Hitman's Secret Baby: A Bad Boy Romance Page 5

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  I conceded to that point, leaning in to kiss her again but not quite getting there when my phone rang.

  Taryn groaned. “Okay now I’m mad. Do you have to answer it?”

  “If it’s who I think it is, yes.” I felt around the floor for my jeans, wrestling my phone out of the pocket. The screen flashed Ian and I turned to Taryn, kissing her briefly. “I’ll be right back.”

  I rolled out of bed, grabbing up my underwear and hopping into it as I headed out into the hall and down the stairs.

  “Ian?”

  His voice down the line sounded muffled by people and music, the sound of some busy bar. “I got your info about that Ethan Foster guy. I know who wants him dead.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Monroe’s,” Ian told me, trying to keep his voice hushed even under the ruckus.

  “Holy shit.” That couldn’t mean what I thought it meant. “What did you find out?”

  “You’re not gonna like it…”

  No, I didn’t think I was.

  Chapter Five

  Taryn

  Mason hustled me out of bed, handing me my bathrobe and urging me into the living room.

  Still walking around in his underwear, the bright light of day continually reminding me what a damn fine body he had, he sat me down on the sofa.

  His movements were taut and unhappy and I knew it couldn’t be good news.

  “Seriously, Mason, you’re freaking me out.”

  “It’s about Ethan,” he said, standing in the center of the room, arms folded tightly over his bare chest. I tensed everywhere, waiting for him to deliver the worst. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Well,” I said slowly, frowning, “that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “You’d think, but the person who wants him dead is the problem.” Mason dragged a hand through his hair. “His name is Carl Monroe.” He paused for a long time, and I felt myself leaning over my knees, my heart somewhere in my throat. “He’s the leader of a criminal organization, a pretty fucking serious one.”

  “How serious?”

  “Drugs, kidnapping, murder, money laundering—”

  “He’s the mob?” I spluttered.

  “Basically, yes.”

  “Oh my God.”

  How—how could this have happened? How did Ethan end up wanted by the fucking mob?

  “Apparently, Ethan’s father raped and murdered Carl Monroe’s daughter,” Mason explained roughly, staring beyond me—a place I couldn’t reach, a past that still haunted him. I didn’t blame him; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing either. “She probably dared to say no to him like my mother did,” he spat, a sneer on his face.

  That monster. I stood, ready to comfort Mason, his name soft on my lips.

  But he whirled around before I could get close, his fist connecting with my drywall with an awful, resounding crack. “That piece of fucking shit!”

  “Jesus!” I darted forwards, gripping his shoulders and hauling him back. “Mason, goddammit, look at me.”

  He was breathing hard, his muscles stood out tense against my hands, but he did, he looked at me, an unquenchable fire in his stare that I’d never seen before. It spoke of violence, of blood, of deeds I had no understanding of.

  “His death was too quick,” he muttered feverishly. “I should’ve made him scream.”

  “Mason!” I yelled, digging my fingernails into his skin—anything to bring him back to me. “He’s gone. You rid the world of that evil man and that’s all that matters.”

  I understood perfectly, now, why he did what he did. Mason’s eyes were a door to the past, all the pain William Foster had spread in this world right there for me to see. That man deserved to pay for his crimes, and yesterday the police had laughed me out of the station over this whole mess. It didn’t take a genius to see that Mason had had few choices.

  Did I wish he’d told me a decade ago? Yes, I thought genuinely. I’d have carried that weight for him. Better than losing him like I did, carrying a child for nine months whose father was little more than a ghost.

  I couldn’t change the past, though; neither of us could. We could only deal with what was in front of us.

  “It was justice,” I told him firmly, and he blinked, finally seeing me properly. “What you did was justice.”

  “And revenge,” he breathed. “Murder.”

  “He deserved it,” I said intently. “But you didn’t. You didn’t deserve to be the person that had to do that.”

  Mason laughed humorlessly. “I did more. Worse.”

