow.

  When I finally slide down from my peak, I feel like a fractured mess of a person. Like I can’t string together two coherent thoughts. Jake slides out from under my dress and clambers back atop me. I can feel the rock-hard press of his erection against my thigh, even though he’s still clothed.

  Breathing as hard as I am, Jake presses his face to mine. He seeks out my mouth, our tongues tangling in a hot kiss. I can taste myself on his tongue.

  He positions himself between my legs. A sudden thrill of surprise races up my spine.

  No, I try to tell myself. There are limits. You can’t fuck him. You can’t do this.

  Jake groans as he grinds his body against mine, the hard panes of his muscular chest pressing me down into the couch. I feel small and powerless beneath him, utterly at his mercy--

  And then the persistent jingle of a cell phone cuts through the otherwise silent hotel room.

  17

  ~ Jake ~

  God. Damn. It. God fucking damn it.

  My phone’s going off and if it were anyone else, I’d say to hell with them. I’ve never wanted anything so bad as I want to be inside Alicia right now, filling that tight little body with every inch of my cock.

  But the phone that’s ringing is the burner phone.

  The only person who knows that number is Vin.

  And as much as I want Alicia, I remember why I’m here.

  Panting hard, I roll off her without a word and hurry to where I draped my jacket. I fish the phone out of a pocket and try to get my breath under control. I can still taste Alicia’s pussy on my tongue. I lick my lips and answer.

  “Vin.”

  “Jakob.”

  There’s a silence over the line. I can’t hear any background noise. I have no idea where Vin is.

  “You in town?” I finally ask.

  “You know it. Assuming you made it?”

  I look over to the sofa, where Alicia has sat up. Her bright, flushed cheeks and hard-kissed lips just get my dick even harder. I force myself to look away and stalk into the bedroom. But I don’t shut the door.

  “I looked into that name you sent me. Hedberg, the guy who works at Augustine’s.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You aren’t gonna believe this. He’s Marton Császár’s head of security.”

  Which means my suspicions were correct. Al Hedberg, the man who took an unspecified child from Long Beach to Las Vegas, works for Marton Császár, heir to the Császár crime family. There’s no way he can be anyone but the man who kidnapped Eloise.

  Maybe even the man who killed my brother.

  My stomach clenches. My dick immediately forgets what it was so excited about.

  I’m so close.

  “So what can you tell me about him?” I ask.

  The entire outside world fades away while Vin fills me in. Nothing else matters. I’m almost there.

  Unfortunately, a lot of the information Vin gives me isn’t of much use. Vin knows that Al Hedberg has a wife and two kids, but even if I were the type to threaten a guy’s wife and kids, we don’t have that much time. If they’re moving Eloise through one of their human trafficking trails, she could be gone by the weekend.

  “Email me all the information you have,” I finally say. “There has to be something here we can work with.”

  “You’ll come up with something,” Vin says. “If nothing else, you can just get into trouble at Augustine’s until he comes knocking to throw you out.”

  I snort. That’s so very not my style. But it’s nice of Vin to keep me grounded.

  I take a deep breath, settling down onto the side of the bed. My heart is hammering; my blood’s boiling. Part of it is residual arousal. Part of it is being so close to these murdering fuckers that I can almost fix things.

  “How you holding up?” Vin asks. Like he knew how pissed I was getting.

  I take another deep breath. The champagne hasn’t helped my temper, either.

  “I’m good,” I say at length. “I’m good.”

  “All right.” Vin sounds like he doesn’t quite believe me. “I’ll email that stuff over. Take care of yourself. Let me know if you need to meet up before you do this.”

  “Why would I need to do that?”

  “I don’t know, to say goodbye?”

  I pause, cradling the phone in my hand. He’s just voiced the thought I’ve had all along: that even if I can save the kid, I probably won’t live through this.

  “Ha. Well. You know me. I’ve never been the sentimental type.”

  “Of course not,” he says.

  “But. Thank you. You did right by me when nobody else would.”

  “You and your brother are good kids,” Vin says after a while. “Fuck anyone who messes with family like that.”

  “Absolutely. Fuck ‘em.”

  “Let me know if you need anything. Especially if it’s a ride out once all the dust has settled.”

  I don’t need a ride, I think, amused. I’ve still got the chauffeur you hired me. But I don’t tell him that, because Christ, he’d lose his mind at me.

  When I finally hang up the phone, Alicia is standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. I’m not sure how much she heard, but I immediately bristle like a cornered dog.

  “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to eavesdrop?”

  “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to kidnap people?”

  “I grew up mostly by myself.”

  We stand there for a moment, eyeballing each other. For a crazy half-second I wonder if she’s actually going to throw a punch at me. But instead she settles down, exhales hard. I can still see the traces of leftover flush on her face. God, she’s beautiful. But even if I were still in the mood, knowing I’m so close to my goal, I just can’t let myself get pulled away.

  She’s studying me, her peculiar eyes shifting hazel-blue-green-brown in the dim, glittering light of the room’s many lamps. />
  “Whatever it is you’ve been planning on doing, you’re getting ready to do it soon, aren’t you?”

  She observes me with a nakedly calculating stare as she says this. I almost feel defensive. But then I remember: I’m the one in charge here.

  “Sure am,” I say. I stand up, brush off my legs.

  “The way that phone conversation sounded, it almost sounds like you don’t expect to live through this.”

  “I might not.”

  “So you’re just some crazy suicidal murderer?”

  “Maybe.”

  We reach another standoff. She purses her lips for a second, then shakes her head. She looks like she wants to say something, but whatever it is, she keeps it to herself.

  Suddenly, I feel like I need to get out. I haven’t smoked in a long time, but that horrible itch-for-a-cigarette feeling comes back. Mostly because I need something to do with my hands. And I need something to do with my mouth other than have psychological discussions with my fucking hostage.

  I stalk over to the phone and call up the front desk. I ask for a cigar. Because fuck it, if I’m going to die tomorrow, I can smoke a goddamn cigar.

  I ask Alicia if she’s hungry, more out of force of habit than anything, but she shakes her head. She’s still just watching me.

  When the room service guy brings the cigar and matchbox up, I tip him and throw my wallet on the table. Then I stomp toward the balcony.

  “I need a smoke.” I snap. “I need to think.”

  Alicia doesn’t move. She hasn’t for a while. She’s still just got her arms folded, regarding me like a puzzle.

  “Stop eyeballing me and go lie down or something. And if I see you move for that door, I swear to fuck...”

  She shakes her head just a bit.

  “I won’t,” she promises.

  “All right.”

  Out on the balcony, I snip the tip off the cigar and slide open the matchbox. A smoke will help me think. I need to formulate the rest of my plan.

  18

  ~ Alicia ~

  I watch the balcony’s heavy doors swing closed. For a moment, I stare at Jake’s silhouette on the other side of the glass. He’s barely visible in the twinkling city lights, but I can see his face illuminated when he strikes a match to light his cigar.