Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (108 page)

My cock would have all of them, all of the time, if I’d let it. And they’d all have my cock too—there was never much doubt about that. That’s why I had to have a set of rules. If I gave in to my cock’s every whim, I would probably have been married to half the women I fucked.

A navigator once—those guys love math and stats—told me on a long, outbound night flight over the ocean, “Luka, you have an average of twelve-point-eight women per week.” I was going to ask him about the point-eight, but then, when I thought about all the odd handjobs, the women I diddled in clubs and bars, the ones who’d suck me off in courtyards, back rooms, and—now and then—under restaurant tables, I decided I’d take the twelve-point-eight.

“You could probably nudge it up to fourteen without too much of a sweat,” the navigator said. “Be an easy two a day, then.”

 
“You’re much more interested in numbers than I am.” We both laughed. “I just love a good fuck, is all.”

~~

Vix’s face fell into a sulk, then she let her eyes cast down. She went around the far side of the bar and clambered up onto a stool. She got Buzz to pour her a rum and slung it back. Then another. She tipped rum down her throat like a junkie who found their dealer’s stash. Still she was displaying her curves in my direction, letting her skirt ride up over the sheen of black nylon encasing her trim thigh.

A big, broad guy with a Marine cut like a short mohawk lumbered onto the stool next to her. I didn’t hear what he said, but she turned away and quickly shifted onto the next stool along. Vix was an adult, but she’d been throwing overproof rum down pretty fast, so I decided I’d better keep an eye on her. The guy shifted to the stool next to her and straight away, she moved again.

Again he followed her. I saw her shoulder was up like a barrier and her neck craned away from him.

Not wanting to make anything of it, I slipped off the stool and moved around to where she was. Before I said a thing the guy gave me a glower, and I thought that was uncalled for. Then he bent to whisper into her hair. Vix coiled away and she sounded a little slurry as she said, “Just leave me the fuck alone, will you? I’m not interested.”

He leaned in again so I raised my palm toward him. “She was pretty clear, pal.”

He turned to me. “The fuck’s it to do with you,
pal
?” he spat. He reached for her arm. “Little lady’s just playing hard to get. Ain’t that right?”

Vix tried to get out of the way of his hand, but she was too slow and he grabbed her high on the arm.

I slammed a punch hard into the bridge of his nose. As his head snapped back, I drove the side of my open hand into his windpipe. Less hard. No need to kill him. Not so far.

While he choked I pulled him near. Quietly, I said, “You can’t help being an asshole, but you don’t have to act like a douche.”

He was still choking as I stood back. With one hand on his shoulder, I watched his eyes to see if he’d have the sense to leave it there, or if he needed some more.

He looked up at me and his eyes blazed with anger. Not too hard to understand.

I said, “You can have some more if you want it, but fair warning, that was just a preliminary. Damage from here on in may be permanent.”

He lumbered off the stool and pushed his nose against mine. I saw his hand draw back in a fist and I slammed his jaw. The hard edge hurt my knuckles. His eyes lolled like they’d come unglued and his jaw stretched out almost a full inch. I grabbed his shirt as he slumped back so he didn’t smash his head all over the nice mahogany bar top.

His lights were out. With my hands under his armpits, I hauled him up the short stair and dropped him on the wet sidewalk by the door.

When I stepped back into the bar, Vix was pale but she had steadied up and the color was back in her face. She touched my arm and looked apologetic as she said, “Thanks. You were a good guy for me there.”

I grinned. “All-American asshole. Comes with a free good guy coupon.”

Her smile was faint and forced, but her eyes sparkled as she touched my arm. “Don’t. You only make it harder for me to go.”

She turned to leave.

I asked her, “Can I put you in a cab, Vix?”

She said, “No, I’m good, thanks.” Her smile brightened. Maybe it was just bravery, but she added, “I’m pretty good, in fact.”

She came back and touched the top of my arm. “One day, you know, you’ll find that girl. No, wait—you won’t be looking, but one day the lucky bitch will find you. When she does, bang her ass and, just once, think of me, okay?”

Still one honey of an ass as she walked up the steps and out.

Buzz, the barkeep, poured me a fresh bourbon.
 

