Driven to the Edge: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance

by Morgan Black

  The three black SUVs pace us the entire time as the suburbs and buildings start to dwindle, grow smaller, then fade from old single-story structures to nothing.

  Eloise put on Radio Disney. Go figure.

  “What’s your name?” Eloise finally asks me. I’m so frazzled I can’t even remember if I told her before.

  “I’m Alicia.”

  “And you’re with Uncle Jake?”

  “That’s right.”

  I’m not sure how much ‘with’ she meant, but I’m not sure how much I’m ‘with’ Jake either.

  I stare straight ahead, driving with determination, glad that the goons in the black Escalades aren’t trying to test the armored shell of the Maybach just yet. It could take a licking, but in all my time driving armored cars, I’ve never actually been shot at.

  The brown-orange Clark County barrens race out past our windows. I’m speeding, although not enough to draw attention to myself. I sure hope Jake knows where we’re going, because soon we’ll be in the part of the state where gas is hard to come by.

  The idea of running out of gas with that fleet of SUVs chasing us gives me chills.

  I smile sideways down toward Eloise, who seems less bothered than I am by everything that’s just happened. I don’t know if it’s childhood resilience or if she’s shell-shocked or if she’s just glad to see her uncle again.

  Uncle Jake. I almost stifle a laugh. Then I wonder: is the man in the photograph I saw Jake’s brother? If so, what happened to him? Given the type of people Jake is mixed up with, I wonder if that explains why the girl’s parents are nowhere to be seen.

  Something thumps against the partition behind us. I idly wonder if that glass is bulletproof too. Just in case. I try not to imagine what’s going on back there.

  I drive. It’s what I do.

  I squint down the highway, where I notice something: a plume of dust is rising up into the sky from a distant dirt road, still several miles ahead of us. A big plume.

  I hope it’s not more of the bald guy’s men coming for us. Because armored or not, I’m not sure how much the Maybach can take.

  25

  ~ Jake ~

  Marton is getting a little feisty. I slam the side of his head into the glass partition that separates the passenger from the driver compartments. He yelps and shakes his head several times, then goes still. A small trickle of blood trails down from a welt on his brow, down into his eye.

  I’ve got the man who ordered my brother killed right here in my hands.

  Somehow, it doesn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would.

  Maybe it’s because I have Eloise back now. Maybe it’s because I am standing on the edge of a whole new life, horizons to look toward with maybe Alicia at my side. But suddenly, revenge isn’t the only thing that matters.

  I still beat the shit out of him, though.

  We ride in silence, Alicia taking the Maybach screaming down the state highway. I imagine Marton’s goons are following us, but I don’t really care about that either.

  Because Vin finally called. And Vin, bless his heart, has come to our rescue.

  I hear the rumble of the motorbikes before I see them, a roaring cacophony of engines in the distance that vibrates even through the Maybach’s armored walls.

  I hit the button that lowers the partition between Alicia and us. And I keep the gun pressed very, very tightly to Marton’s throat.

  Alicia’s eyes are wide. She’s looking straight ahead at something. I can’t quite see, but when I sit up, I catch sight of the first of the bikes.

  I pull the burner phone from my pocket and call Vin back.

  He’s out there somewhere, amongst the bikers.

  “Vinny,” I say. “I believe we’re here.”

  He was MIA during our recon phase because he was gathering forty Red Rock Riders to come to our aid if things went south. Relax, he’d said when we spoke earlier. They’ll do anything to save a kid. Plus, they’re my guys. And you’re my guy. So by extension, we’re all on the same side.

  My pulse stays cool and calm as the bikes surround the Maybach. Alicia looks back at me several times, quick little alarmed glances. But I hold a finger up to her.

  “It’s all right,” I say while I listen to Vin yell at someone in the background. “They’re with us. Kind of.”

  Beside me, Marton looks back and forth bafflingly, taking it all in.

