HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY

by Kathryn Thomas

  She reached for the phone at the front desk, gnawing on her lip as she considered calling 9-1-1. But what would she say?

  “Dakota.” Red’s voice pierced through her indecision. She leaned in the doorway, Bo standing behind he with his arms crossed.

  “What?” She retracted her arm.

  “We can’t call the police.” Red came closer, gesturing to the phone. “This will be taken care of. We just can’t get the MC in trouble.”

  Dakota furrowed a brow. “What MC?”

  “Burning Angels.” She jerked her head back to Bo, who stood expressionless in the doorway. “They’ll take care of it. But for now, we just gotta lay low. Play it cool.”

  “That’s why all this happened then.” She said it like a fact, but meant it more like a question. Like maybe someone would step in to tell her that the incredibly sexy client she’d just touched up wasn’t really a fucking criminal evading the law. Looking at Bo, she said, “Your club caused all this.”

  He scoffed, sneering. “I don’t need to hear this shit. I just saved your life. You should be thanking me.”

  “My life wouldn’t have been in danger if I hadn’t been working on you,” she countered, her voice cracking. The adrenaline rush of what she’d dodged flooded her, made her vision grow spotty. You almost died. And maybe Bo had saved her, but he sure hadn’t helped things by being a fucking criminal.

  “Dakota, just be cool, baby,” Red said, her voice soft. “I know this was scary, but listen, things are gonna calm down.”

  Dakota swallowed hard, heading back toward her booth. If this was how Ink Works operated—on the fringe of safety just because some of their clients were gang bangers—then she needed to be somewhere else. Someplace where her life wasn’t in danger just from doing a touch up. She pushed through the doorway, bumping shoulders against both Bo and Red. They let her pass and she rummaged in her booth, gathering her tattoo gun and some other important items.

  “Don’t do this,” Red said, leaning in the doorway. Dakota ripped a couple pieces of art off the wall, arranging them into a pile. All the things she’d brought with her would leave with her—come hell or high water. Because this wasn’t the type of place she wanted to be involved with, amazing mentorship or not.

  “Red, I can’t work here if this is what it’s like.” She shook her head, shoving her things into her backpack. “You won’t call the cops, because you want to protect his club. That’s weird, right?” She hefted with a laugh, grabbing her cell phone charger, stuffing it into her bag. “I mean, that’s fucked up. I almost killed a guy today, and why?”

  Her question hung heavy in the air. Bo’s steely gaze never wavered from her, no matter how many times she attempted to shake it off or ignore it.

  “It’s not like this, though,” Red insisted, coming to her side as she packed the last of her things in her backpack. “I swear it’s not. These flare-ups are rare, maybe only once a year. And it’s—”

  “Once a year? It only takes one bullet to die, Red.” Dakota slung the backpack over her shoulder, looking her friend up and down. They’d had a good run together for three weeks. And maybe she’d miss Red—a lot. But her safety, her integrity , was more important. “I can’t work here anymore. I have to go.”

  “Oh, come on, Dakota! Don’t do this! We need you here.”

  Bo stepped out of the doorway when she approached, his jaw set. She met his gaze for a moment then yanked it to the ground, stepping around the fallen man’s body, fighting a wave of nausea.

  No job was worth with type of risk. Not even the job of her dreams.

  CHAPTER FOUR Bo hung up the phone after he’d let his club brother know about the damage at the tattoo studio. A couple extra guys were on their way to help with clean-up, though the brothers he’d come with had done a good job of gathering the dead bodies into one place in the waiting room.

  “I can’t believe she left.” Red paced the front office. She’d locked the front door after Dakota walked out, hesitant to let any innocent bystanders wander in.

  “Her choice.” Bo shrugged, pocketing his cell phone. And maybe in a way he admired it. She could walk away from this—he couldn’t. “You’ll find someone else.”

  “Dakota is talented, Bo. You don’t get it.” Red ran a hand through her bright hair. “We look for years for talent like that, and she just rolled up to our front door. And now she’s gone.” She scoffed, leaning against the front counter. “Tony’s gonna be so pissed.”

  “Why? Because he lost talent, or because he lost eye candy?”

  A dark look crossed Red’s face. “Why would you say that?”

  Bo reeled back, like she’d slapped him with that look of hers. “Just saying. She’s a pretty little thing. Maybe Tony was hittin’ it.”

  “No,” she said, crossing her arms. “He wasn’t.”

  He shrugged again, but relief swelled through him. “Whatever you say, Red.” Truth was, he wanted to know for selfish reasons. He wouldn’t go after Dakota if she was already Tony’s girl. And especially not if Tony had anything to do with today’s attack. Whoever these guys were, they’d known he was at Ink Works. They’d been led there with a treasure map. There were only two culprits—Tony or Ray—and both of them looked mighty suspicious at this point.