  “Is that it, then?” I snapped. “This is your lot in life and you’re just gonna accept it? Keep killing forever? Live a life in the dark, full of death and loneliness?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t—I took a deep, steadying breath and tried not to get angry again. It wasn’t going to help either of us if we devolved into another shouting match.

  “How can you say that?” I asked calmly, clinging to my temper.

  “Killing is all I’m good for, Taryn.”

  “That cannot possibly be true.”

  “Men like William Foster leave a legacy,” Mason said flatly. “Me, Monroe, Ethan. It goes around and around and it never ends, we never get to break out of it.”

  I raised my voice. “Ethan can’t die.”

  Mason looked at me, startled. He blinked, the glassy look in his eyes fading. He was coming back to me in pieces but I realized I might never see a whole man here again.

  I was already preparing myself to lose him again.

  I pulled away, slumping back down into the sofa cushions, needing some space. “What a mess we’re in.”

  “We?”

  “I’m in this, Mason,” I said fiercely. “For Ethan, and for you. I’m mad as hell at you but I get it now, the terrible thing you did.”

  Mason stared at me, his vulnerabilities tucked safely away now and his gaze inscrutable. I was glad; I’d had enough emotional ups and downs for one day.

  “Okay,” he simply said. “Anything I find out, you’ll know too.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded. “You know what, though? I’m actually kinda glad.” I looked up at the photograph on my mantle: Anna, Ethan, Daisy, and me at the beach last summer. I saw Mason frowning at me in my peripheral vision. “It means that at least Anna married a good man. We weren’t wrong about him.”

  “Things are still fucked, Taryn.”

  I tossed him a tired smile; it cost me what little remained of my energy. “Yeah, well, I’m a glass-half-full kinda gal.”

  Mason glared, and I thought for a second he’d start ranting again, but his expression cracked into a fond, exasperated smile. “You’re nuts.”

  I scoffed, so relieved that he’d finally found some humor in the situation. “Look who’s talking.”

  This frankness between us was refreshing and I felt lighter for it. Mason had let me see a glimpse of his struggle, had shared the darkest part of his life with me, and I appreciated his honesty, however belated. He’d seen my love for Anna and Ethan and hadn’t shut me out of the hard reality we were all facing.

  Yes, the situation was still fucked, as Mason so succinctly put it, but Ethan wasn’t his father, and that mattered.

  “So, what now?” he asked, looking to me for input.

  I hesitated, wary of the responsibility. “I think you need to explain all this to Ethan. He deserves to know.”

  “And to my sister.”

  “And to your sister, yes.”

  “She’s going to hate me.”

  “A few days ago I hated you,” I pointed out. “She’ll get over it.”

  “Oh, you’re over it, are you?” Mason drawled, too dry and self-loathing for my liking. I had to rectify that.

  “Maybe not over it,” I said honestly—he’d showed me some and now it was my turn. “But I think, maybe, I could get there.”

  He seemed surprised, raising his eyebrows. Oth
er than that, I didn’t know what he was thinking, if he believed me, if he even cared.

  No, he definitely cared. I knew that much.

  “I told you you were nuts,” he sighed. “Let’s just hope my sister still is.”

  For everyone’s sake, I sincerely did.

  Chapter Six

  Mason

  “I’m at work,” Taryn told me on the phone. “With Justin watching Daisy so much, I’m doing double shifts just to get the books balanced.”

  I planned to meet her at the diner near closing time, a small curl of dread sitting in my stomach.

  Not at her, though. Her I was excited to see, almost embarrassingly so.

  The town was one thing, but that place, diner—my mother had died there. I hadn’t even walked or driven past it the whole time I’d been in the area.

  Taryn had offered to meet me after she’d closed the shop, go for coffee by the lake place or even at my hotel room, but I’d declined. This homecoming had turned into something almost therapeutic, and I owed it to myself to confront this particular demon.