  A great fleet of low-slung, powerful motorcycles encircles us, riding on all sides. I peer out the window. There’s some black Cadillacs behind us, but they’re dropping back further and further ‘til they’re out of shotgun range.

  “These idiots will follow us as long as we have Marton,” I say into the phone.

  Vin quiets down long enough to holler a reply at me. I can hear engines revving in the background of the call.

  “So drop him off by the side of the road. Fucking leave him. He’s shit to us.”

  I’m not sure I can do that. I came all this way for my revenge. To hurt him. To make him suffer. For putting his hands on my niece. For harming my family.

  Randomly, with no outward warning, I slap him across the face. Marton yelps, blinking his eyes back awake. The earlier smash against the window stunned him a bit. He doesn’t seem a hundred percent present.

  “Hey, shithead.”

  I stare into his eyes. They’re cold, like a reptile’s. Like he feels nothing for me.

  “I’ve fantasized about putting a knife in you every night since you had my brother killed.” I purse my mouth, stare at him flatly. “I know you didn’t pull the trigger, but in this situation, I’m afraid shit rolls uphill.”

  Marton licks his lips. One of them is split, blood smudged along it.

  “I won’t lie to you. He fucked up. He had to go. The IRS was breathing down our necks.”

  I dig the barrel of the gun deeper into his neck.

  “You didn’t give Alain a chance to fix things. He could have. He would have. He fucking cared.”

  Marton shrugs. Unbelievable. In the face of his own certain death. I suppose you don’t get that high up the food chain in organized crime without having a pulse that’s practically flatlined.

  An idea springs to mind. A way I can simultaneously get my revenge and just get on with my life. I don’t have to kill him. But I can ditch him and leave him for his underlings to clean up.

  I ask Alicia to pull over, safely within our halo of thundering motorbikes. I ask Vin to signal to the bikers to do the same. So the Maybach and its escort ease onto a service road, pulling away until we’re out of view of the main highway.

  I step out onto the dusty ground, dragging Marton with me.

  The ground all around us is dotted with juniper and sage. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.

  It’s a goddamn gorgeous afternoon.

  I bend down, pull my boot knife from its sheath, and stab Marton Császár in the gut. His eyes go wide. He chokes, first in surprise, then on his own blood. I lean in close to him and whisper Alain’s name. Then I give him a pat on the cheek, twist the knife once, and let him fall.

  He lands down near my shiny black boots. I stare down at him, dispassionate.

  “I know the human body real well,” I say. “I didn’t hit anything vital. If your men get you straight to a hospital, there’s a good chance you don’t bleed to death in the dirt.”

  He presses a hand to his side, grimacing and whimpering. His face contorted with pain, he looks up at me.

  “Why?”

  I wipe my blade off on his shoulder, cleaning it, then fold it away into my boot.

  “I thought I had nothing left in this world but making sure your ass got dead,” I say. “I learned that ain’t the case.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He does gurgle a little.

  “I figure if I got a second chance out of this, maybe I’ll give you one. Mostly I just don’t give enough of a shit about you to kill you anymore.”

  I stoop down so I can whisper into his ear.

&nbs
p; “But let me be clear on this one thing: if I ever see your face or hear your name again, we’re back for round two. And I won’t rest until every last Császár is six feet under. And you know me, Marty. I’m good.”

  He squints up at me, tears rimming his eyes, and bobs several eager nods.

  Mostly I think he just wants me to leave.

  So I do. I trudge past the sea of Red Rock Riders and slouch into the Maybach, exhausted.

  We leave Marton in the dirt, bikes speeding up and blowing dust in all directions. We meet the black SUVs on their way down the service road. They’ll find him. He’ll either live or he won’t. I find I don’t really care that much.

  I beckon Eloise back into the passenger’s seat with me. She squirms out of the front seat and leaps into my lap, blessedly ignoring the blood on my hands.

  “Uncle Jake!”

  I wrap her up in a hug so tight I wonder if I might ever be able to let her go again.

  Nestling Eloise in against my side, an arm slung around her, I hit the intercom button.