  Tony better have a damn good excuse when he finally showed up, too. None of that naked Easter egg hunt shit, either.

  The whoosh of heavy rain battered the feeble roof of the studio. Bo looked up at the ceiling, measuring how heavy it was falling out there.

  “Oh, God,” Red moaned. “And Dakota’s out there on her own.”

  “She doesn’t drive?”

  “Doesn’t have a car. She’s been using Tony for her ride home each night.” Red tutted, burying her face in her hands. “God, this has been a shitty day.”

  Bo flexed his jaw, mulling his options. It didn’t sit right with him that she’d just bolted after seeing something like that. He needed to talk to her, make sure she didn’t end up going to the police after all.

  And maybe he wanted to get one last look at her, too.

  “I’ll go find her. What way does she go to get home?”

  Red looked relieved. “Oh, Bo, that would be so nice. She takes Anaheim Boulevard east. Just hang a right out of here. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

  Bo nodded, grabbing for his heavy leather coat hanging over a chair in the waiting room. He shrugged it on, nodding at Red. “Guys will be here soon to take care of this. Sorry for the mess.”

  Red sighed. “Tony will be glad he got locked up.”

  “When does he get out?”

  “I don’t know. He’s gonna try to post bail later today.”

  Bo nodded. “He better make sure his story checks out.”

  Red’s face darkened, brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

  “This attack today came from someone who knew I was here.”

  “And you think Tony would give you up like that?” Red scoffed, her face flushing. “Bo, I thought you two were closer than that. If anyone it was Ray. You know that as well as I do.”

  Bo held her gaze. “I know. You’re probably right. But when shit like this goes down, I gotta look at all my options. Because whoever is responsible will pay.”

  Red ran a hand through her hair, gaze drifting away. “I know, Bo. Go get Dakota and take her home. I’ll be here.”

  Bo unlocked the door and pushed out into the dreary rain. Puddles formed a ring around the cement patio, water sloughing off the roof in narrow flumes. He zipped his jacket up and hurried to the bike, tugging his helmet on. He grabbed a towel out of the leather storage at the back and wiped off the seat before he sat down. The Harley rumbled to life and he maneuvered out of the uneven parking lot of the tattoo studio, cars whizzing by kicking up sprays of water.

  He squinted into the rain as he pulled into traffic, searching for Dakota. Anaheim Boulevard was busy and not pedestrian friendly. Braving this road, in this weather, was a desperate measure.
At the very least, he’d give her a ride home and a stern warning to keep her mouth shut. Though really, he’d like to give her a few other parting gifts if today was the last time he’d see those ruby red lips.

  Up ahead, black pedal pushers yanked at his attention. Dakota walked, tenting a zip-up hoodie over her head, black backpack hanging over her shoulders. He passed her and then pulled onto the shoulder, blocking her path. Harley rumbling, he jerked his head toward the bike.

  “Get on.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

  He fought a smile. She wanted to play the tough girl part, and it was cute. Made him want to give her a parting gift even more. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  “I can walk there.” She paused, looking hesitant. Even her words sounded shaky. “It’s just a few miles off.”

  “In this rain? You’ll get sick.” He walked the bike around to face the flow of traffic and cut the engine. He swung a leg over the body and pulled open the storage compartment, yanking the spare helmet out. He handed it to her. “Just get on.”

  She took it hesitantly, biting at that plump bottom lip. He wiped the seats off again and stowed the towel, then swung a leg over the bike.

  Dakota tugged the helmet on and then shrugged the hoodie back on over her shoulders. He made the Harley roar to life and then she hopped on the back seat. He could sense her trying not to touch too much of him, like keeping her distance would be possible on the back of his bike.

  “You’re gonna have to hang tight,” he said, glancing back at her. The rain came down harder now, and this ride would be mostly unpleasant. Made slightly better having her pressed up against him. “I go fast.”

  She settled into place and then grabbed onto the edges of his jacket. He grinned, though she couldn’t see it.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, and kicked into gear. The Harley rumbled forward and he maneuvered back into traffic. When there was enough space, he nailed it, the force kicking them both backward. Dakota’s arms snaked around his waist—exactly what he’d been hoping for—and they roared off down the road. Rain hit his face like sleet. At the next stoplight, while the engine idled, he turned to her.

  “Where do you live, darling?”

  She tightened her grip around his waist, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “After the overpass, take a right onto Madison and it’s the second block.”

  He nodded, gaze dropping to her hands around his waist. Something about her made him desperate for more. To feel those hands smoothing over his skin…to feel them wrapped around his cock. To feel the brush of her pretty lips against his cheek. He cocked a grin, accelerating once the light flipped to green. Maybe he could coax any number of those things out of her. She didn’t seem like a fan, but maybe that could change.

