HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY

by Kathryn Thomas

  “That’s a little reckless for a man who values his body art,” Dakota said after a long silence. She avoided his gaze, the whirr of the gun sounding. He licked his lips, letting his head drop back against the chair.

  “Tony wouldn’t hire someone who didn’t show promise. Did you do tattoos in Nevada?”

  She nodded. “Been doing it for three years.” She sat up, reaching for a paper towel. She wiped gently at the tat, and then snagging his gaze, added, “I’m no noob .”

  At first he was confused, then he realized she’d referenced his mini-tantrum in the waiting room. “Right. Sorry about that. I was pissed that motherfucker was here.”

  She scoffed. “Who, Ray? Why?”

  Bo shook his head, looking away. “He’s not supposed to be around these parts, that’s all.”

  “That’s Tony’s brother. He has every right to be here.”

  If there was anything that showed her innocence, it was that. “You have no idea what this ink means, do you?”

  She glanced up at him, question marks in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “You ever heard of the Burning Angels?”

  She shook her head. “Not until I saw your gut.”

  He bit back a smile. Gut was pushing it—he worked hard on this body, and he had the sculpted terrain to prove it. “Then you’re even newer than you thought, darling.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Hey. What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t need the cryptic bullshit.”

  Bo cleared his throat. “It’s an MC. A motorcycle club.” He paused, watching as her tongue poked out of her mouth while tracing the thick edge of the last ‘S’. “Ray used to be patched – a member – but he’s not anymore. He’s a coward.”

  Dakota sat up, wiping at her cheek with a forearm. She avoided his gaze, but he could sense the gears turning in her head. “Well, so what if you run into him? It’s a big world. Just move along.”

  He couldn’t help laughing. She was innocent, and it was sweet. If she knew half the stuff that Ray had done behind closed doors, or the way in which he’d backstabbed his brothers, she’d be first in line to kick him out of a shared space. “I guess it looks like that to you. But let’s just say you should trust me on this one.”

  Dakota shrugged. “Whatever you say, Bo.”

  She ran over the lines of the remaining letters without speaking, then sat back, her ruby red lips curling demurely. He couldn’t rip his eyes from her; she was so beautiful. He’d come in here each week to touch up each and every tattoo if it meant he could just sit by her for a little while. After a minute, she looked up at him expectantly.

  “So, what do you think?” She wiped at the tattoo one last time, clearing away the remaining ink smudges. The “Burning Angels” gleamed up at him, precise and fresh.

  He grinned, sitting up slowly. The crinkle of his belly stung a little as the fresh ink contracted. He scooted to the edge of the seat, cocking his head to the side to watch her. Dakota met his gaze hesitantly, that sweet flush staining her cheeks again.

  “You did a great job, darling.” He sat there a minute, enjoying the heat rolling off of her, the way they were just a few inches too close. He dragged his knuckles against her wrist, pleased to see goose pimples erupt on her forearm. “I might come back for more.”

  She laughed a little but she swiveled away from him, snapping the gloves off. “I wouldn’t mind checking out what you were thinking of having Tony do. It might be something that’s in my area of expertise. And, let’s face it, who knows how long it’ll take him to make bail?”

  That could be the perfect in. And right about now, after a full half hour of his dick throbbing for a chance to press himself against her, he’d do anything to see Dakota a second time.

  “I think I have a copy of it with me,” he said, easing to standing. Dakota reached for a tube of post-tattoo gel and swiveled back to him, her head right at hip level.

  “We should put this on,” she said, waving the tube in the air. “We can cover it if you’d like, but we should definitely get this on now.”

  He nodded, coming closer. She looked up at him, almost guiltily. “You want to do it?”

  He shook his head. “No, you do it.”

  She drew a low breath and squeezed some of the clear gel onto her fingertips. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, fingertips smoothing the cool stuff over the angry red skin. He laughed low as she spread it over his low abdomen—it tickled, but it was also a huge turn on—and goddamn if he wasn’t getting fully hard now. But did she notice?

  Dakota glanced up at him, her cheeks red. “Feel okay?”

  He wet his lips, never breaking his gaze on her. “Oh yeah. It feels more than okay.”

  She slowed her movements, unmoving in front of him. After a moment she tilted her head back to look at him. Maybe she’d caught the husky undertone in his voice. “You want me to cover it?”

  He smirked. “With your hand, or your mouth. Whichever you prefer.”

  Her cheeks flushed again and she jerked her head away. “Jesus. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Bo laughed, abs flinching. “Sorry, it was too easy. What do you expect from me? I’m only a man.”

  She sighed, wiping her fingers off on a paper towel. “That’s the excuse that every man uses. Try harder next time. I’m gonna cover it up now.” Dakota grabbed some transparent film and cut it to the right size. She smoothed it over his tattoo before he could add anything else. Then she went to the sink to wash her hands.