  “Alicia,” I say, slowly. “You think you could drive us one more time?”

  When she replies to me, she sounds like she’s smiling.

  “Absolutely.”

  The Red Rock Riders have a few hideouts all over southern Nevada. We end up at one, a bar-slash-hotel attached to a rickety truck stop in the middle of god knows where. It looks dilapidated as all hell, but comfortable. As someone who grew up in North Vegas and Long Beach, it reminds me of home.

  It’s absolutely no place for a six year old child, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  Alicia pulls the Maybach into the garage, where Vin’s waiting for us.

  I can spot Vin’s frame from a mile away. For one, he’s almost a mile tall. He’s a big, broad-shouldered mountain of a man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a glare that means business. He’s not glaring now, though. In fact, he looks about as happy as I’ve ever seen him.

  “Uncle Vin!” Eloise squeals as I open the door. She tears off my lap and straight at him, clambering up his big tattooed body like he’s a jungle gym. He grabs her by the waist, ruffles her hair, and calls her a bunch of names. She loves it.

  For a moment, my heart wrenches.

  Alain should be here. Ever since we were kids, it was the three of us.

  Now it’s just two.

  I climb out of the Maybach and shut the door. When it closes, it reveals Alicia, standing in front of me.

  I don’t know what to do or say. Other than stare at her for a moment. Because she’s beautiful.

  She’s beautiful to begin with, but there’s something about the loyalty of a woman who’d risk her life to help you that makes her even more gorgeous. I wet my lips and stare at her so long she probably wonders what’s wrong with me.

  When I reach out to her, she steps into my arms. I wind her up in a tight embrace, clutching hold of her, inhaling the scent of her, running my fingers down the back of her smooth, silky dress. She fits so perfectly into my arms. I don’t remember what another woman would even feel like.

  “You uh. You gonna stick around a while?”

  I put on my biggest, brightest grin down at her. She eases up against my side, relief and exhaustion in the sag of her shoulders. But her eyes are playful when she peers up at me.

  “I’m pretty sure you owe me a drink, Jakob.”

  She says my name right, a hint of Hungarian left over in the pronunciation. I guess she picked it up from someone. Császár, Vin, somebody.

  It sounds amazing on her tongue.

  26

  ~ Alicia ~

  I’m a good girl. I’ve never even been drinking at a biker bar before.

  But here I am, drinking at a biker bar with a hit man and his biker friend, after breaking into a casino and navigating through an armed standoff.

  It’s been a big weekend. A three gin-and-tonic weekend.

  Vin, Jake’s big mountain of a man friend, approaches us at the bar and waves up toward a rickety set of stairs. The dive we’re staying in, I haven’t quite figured out its name, but it’s chock full of tan, weathered bodies in leather and a real shitty band is playing in the corner. There are neon signs along the walls, a pool table in the corner, and oddly enough, it serves great Mexican food.

  I could almost get used to this.

  “There’s only the one room!” he calls over the din of the bar. “But you guys are welcome to it for as long as you need! Eloise can stay in my trailer; I’ve got a spare room.”

  A trailer away from the bar itself is probably the best place for a child in this place.

  Vin palms a key into my hand, then waves and wanders off. I hop down off my stool, eager to explore our new lodgings.

  They’re nothing special: a big saggy queen bed, some ridiculously ugly lamps, a lot of fringe, and a big mural of a screaming eagle that takes up an entire wall. There are no windows.

  The room isn’t anything special, but Jake and I put it to good use. Almost immediately.

  The second we’re inside, Jake shuts the door and slams me up against the wall. This has been building between us for so long the pressure’s almost to the point of a full-on eruption. I gasp, groaning needily as he forces himself between my legs. My Oscar De La Renta dress rides up my thighs. He slips a hand between my legs, palming my mound through my panties.

  I’m already shaking for him.

  Maybe it’s leftover adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that we both lived through it all. Maybe we just want to feel alive, to feel like we’re still a part of the world.

