Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0)

by Alexis Abbott

  “This is really nice,” she says, and I give a laugh at the remark. “No, I mean it! I thought Maggie and I were tidy, and we’d only just moved in.”

  “A simple upbringing gives you simple tastes,” I say, making my way over to the pillows and fluffing them a bit and smoothing the covers. I feel somewhat guilty for not being entirely honest with the room’s presentation, however. There are some things I don’t want even Liv to see. Not yet.

  The room is not so much ‘simple’ as it is ‘subtle.’ Under the bed, there is a hidden compartment full of the weapons and other tools I used in my past life, the life that seems to be coming back to haunt me more with every passing hour. It weighs on me that I will be putting Liv to bed to sleep peacefully over a bed of the grisly weapons I used to take lives before even knowing her. But the poor girl has enough on her mind for now.

  Briefly, I wonder if it would make her feel safer, or if it’d send her out on the streets, wondering what type of monster I really am. Then I have to wonder why I care so much. It’s not even just about her being my student, or my seeing potential in her. There’s something more, some way I’m drawn to her that I’ve never experienced before.

  It’s been years since I’d even done so much as gone on a date with a woman, so maybe that’s why I don’t recognize these feelings. The desire to help her isn’t just motivated by pure intentions. There’s something deeper at work.

  “Where are you going to sleep?” she asks, moving over to the bed and testing the sheets out thoughtfully, pulling them out and testing the mattress.

  “I have some thick spare sheets in the closet — I’ll sleep on the floor beside you.”

  “What?!” she says, suddenly looking more guilty than I feel. “You can’t-”

  “Liv,” I stop her gently, holding up a hand, “if you knew what I was used to, you’d know that even a slightly springy hardwood floor would be comfortable by my standards. And I’m not the one who’s been through the trauma today. Take the bed,” I say, and the firmness of my voice puts to rest any debate over the matter. She does respond remarkably well to commands, and that sends a little jolt of excitement through me. I add with a smile, “Just try not to trip over me if you get up in the night.”

  “Thanks, Monsieur Pavlenko.” I turn my back as she climbs into bed, stripping off her socks and getting comfortable under the sheets with the kind of deep sigh only very tired limbs can afford you.

  “Liv, please,” I say as I pull the spare blankets from the closet, folding them into a makeshift bed on the floor, “call me Max. I think we’re well over that threshold.”

  “That might take some getting used to,” she says, but there’s a lighthearted tone to her words, “but I think that suits you a little better. ‘Night, Max.”

  “Sleep well, Liv,” I say, clicking the lamp on to give us dim light for the night before I hit the main light and darken the room. Heading into the bathroom with a pair of sleeping pants, I strip my clothes off and replace them with the pants, heading back out. I cast a quick glance over to Liv, her slow breaths making her chest rise and fall as she already starts to doze peacefully into sleep. I feel a small smile forming on my lips before I turn and lie down onto my temporary bed, turning over into a cocoon in my covers and closing my eyes.

  A small yelp in the night wakes me up, and faster than my mind can react, I throw the covers off and spring to my feet, eyes adjusted to the dark and looking around my room as my fists ball, looking for whatever caused the disturbance — were we followed? Did someone track us here? Have I slept through an abduction?

  But after a moment of silence, my gaze falls on the only other person in the room, Liv, who’s sitting up in bed with eyes wide open, recoiling from me in fear. Or rather, perhaps, recoiling from my reaction.

  “Liv? Are you okay?” I ask, lowering my voice as I realize there’s no threat in the room with us but me. “I’m sorry if I startled you. My reflexes are...a little overzealous, it seems.”

  “I’m sorry,” she breathes, still half-asleep, “I’m sorry, I... no, everything’s fine. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She takes a deep breath as she bunches up some of the blankets under her chin, laying her head down on the pillows again as she tries to calm her nerves. Frowning, I move over to the bed and sit beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re safe here, Liv,” I assure her, rubbing her arm slowly. “Trust me, I’m not a man to make such promises lightly.”