  “Thanks, darlin’.” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I appreciate your help.”

  “Now you won’t ruin your pretty clothes,” she said, drying her hands on a paper towel. “Anything else I can do for you?” She must have seen the look that crossed his face because she quickly added, “And don’t answer me with something gross.”

  He laughed, reaching for her hand. Her mouth parted when their skin touched; electricity sparked and their gazes met, surprised.

  “There is one thing,” he said, lowering his voice. “I want to take you out.”

  She arched a brow, but indecision reigned. “Out where?”

  “Anywhere I can show you exactly what I want to do to you.” He leaned closer and she stiffened, but didn’t move away. “I promise it’ll be a good time. I’ll make you feel good.”

  Dakota’s gaze careened over his face. She wanted him, he could tell—she just didn’t know how to deal with it. “What you want to do to me?”

  He dragged his knuckles over her forearm, up the side of her creamy bicep. Shivers followed in its wake. “I’ve known you less than an hour and I’ve already got a list.”

  “Hm.” She shifted, gripping on to the countertop behind her. “Sounds like you just want to hook up, and I don’t do that, Bo.”

  “Oh?” He lifted a brow, dragging his fingertips over the curve of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut. Score. “We’ll do whatever you want to do, then. Promise.”

  A grin ghosted across her face and she opened her mouth to speak but the lights went out. She gasped and he stepped away, looking around.

  “Shit.” Weak light streamed through the curtained window; after a few moments, his eyes adjusted and he could see the basic layout of the room.

  From the next booth over, Red’s voice was muffled. “Dakota, did you pop a breaker?”

  “Wasn’t me, Red.” Dakota moved toward the hallway. “Where’s the breaker box? Want me to go check it?”

  “I know where it is,” Red responded. “Hang tight, everyone.”

  Bo snatched his button-up and shrugged it on, leaving the buttons undone in the dark. As he shrugged the vest on over top, shouts sounded at the front of the tattoo studio.

  “Everybody down!”

  Bo reached for Dakota’s hand and pulled her back toward him, the reaction to the words instinctual rather than planned.

  Dakota gasped. “What the hell?”

  He tumbled to the grou
nd and brought her with him, breaking his fall with his shoulder. He held her there, wincing as he awaited the cause for alarm. Before he could even explain, gun shots fired, the rapid fire pum-pum-pum-pum of an automatic weapon peppering the front of the building. Shrieks sounded from the next booth, and Bo’s guys in the front responded with gunfire of their own.

  Dakota heaved in his arms and he sat up against the tattoo chair, keeping her tight against him.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Her voice shook, and in the dim light, he could see the wild gleam in her eye. “Was that really someone shooting at the building?”

  Bo nodded, eyes skating over the soft swell of her cheeks, the hard line of her jaw. “Welcome to L.A., darling.”

  CHAPTER THREE Dakota sat curled up into Bo for longer than necessary. Something about him felt so safe and sure, like he was the go-to spot for anything remotely concerning or difficult. Maybe she could curl up against him all the time. But the way he’d come onto her so hard after the appointment told her all that she needed to know: this guy was a player, and he was used to getting his way.

  He would not be getting his way with her.

  She pushed off of him, crawling toward the hallway. “Red, can you hear me?”

  “I’m good, baby.” Red’s voice came out a harsh whisper from the front office. “You guys okay in there?”

  Before Dakota could respond, the men out front shouted another warning. The front door burst open, and gruff shouts floated from the waiting room down the hallway. The lights came back on and across the hallway in the front office, Red army crawled on the floor back toward the hallway. Dakota winced, motioning her to hurry.

  Bo sat up, his belly crinkling as he reached behind him, fishing something out of his pants. He produced a sleek black handgun and cocked it, his dark eyes sweeping over her.

  “Stay in here,” he said, his voice low. He pushed to standing and headed toward the hallway, keeping low. “Get Red back here and just wait until I come back.”

  She nodded in response, mouth too dry to speak, and watched as he snuck down the hallway, crouched over like someone in stealth mode in a video game. Red got up on her feet to rush across the hallway into Dakota’s booth, then pressed herself against the wall, chest heaving.

  “There’s a bunch of guys out front,“ she said in a hurried whisper. “Some of them are part of Bo’s club, the ones who came with him. But there’s about four more thatt just burst in, and they’ve all got guns.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Dakota said, pressing a hand to her forehead. “What the fuck are they doing here? Why is this even happening?”

  Indecipherable shouts rang out; punches landed, mixes with intermittent gun shots. Please, Bo. Be safe. Make us all safe again. “I can’t say, baby. But I’ve gotta warn those girls in my booth. I’m gonna hurry over there and make sure they’re hiding.” Red squeezed her hand, her green eyes darting over her face. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Red, no. Just stay here. You might get hurt!”