“Sorry about the Marine,” I told him. “I’d hate to lose you a good customer.”

He said, “No, we’re okay for assholes right now. If you want to help with marketing, we’re looking for more of the urbane, diamond smuggler types. The kind that buy magnums of champagne for the ladies and sink a bottle of single malt without ever slurring.”

“I’ll be sure and spread the word.”

I took the bourbon to a quiet corner table. My plan was to finish that drink and leave. But then the door opened and my life changed forever.

Him. Of all the muscle for hire in New York, Tony chose him.

The first words out of his mouth would likely get me killed, and the stupid lunk may not even have a clue as to why. The only possible consolation would be the chance that those words might get him killed, too.

Strike that. He was an arrogant, womanizing cock, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. A sharp slap—maybe even two—across his high, sharp cheekbones, but not death. No more than I deserved to die for no other reason than he had been in a bar, and I went into the bar and saw the flame in his eyes. The arrogant tilt of his lips.

I even remembered his name. Nice name, too. The sound of it made me think of the Italian lakes, still and cool, high in the mountains. Seafood salads, crisp white wine from a wooden table on a small jetty in a soft breeze. Not that I had ever been to Italy.

Now he and I were both likely going to be killed in a fit of my fiancé’s rage.

So I was about to get dead over some sex. For doing what the Italian idiot—the big, gorgeous fool—the sculpted, inviting stranger—had demanded that I do the moment he saw me two nights ago in the bar. The one time that I’d been able to escape Tony’s henchman, I slipped into a random, anonymous bar, just for the pleasure of a quiet drink. Alone.

A drink that I could choose for myself and drink at my own speed. Have as many or as few as I wanted with nobody breathing down my neck or telling me what to have or how to do everything. Was that so much to ask?

Now I couldn’t decide if I was sorry or glad for the choice that I made. Did I choose well enough, make the right call? I saw him at the same time as he saw me. He looked up to watch me as I walked in and made my way to the bar. His eyes fixed on me so hard it felt like he actually touched me.

From my legs, slowly up my body, he assessed my soft curves with his eyes. He didn’t smile, and that set me humming inside.

Those piercing, hooded, ice-blue beacons—those beams that I couldn’t avoid or drag myself away from—they set all of my warning signals flashing. My instinct had been to turn on my heel right then and walk out.
No
, I told myself.
You’re just being ridiculous
.

Now that he had been delivered to my apartment, I looked at him again, and in better light this time. Six-foot-four with the physique of a Roman sculpture, the mournful face of a Renaissance angel, and the quick eyes of a killer. Any second he would flash that smile and I would collapse. Or he’d say my name and Tony would fly into a rage. This time, he’d think there was a good enough reason to make an end of me.

I was sure that was what he wanted and what he had been working himself up to. He just needed an excuse that was strong enough to justify the act to himself.

Well, at least then I wouldn’t have to marry the hideous, psychopathic bully.

A few minutes of agony and a bloody end would be preferable to a lifetime of torment at Tony’s hands. I’d already experienced more than enough agony from him. Enough to know that it was never anywhere near as bad, never hurt as much as the fear that came before it.

Slow, awful seconds to do nothing but watch and wait as he unbuckled his heavy belt. Recollections of all the other times, as he drew it out through the loops in his pants and snapped it tight between his fists. The long, slow breaths that I fought to keep steady under the cold burn of his hard, green eyes. Those moments were many times worse than any of what followed.

No, strike that, too. The waiting had been horrible, but what came afterwards was the worst thing I had ever known.

Tall, heavy, and brooding, my new ‘protector,’ as Tony called him, stood no more than ten feet away. I could practically feel his heat. My own heat was rising, and now I dreaded that I would be the one to give us away. Inside I still shook from the quake that went off deep within me when he’d entered the room. When my fiancé—how I hated to call him that—showed him into the apartment.

For the first time now, I could really see him. His cheekbones were higher, sharper, his body even more stunning than I had fully appreciated in the low light of the bar.

Here in broad daylight, in my lounge, under the menace of Tony’s eyes, I tried to keep my gaze off the powerful thighs and the arrogant tip of his hips, hugged firm and tight in his heavy, faded blue jeans. Especially I fought to keep my eyes from lighting on the huge, unmistakable bulge below the hefty buckle on his thick leather belt.