  Her eyes turn to me, the lamplight catching in them and making them sparkle even in their exhaustion. There’s real trust in those eyes, even though we’ve only known each other for a short time, and I can feel her relaxing under my touch.

  It’s a funny thing about out of the ordinary experiences. Someone can date someone else for years, get married, have a family, and yet never feel the same connection as someone who’s been through something as heinous as Liv and I were. Seeing someone at their worst, their absolute worst, and moving through it together is something not usually afforded to regular people, and for that I’m ever grateful.

  But now, I know there’s a thread between Liv and I, something that won’t be easily broken.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot you were here, and I felt so alone. God, I just keep thinking what they could be doing with Maggie. Max…” she says, and she seems hesitant to continue, closing her eyes before speaking more. “Would you... would you sleep in the bed with me?”

  I’m taken aback by the question, but I don’t let it show, my touch on her arm still slow and smooth. But even I can’t deny that the request puts a warmth in my chest, a reassurance of how safe she feels with me. What’s really getting me, though, is the jolt of excitement my body feels, and that’s what makes me hesitate. She’s my student, and I need to crush these inappropriate feelings, not tease them to new heights.

  “It’s okay if you don’t think that’s alright,” she backpedals at my momentary silence, opening her eyes, “I know it — it wouldn’t look appropriate. I just…I need to feel you close to me, Max,” she confesses in a near whisper, her cheeks burning red, and I give her shoulder a light squeeze.

  I should not do this. Liv is my student. She’s 18. She’s under my protection. She’s put every ounce of her trust in me, and I’ve taken her out of the jaws of hell tonight, turning her heart inside out in the process.

  And she needs me more than anything else right now. She needs to feel safe and protected, and what will make her feel safe and protected is to be held.

  Without saying another word to worry her, I move around the side of the bed, slipping into the sheets and moving in close to Liv. I can feel the heat of her body radiating against mine, and she starts to move in closer to me instinctively, but she stops herself short, pulling the sheets tighter around herself and letting out a satisfied sigh.

  “Thank you, Max,” she breathes in a nearly inaudible whisper.

  “Anything, Liv,” my low intonation replies.

  In a matter of minutes as we drift off into sleep together, I feel my mind start to descend into the twilight between waking and sleeping, but all that keeps me over the precipice is the thought of Liv beside me.

  Were anyone to know of what I was doing here, we could both be dismissed from the university. But all that feels so far away from us now. This place feels like a sanctuary, a quiet pause amidst this storm suddenly brewing around our lives, and somehow, I realize why Liv wanted me to be near her, and I share the same desire.

  Whether Liv is awake or not, I do not know, but I feel her body moving in closer to mine. First her shoulder touches my chest, and there’s a pause, as if she or her body wonders whether she should stay or roll away. But a moment later, I feel her back press into me, her narrow, lithe frame curling against mine so naturally. She cuddles into my chest, and I hear a soft sigh from her, though her face is away from me.

  Her body seems to pause there for some time. Perhaps she’s feeling my heartbeat against her back, or maybe she’s questioning herself aga
in, wondering whether she deserves the comfort she’s seeking.

  I realize my heart is swelling for her. She deserves so much better than she allows herself, and I want her to feel that, but I feel the restraints of my relationship to her as an instructor chafing me as I think on her. There’s so many reasons why I tried to erect that barrier between us, and now, in the twilight hours, her pure beauty is breaking them down.

  She truly does deserve such human reassurance as she craves. She’s not like me, not like the monster I keep housed in my heart and fists. She deserves only goodness and love. But can I be the one to give that to her?

  Gently, I slip my arm around her, my thick forearm and bicep draping over her like a blanket in itself. As if acting on instinct, I feel her move back further, and she moves her rear back against me, not quite pressing into my pelvis, but melding into my body for warmth and comfort, all of her touching me. I stroke her arm with my hand as my heart pounds in my chest, and it only seems to encourage her as she snuggles in tighter to me until we’re so very close to each other.