  Red shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips and then slipped out of the room, headed toward her own. Dakota pressed herself against the wall, chest heaving as she listened to the sounds in the waiting room. More shouts, knuckles on flesh, muffled grunts. Another gunshot made her wince and pinch her eyes shut. Bo’s words echoed through her head— welcome to L.A. If this was L.A. then maybe she should have never come. She’d always heard the worst of the worst horror stories whenever she told her family back home she wanted to move here. Frightening tales bordering on fantasy about gang violence and more. Stuff she brushed off— how could that happen to me?

  Dakota peered around the corner of her booth, struggling to get a grip on what was happening. She should be prepared, in case something happened. She definitely didn’t have a gun on her like Bo did—obviously he found himself in skirmishes like these with frequency. Did Bo bring the violence? Her mind spun as she searched the booth for something heavy or useful. Her gaze landed on an emergency fire extinguisher in the corner and she crawled toward it, yanking it out of place.

  This will have to do. She scooted back to the corner, hiding out of sight if anyone were to walk down the hall and look in her booth. Fuck, this was scary. What did those guys even want? All she had to go on was lizard brain and a perfunctory knowledge of first-person shooter games. She had the weapon in her figurative tool belt—the extinguisher—and at least 90% energy. Maybe she could scoop up a fallen weapon along the way for extra points. But really, in this first-person shooter game, she’d escape the first chance she got instead of racking up points by entering the fray.

  Heavy breathing arrived when Red darted into the room. She pressed herself against the wall, eyes wide. “The girls are fine, they’re hiding in the cabinet.”

  “Thank God.”

  Red opened her mouth to speak but she screamed instead when a bullet zinged past her head. She dove into the room and a man appeared in the doorway, face shrouded with a black plastic mask, wild eyes visible through the holes.

  “Don’t try to escape.” His vice came out a muffled growl and he raised a gun, aiming at Red. Dakota blanked out and swung the fire extinguisher with all her might, knocking the guy in the knee caps. He groaned and fell to the ground, and while he was distracted she swung the extinguisher into his body, as hard as she could, wherever she could. She got him in the ribs, the stomach, the groin, and the face. Red reached for his fallen gun while Dakota walloped him; after a moment she sat back, heaving wildly, surveying the damage.

  He lay motionless and bleeding on the ground, fingers twitching. She watched with horror, covering a mouth with her hand. “Holy fuck, Red.”

  Red heaved, pressed up against the wall, eyes darting between the attacker’s body and her. “You saved my life, baby.”

  The click of a gun forced her to look up. She stared at the barrel of a gun, another masked man holding it. Something about the way the mask sat on his face told her he was sneering beneath the neutral plastic. Her mouth went dry.

  “You’re gonna pay for doing that to one of my brothers.” His voice came out raspy and dark. Panic slid through Dakota’s body and she was rooted to her spot, unable to even look away from the barrel of the gun.

  Here it is. The ending to your move to L.A.

  A gun fired and she squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as she waited for something: pain, a slithering trail of blood from her forehead, a gasp of shock, anything. When she opened her eyes a moment later, Bo stood in front of her, his lips contorted into a sneer as he eyed the dead man in front of her.

  “Jesus, Bo.” Red’s chest heaved as she surveyed the scene. Dakota’s gaze bounced from the limp man in front of her to Bo, back and forth, unable to wrap her mind around it. He almost killed me…and now he’s dead. She scampered back as a trickle of blood meandered from the side of his head over the floor, almost reaching her knee. She swallowed a sick, dry taste.

  “They’re gone,” Bo said, stashing his gun in the waistband of his pants. His eyes met Dakota’s, cloudy and heavy. “It’s taken care of.”

  His words sunk into her. “What the fuck just happened?”

  Red pushed herself to standing, reaching out for Bo’s arm when she almost fell. “We gotta get this cleaned up.”

  Dakota scoffed, eyes wide. “You mean we gotta call the police!”

  Red’s eyes narrowed and Bo stiffened. Both looked at her like she’d suggested they eat the limbs of the man in front of her.

  “We can’t do that,” Red said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She stepped over the guy’s body on her way into the hallway, heading back toward her own booth. The low undertones of her voice carried through the hallway, no doubt as she alerted her clients the danger had passed.

  “How could you not call the police after something like that?” She blinked up at Bo, but he remained unswayed.

  “We don’t call the police when stuff like this happens.” His gaze flicked down to the corpse between them. “We take care of it o
urselves. That’s just how it works.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  Bo’s heavy silence only frustrated her. She sighed, pulling herself up with the tattoo chair. “Whatever. This is fucking bizarre.” She stepped over the body and headed for the front office, so she could get some space, and stop looking at the back of that dead guy’s head. Fuck—he might have almost killed her, but what if he had family? Some kid might be wondering where his dad was, and he’d never know because Bo said they couldn’t call the police. That was some fucked up stuff.