  I hunched inside my jacket as I stepped through the door, the little bell over it ringing.

  The place was fairly empty, just one booth filled with two tired-looking construction workers, empty plates in front of them and hands curled loosely around their coffee mugs.

  The décor was different, cool blues and greens instead of reds, white Formica tables instead of gaudy black-and-white check, but the place felt the same, a familiar vibe. There was still the same old linoleum on the floor. There were still random napkin scribbles by the locals pinned on the back wall behind the counter. And Taryn was still in her blue skirt and white apron, at the register.

  All the things that mattered still existed.

  I was instantly twisted up with nostalgia, a gut-clutching feeling of powerful memories freezing me by one of the tables.

  I’d bussed tables here for years, both before and after my mom died. I met Taryn here under the watchful eye of her mother and father. I was accepted into this family, along with Anna, when our elderly aunt had passed and we had nobody left to take us in, and only a future in foster care to look forward to.

  And, right where I stood, I had seen my mother’s congealing blood after her brutal murder, staining the checked tables and the shiny linoleum floor.

  “Mason?” Taryn said softly, appearing right in front of me while I was miles away.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t have to come in here. I told you I’d come meet you later—”

  “No,” I said over her. “I’m okay.”

  I walked past her coolly, taking a seat on a stool at the counter to collect myself. In the back, I could see a girl I didn’t recognize cleaning off the grill—the grill I’d cleaned countless times myself.

  Those were better memories and I clung to them.

  “You can get going, Zoe,” Taryn told her, peeling off her own apron and hanging it on a hook under the counter. “I’ll lock up.”

  The girl thanked her, grabbing her jacket and leaving.

  “How does it feel to be the boss of this place now?” I asked Taryn, struggling to relax. I felt like I was about to be attacked or something, like I was surrounded by ghosts baying for their share of my blood. Sheer paranoia, I knew, but being aware of what it was didn’t exactly eliminate it.

  “It feels tiring,” Taryn sighed, pulling my attention back. “Since Mom and Dad retired to Florida, Justin and I usually share the responsibilities. Anna still does part-time management duties, but because of her honeymoon, I’m the last man standing.”

  “I haven’t helped the situation, I know.”

  “No,” she agreed wryly, a flirtatious smirk on her mouth that told me she was messing with me. “You haven’t.”

  “How is Daisy?” I asked tentatively.

  “She’s good.” Taryn nodded. “She loves it at Uncle Justin’s place. He lets her get away with murder.”

  Her choice of words was not lost on either of us, and a heavy, pointed silence filled the air for a moment.

  “You miss her, though,” I said.

  “I see her every day, and she’ll be home with me soon,” she said brightly, and I didn’t know how she could stay so positive about all of this. Guilt gnawed at me and Taryn seemed to see it, putting a hand over mine on the countertop. She had an insatiable need to put everyone at ease, and I allowed her to do it, making my guilt weigh even heavier. “Hey. Stop that. You came back and you threw everything into a tailspin, yes, but you’re not responsible for the price on Ethan’s head. That would’ve happened regardless of you being here.”

  “You said death seemed to follow me everywhere.”

  “I was angry.”

  “And you weren’t wrong,” I said firmly.

  “You’re a ray of sunshine today,” Taryn quipped. “Here, have some pie.” She turned to grab a slice of apple out of the heated glass cabinet and slammed it down in front of me. “Our chef makes great pie.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Pie?”

  “What, hitmen don’t eat pie?” she asked quietly, ducking down close to me to whisper it so the customers couldn’t hear.

  I couldn’t stop myself from chuckling. “No, we eat nails and rocks because we’re tough guys.”

  Taryn tossed me a fork. “Then you’re in for a pleasant surprise.”

  She cleaned up whilst I ate, and it was pretty damn good pie, I had to admit. By the time I was finished, the construction workers had thanked and tipped and left, and it was just me and Taryn and my slightly lighter mood.