  I know she can feel my breath on her neck now, and my mind starts to work faster, wondering what she thinks of the appropriateness of all this. Maybe she’s truly asleep, and she will wake up with another shriek. Maybe she’s in the same half-conscious state as I, acting on the merest impulse and drive for human closeness.

  I hardly realize what I’m doing as I lean forward to close the inch between us, my lips brushing against her neck as I plant a gentle kiss there, holding her tighter against me in a brief hug. My concerns melt for a moment as I hear a soft sigh from her, her legs squirming around as she adjusts herself to get more comfortable against me, and I can almost see the smile on her lips from behind.

  “You’re a hero, Max,” she whispers, and her words almost make me jump, not realizing she was every bit as wide-awake as me. “You said you weren’t a good person, but I just want you to know that you are.”

  With that, she slips her hand into mine, giving it a light squeeze as she gets comfortable against me, and I feel her breath go steady and slow again as she’s carried into a deep, comfortable sleep.

  And now, I’m wide-awake, my mind racing in conflict as I fight to control the threateningly growing thing between my legs as she presses against me, my heartbeat quickening against what I realize is the first person in a very long time — probably ever — to see some good in the true side of who I am.

  15

  Liv

  A stream of pale morning sunlight pricks at my eyes until they open. My whole body aches with exhaustion, as though I recently ran a marathon. There are soft gray sheets cocooning me, and a cushy pillow under my cheek. Am I at home? More importantly, where is home? My bedroom back in Toast… or my shared bedroom at my flat with Maggie? My heart sinks at the thought of her. Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay, at least alive. As I blink my eyes, the room around me comes into focus and it begins to dawn on me where exactly I am.

  My mentor’s bedroom.

  My stomach twists into anxious knots and I flip over, dreading what I will find. I can’t believe I’m doing this — sleeping in my instructor’s bed! What would my parents think of me? What would my friends back home say about me in their whispered conversations?

  With mingled relief and disappointment I realize that the space beside me is empty. I’m all alone in the bed. I frown and start questioning what even happened last night. Maybe I did sleep here by myself all night. But then… I remember the faint sensation of Max’s strong body curled around me protectively. I recall with a shiver the feeling of his feather-light kiss on my neck. No, he was definitely here last night. Where is he now?

  A surge of terror passes through my body. What if he left me here? What if I’m alone?

  Will and those other guys could come back for me. They could find me here. Suddenly, it becomes absolutely imperative that I find Max and stay close to him, no matter what. I can’t stand to be alone right now. As I slip out of bed, I feel a twinge of self-loathing. I used to be so independent. I treasured my alone time. And now I’m proving everyone right — I am just as fragile as I look. I comb my fingers through my messy hair, wincing as I untangle the knots. I must have tossed and turned in my sleep a lot to make such a disaster of my hair. It was fine and soft, and usually didn’t tangle easily. But with the experiences I’ve had since coming to Paris, I suppose it makes sense that I would have difficulty sleeping peacefully.

  Will’s cruel smirk flashes to the front of my mind and I feel my knees buckle beneath me. I have to find Max. I can’t be alone right now. I listen intently for any sounds — and notice the comforting pitter-patter of the shower running on the other side of the bathroom door. I stand in front of the door, conflicted.

  We’ve already slept in the same bed together, and he’s stood guard over me while I bathed. He rescued me from almost certain death — or a fate possibly worse — and nursed me patiently back to some semblance of sanity. How much worse can it be for me to walk in on him in the shower? Never mind the fact that I’ve never actually seen any man naked, much less my instructor. But I’ll just go in but not look. I’ll give him the same privacy he gave me, while feeling that protected calm that only his presence can afford me.

  There’s no one else I can trust in this city, no one else I know, and while that was isolating before, now it’s next to unbearable. I feel vulnerable, and knowing how capable Max is gives me comfort.