  They didn’t talk the rest of the ride to her house. Her grip around his waist pulsed like a homing beacon, ratcheting up the tension enough that he had a semi by the time he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. The place was shitty, even by L.A. standards. Cracked asphalt bore wild weeds; the apartment building itself was brown and dingy, broken shutters and air conditioners dangling half-positioned out of windows. He pulled into a spot near the door and parked it, cutting the engine.

  Dakota unwrapped herself from him and climbed off the bike. Eyeing him, she unhooked the helmet and handed it to him. “Thanks for the ride.”

  He received the helmet, arching a brow. “Can I come in?”

  “Do you need to?”

  God, he loved her lip. “Thought it might be polite to let me dry off before I hit the road again.” He feigned offense, running his tongue over his teeth. “But maybe that’s old school of me.”

  She sighed, tightening her jacket around her. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Come on.”

  He tugged his helmet off and stored both before strutting up to the open doorway of the main landing. He followed her up a set of steel stairs to the first door on the left. She jiggled a key and pushed open the front door; it looked about as solid as wicker.

  “Your place isn’t so safe, darlin’.” He looked around the apartment as he shut the door. It didn’t even latch when he pushed on it. “It wouldn’t be hard to break in.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’d know about stuff like that.” She dropped her backpack on a plain grey couch and went into the kitchen. She filled a teapot with water and turned on a burner. “You want some tea?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged off his jacket, placing it on a hook by the door. His pants were soaked, and the chill was setting in. He’d gotten way more wet than he expected, and all thoughts of seduction aside, he was desperate for a hot shower. “How long you lived here?”

  “Just over a month,” she said, peeling her hoodie off, hanging it over the back of a folding chair in the kitchen. Her place looked like she’d been here only days. Maybe she hadn’t come with much—or maybe she couldn’t afford much. “This was the first place I could find. I haven’t really unpacked because, well, I want to move already.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt but stopped, the fabric sitting uncomfortably against his damp skin. The sleeves were soaked too, probably had rained inside the cuffs of his jacket. “You mind if I take this off? It’s all soaked.”

  She hesitated before speaking. “Sure, go ahead.”

  He unbuttoned the vest first, holding her gaze. “It’d be nice to dry off before I leave. Maybe ride out the storm.” He cocked a grin, liking how her gaze didn’t waver while he unbuttoned the vest. “Only downside of having a Harley.”

  “Yeah, well…I guess it beats walking home in the rain.” She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. Her breasts bunched nicely in the tight tank top and desire thrummed through him, hot and urgent. Dakota was all sorts of tempting and maybe the first girl in history to not fall over herself to give him what he wanted.

  “I owed you, after what happened.”

  She hefted with a laugh. “Well if we’re talking about payment, you owe me a little more than a ride for forcing me to witness murder.”

  “When you say it like that, it sound so dramatic.”

  “Well, it is dramatic.” Her voice was rimmed with tension. “But maybe this is normal for you.”

  “It’s not normal, just unfortunate.” He laid his vest over the back of anther folding chair and got to work unbutton his shirt. The lone lightbulb in the kitchen hung from a wire above them, illuminating the room in harsh white light. Bo wasn’t an interior design guy, but even he knew this place needed some loving touches.

  Dakota turned to the stove to watch the teapot. After a few moments, Bo said, “A watched kettle never boils.”

  “Just giving you your space.”

  He’d reached the last button and shrugged the shirt off. “Am I being indecent? I thought you’d already seen all this once today.”

  She turned to look at him but yanked her head back to the teapot. Maybe she liked what she saw. He certainly worked to make his body a work of art. Hanging the shirt over the last free seat—she only had three chairs around her fold-up table—he sighed happily. Getting damp clothing off was a relief. Especially when in the company of a babe like Dakota.

  His phone dinged and he fished it out of his pocket. A club brother, Turbo, had texted him: Hey man, just got word that those dudes were Demon Seed hires. They’re coming for you. Where R U? Lay low for now bro.

  He sighed, pocketing the phone again. Fuck . He should have figured they were sent by Demon Seed. He’d ousted their president a few weeks ago in what had almost been a perfectly-hidden assassination, but something leaked somewhere along the way and word got back to their MC that it was a Burning Angels mission. His head was marked.

  “What’s that sigh for? Another burnt angel?”

  He furrowed a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugged, reaching for two mugs in the cupboard. The insides were mostly bare, just a handful of mismatched cups and glasses in there. “I do
n’t know much about gangs like yours. But from what I’ve seen so far, it looks like a lot of drama and murder.”

  “Well, yeah, then. More of that.” He gnawed at the inside of his lip, sliding onto a stool at the countertop facing into the kitchen. “Listen, I need to ask you a favor.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I need to stay here.”

  “That’s not asking me a favor, that’s giving me a command.”

  He tutted. “Fine. Can I please stay here?”

  “Why?”

  He smoothed his palms over the countertop. “I need to lay low. They found out those guys that attacked me were part of Demon Seed—“