  “Told you it was good,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “It helped,” I grudgingly admitted.

  “I know it must be hard being in here.”

  “I’ve gotta get used to it,” I said idly, not realizing the implications until I saw Taryn flush pink. “I mean, I can’t let it haunt me forever,” I quickly added. “It’s better to deal with these things than let them fester.”

  “Yeah. I mean—of course.”

  She looked disappointed, and I didn’t know how to fix it. “I still miss her,” I blurted out instead, and Taryn’s expression turned to sympathy.

  It wasn’t any better.

  “Of course you do. She was your mom. I still remember the day it happened, too, y’know.”

  She sounded haunted, connecting us in a way, and I felt myself lost to the memory again.

  “The blood, the police everywhere, Anna screaming—”

  Taryn, thankfully, interrupted my thoughts. “You were brave to come back and work here after that.”

  I huffed a laugh. “This diner’s been a part of both our families forever. I guess I wanted to keep her presence here alive.”

  I looked at the napkin scribbles on the wall behind Taryn. I hadn’t realized before, but one of them was mine—the wonky drawing of a boat on some waves, my name and the date scrawled underneath.

  Taryn turned, following my eye-line, and smiled. “My way of keeping your presence here alive.”

  The tightness in my throat made it impossible to speak. It felt like I was being choked by the pressure of memories piling up and up. I needed a distraction and I stood, leaning across the counter, sliding a hand into Taryn’s hair and drawing her towards me for a kiss.

  She came eagerly, full of an aching sweetness. I savored her for a long moment, before tugging harder, kissing her more urgently.

  “Someone will see,” she muttered against my mouth.

  I didn’t care. I needed to drown out the memories with Taryn’s touch. “Fuck them.”

  She pulled herself up onto the counter and swung her legs over the other side, seeming to decide she didn’t care either. I crowded her there, gripping the base of her back and pulling her to the edge where I pressed myself between her spread thighs.

  I cupped the back of her head and kissed her again, pushing my tongue deep into her mouth like I was trying to get lost there. I wa
s. Her taste felt like the only thing keeping me in the moment, and my hand in her hair held on so tight it had to be hurting her.

  I tore my mouth away for a second, trying to apologize, but she grabbed the front of my t-shirt and yanked me back.

  There wasn’t an inch of space between us, Taryn’s heel digging into my back to keep me against her. I kissed her, damp and wide open, and she slipped her hands under my shirt, the warmth of them raking across my sides and up the curve of my spine.

  I felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen, my cock filling at the feel of Taryn like this, while the memories of my surroundings still tugged at me with ghostly tendrils, trying to drag me under.

  Taryn framed my face with her hands. “Look at me.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d made that demand.

  I did, breathing hard and staring into her dark eyes. She took my wrist, pressing my palm flat against her chest and urging it downwards, over the swell of her breasts and the flat of her stomach, and finally between her open thighs so I could feel how she was already soaking her underwear.

  “It’s just you and me here,” she said. “Just like it used to be.”

  I nodded, cupping my hand over the front of her panties and applying pressure there. Sex in the diner was something we used to have a lot of. When her parents left us in charge of the place, we’d shut up early and get off on the risk of being seen through the windows.

  It was irresponsible and reckless and dumb as hell, but those were memories worth hanging on to.

  Not the others—the blood, the death, the long years afterwards trying to come to terms with what had happened.

  No. I pushed it out of my head, leaned in to capture Taryn’s mouth again, stroking over her pussy through the damp cotton until she started to arch her back at my teasing.

  My fingers itched to be inside her. With a powerful, single-minded focus, I wanted nothing more than to watch her come apart right now.

  I needed it.

  I moved her underwear to the side and sunk two fingers into her, pulling the most incredible sound out of her lungs and into mine.

  She broke the kiss to moan, and I buried my mouth against her throat, nuzzling her erratic pulse and sucking on her neck while I fucked her slowly and purposefully with my fingers.