  And I admit, that sweet, momentary lapse between us... The kiss...

  That was the only thing that soothed me enough to get a truly good night sleep. The memory of his hard, masculine body wrapped into mine and keeping me safe.

  I cautiously turn the knob and walk into the bathroom. A thick coating of steam embraces me as I shut the door behind me. It’s so warm, it’s comforting. Against the opposite wall is the fogged-up shower stall, with Max standing under the stream of hot water, his eyes shut. I bite my lip nervously, afraid that I may have overstepped my boundaries. I certainly don’t want to catch him off guard and freak him out. After all, even though we’ve skipped a lot of steps in our relationship with each other through the extenuating circumstances of the past couple of days, Max may not react very positively to my seeing him naked. Not that I can see him very clearly through the steamed-up glass panels of the shower stall, anyway.

  I don’t know if that’s a godsend or a pity.

  What I can make out through the fog are his enormous muscular arms, reaching up to shampoo his thick dark hair. My own body tingles at the remembrance of those arms around me last night in bed, holding me close, sheltering me from the bad dreams that haunted my thoughts. It surprises me just how natural it felt, how much it doesn’t bother me. Of course, when I think about what other people would say, I feel ashamed. Weak. But if it were purely up to me and my own perception of the situation, it would be a different story.

  Because as inappropriate as it may be, I can’t help but feel at home with him in a way I never expected to. I’m sure a lot of that has to do with the fact that he’s responsible for saving my life. That’s a bond most people will never feel with another. But even before that, when I first met him and he caught me staring at him, I certainly felt something. A girlish crush, maybe, that was quickly snuffed out by how formal he was with me. But now I understand why he had to push me away, and why he needed to distance himself from others.

  He’s not who he says he is. More than that, I don’t think he’s who he believes he is either. I see the goodness in him, but when I told him that, I felt him tense, like he didn’t agree.

  As I’m standing here pondering the unusual depth of our dynamic, Max suddenly looks over and does a double-take at the sight of me. His green eyes flash brightly through the fog and I can see just the slightest hint of embarrassment cross his features. Instantly I feel guilty for walking in on him. I should have stayed put. But I just can’t stand to be out of his sight. The feeling that I’m being stalked, being watched, is ever-present. And Max
is my comfort, for better or for worse, and whatever it happens to mean for the both of us.

  To his credit, he makes no attempt to shield his naked body from me. I don’t think I could stand it if he did. But instead he simply goes on about washing himself as though I’m not here at all, which I’m thankful for. After all, I didn’t sneak in here to gawk at him — although I can see now that there is a lot to gawk at. I recall something I heard years ago about people in Europe being more open about their bodies and sexualities. At the time I had just dismissed it as some stupid rumor Americans make up so foreigners sound more exotic, but now I’m wondering if that’s part of why Max doesn’t even seem bothered to have me as an audience.

  His body is perfectly sculpted, his arm and leg muscles bulging just enough to hint at the immense strength he keeps tethered. My eyes follow the line of his broad shoulders and back, narrowing down to his waist and his taut ass. When he turns toward me, unabashedly, I see his flat stomach with his carved abdominal muscles and below that…

  His cock.

  I swallow hard, my eyes going wide at the sight of it. He’s massive, even limp. I have to force my jaw not to drop. I’ve never seen a man’s genitals before, but I had no idea they were this big. Or maybe it’s just him. I feel my face growing flushed and I delicately hoist myself up to sit on the counter, feeling a little weak again. Somewhere in the back of my muddled mind, I wonder what it would feel like to touch it. To brush my fingertips along the head of his shaft, to feel it harden beneath my light machinations.

  I inwardly shake myself of these thoughts. Get yourself together, Liv! Romantic hero-savior or not, he’s still my teacher. And I am his student. There’s got to be at least ten years’ age difference between us. Though, looking at his body now, it’s impossible to reason that he wouldn’t be every bit as limber and powerful as a man my own age. Probably more so.