  I want him like I’ve never wanted anything else. My body needs him, aches for him like air.

  Crying out as he sends kisses up and down my shoulder, I throw my head back. I let him ravage me, his lips and teeth and tongue worshiping me. Each touch is a reminder of everything we’ve gone through, everything we survived.

  He palms my breasts through the dress, but he doesn’t take the time to take it off. Strong hands ripping at my underwear, he slides my panties down my legs and reaches for his fly immediately. I untuck his shirt, clawing at it ‘til I hit bare skin.

  I need to feel him against me. It’ll keep me alive.

  Jake spreads my thighs and lifts me up, holding me beneath the arms. He positions himself beneath me. I can feel the tip of his thick, hard cock pressing against my entrance already. We’ve skipped the foreplay entirely but that doesn’t matter. I’m so wet, so ready for him. I can’t stand it.

  “Please,” I gasp into his mouth. He lowers me down. I sink onto him, impaling myself on him, easing slowly down until I’m utterly, deliciously full of him.

  We stay that way for a moment, joined as one. It’s more intimate than our previous couplings.

  It’s more intimate than anything I’ve felt in my entire life.

  Groaning giddily, I begin to rock atop him. He rocks his hips in time with mine. Soon we’re moving as one, each of his thrusts slamming me hard against the wall. He jackhammers into me roughly, his thick length almost too much for me to take, but with each thrust I adjust to him more and soon he’s slamming into me roughly each time.

  I don’t care if we put a hole in the fucking wall. I need this.

  As he fucks me hard, he pressed his palm to the front of my sex, rubbing at my clit, the friction overwhelming. I cry out, burying my face in his shoulder. He groans, excited by the sound of me, and doubles his efforts.

  Grunting with each heavy, forceful thrust, Jake pins me up against the wall, holding one wrist over my head. He suckles on my neck until bright purple bruises form, taking as much of my body in as he can. His breath begins to grow erratic. I can tell he’s close. His thrusting grows less rhythmic but more intense.

  He slams his palm down on my clit, all but grinding it.

  I scream. I feel him begin to release inside me.

  I hope the band playing downstairs drowns me out.

  I come so hard I almost pass out.

  We make it to the bed. Eventually. Toppling
over onto the mattress in a sweaty heap, my four-thousand-dollar dress undoubtedly sullied, I take a moment to just breathe.

  Jake grabs me, hauling me in against his chest. I curl there willingly, bathing in his heat.

  My head nestles perfectly in against his shoulder. I nuzzle there, press in a chaste little kiss.

  “Alicia,” he murmurs. I love the sound of my name when he says it. He says it like it’s a flavor he enjoys.

  When I don’t reply, he says it again. I thought he was just saying it as a term of endearment.

  “Hm?”

  He rolls me onto my side, peers down at me with those deep, almost reflective eyes. Like the finest brandy, something sweet to drink for dessert.

  “I’m sorry for getting you involved in all this.”

  I actually roll my eyes.

  “You did it in a bad way, yes. But it was for a good reason.”

  “Vin can arrange a ride back to LA whenever you want it.”

  That causes my heart to skip a beat. I hadn’t thought about coming home at all. How would I explain my absence? How would I explain... a lot of things? I hadn’t given it a moment’s consideration.

  Because I know in my heart I don’t want to go home.

  What is there to go home to? Debt, work, trying to rebuild the remnants of a photography studio that everyone’s already moved on from?

  “Does it have to be LA?” I ask, after a thoughtful moment.

  Jake blinks.

  “I suppose not. Where would you rather go?”

  I roll onto my stomach, folding my hands together. I rest my chin on them and gaze up at him, studying his face. Even just looking at him, I want him even more. My body throbs for him whenever he’s not touching me.

  I couldn’t go home. In just three days, Jake Hawthorne has crawled so deep inside me that I can’t imagine letting him go.

  “Where are you heading next? Maybe I’ll tag along.”

  The way his eyes light up when I say that lets me know I’ve made the right choice.

  27