My plump, too-dry lips parted and my tongue traced the tops of them before I even realized I was doing it.

I couldn’t risk a look into his eyes. His lips looked ready to flex open. Red, full, in a cupid’s bow that reminded me of a classical painting, a cruel half-smile sat waiting to break into his sarcastic laugh or a lascivious grin.

The Italian stud stood silent. He didn’t look in my direction or speak my name. Tony told him his duties and he sneered in my direction as he gave his orders. His eyes flicked up at me only for the briefest second, though it was like an electric shock that struck my core. My knees almost buckled.

Wouldn’t it be funny if it was me who gave the secret away, instead of him?
Not like there was that much of a secret to it, truth be told. But then, it wasn’t like Tony was that much of a listener, either. As soon as he got to the part where I was in a bar with another man, that would be more than enough for him. End of the story. Lights out.

“You feel like a fuck now, or do you want a drink first?”

That was what this man had said when our eyes locked across the bar. In the darkness I saw him like he was under a spotlight. He saw me and a grin spread across the whole of his face. His smile shone bright enough to melt clothing. For a moment, I’d froze.

“No,” I’d told him, “I just want a drink.” My voice skipped, though, like it slipped. The words weren’t timed quite right.

The reason was clear enough. The moment he said it, I felt so much like a fuck that I could have climbed his long, hard trunk right then and there, knocked him down, and had him on the bar room floor. A fuck that I wanted, a fuck that was my choice? Yes, I felt like one of those.

And with him? With that smile? God, yes.

He stepped nearer.

“Alone,” I said. “I came to have a drink on my own.”

“A lot of women say that at first. It’s cute.” His voice had a resonant purr and it sounded like he was hardly using it. Like it had power. If he would only turn it up.

The sound curled around my insides like smoke at the same time as his eyes flickered over my curves. My body heated and quivered as he looked. He shook his head slowly as he said, “You’ll never know what you missed.” Hardly original, except when he said it, it sounded like he really meant it.

And as he said it, my eyes traveled down the t-shirt, down to the big, heavy, knobbled buckle, and then further down to the bulge that shoved at the front of his jeans. It looked like he had stashed quite a cannon down there
 

Quickly, I looked back up into his ice-blue eyes. They were sparkling with amusement. He’d watched me staring at his pants.
 

I told him, “It’s what happens when you miss things. You don’t get to know them.” I was impatient for the bartender, who made his way slowly toward me with one eye on the big guy in the white tee and the leather jacket cut like a suit coat. Leather like that was expensive, too. He watched me with that faint grin. I had a powerful urge to slap it right off him.

Impatient, I called to the bartender. “Woodford. Make it a large one.”

“Nice choice for a bourbon,” the big man said. “Let me buy it for you.”

I looked up at him. His glistening skin was the color of a dark honey and his body looked like it could drag a train. “The whole ‘I want a drink on my own’ thing, that isn’t getting through to you at all, is it?”

He moved nearer like a big cat. I lifted my arm to wave him away. His hand, huge and impossibly strong, caught my forearm. A charge bolted through me as soon as his fingers touched the inside of my wrist. My knees sagged.

My cheeks prickled as I tried to pull my arm away. It was like trying to tug against a girder. Then he let me go and my whole body slumped. Why hadn’t the wonderful hunks of this world made big, macho plays for me before Tony had staked his claim?

He gave every appearance of being an arrogant player, but God, he was smoking hot. He put up both hands as he stepped backwards.

“Okay,” he said, “I have a really strong instinct. You look like a woman in urgent need of a man, and my instinct is never wrong.” He arched his brow and my stomach fluttered. “But it’s your choice. I won’t interfere.

“I do need a man.” I should not have spoken. I should have let him back away and shake his beautiful head, watching me with amusement in his killer’s eyes. Before the words even formed in my mouth, I knew that the right thing to say at that exact moment was nothing at all.

He was backing away, and I could have just let him go. Should have, too. Even though I knew it was wrong, and I had a powerful sense of just how bad it could turn out, I’d started talking before I was able to stop myself. “I need a man, but not for what you’re thinking of.”