Hitman's Secret Baby: A Bad Boy Romance Page 9

I hadn’t seen Anna cry like that since we lost Mason ten years ago. Ethan was eerily quiet and wholeheartedly understanding. His father was just the man Mason had said he was and I pitied him for how he’d grown up.

  No one deserved what William Foster had put the people I loved through; I never thought I could hate a person as much as I hated him.

  And the ghost of him haunted us still.

  How would we ever be rid of it?

  I had an idea, and I’d run it by Ethan and Anna, but it was sheer madness. Mason was supposed to be the bloodthirsty killer but I was starting to realize just how easy it was to fall into that way of thinking. They had been shocked at my idea, as shocked as I’d been the moment it struck me, but as I’d talked, they’d started to get on board.

  I needed to see Mason, though. If he thought it was insane, then I would trust him.

  I called him and headed out to his hotel.

  It wasn’t the flashiest of places, but it was the best in this town. I took the elevator up to the third floor and found his room, knocking just a few times before he swung open the door.

  Straight away I could smell the tang of whiskey. “You’ve been drinking.”

  Mason, still in his leather jacket and boots, obviously just arrived from wherever he’d been, perched on the edge of the king-sized bed.

  “And?” he snapped, his mood clearly maudlin. “What, I can’t drink now?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Did I say that?”

  “It wasn’t much of a hello.”

  “You can talk,” I scoffed.

  It seemed to deflate him and he sighed. “Give me a break, it’s been a rough day.”

  I kicked the door closed behind me and leaned back against the wall beside the desk. “We’re having a lot of those, huh?”

  “And you,” he muttered bitterly, the sheets under his hands fisted into creases.

  I felt a stab of anxiety, totally unrelated to the problems with Ethan. Mason was looking up at me darkly, his expression twisted by emotion, and I wondered if this was it, the crumbling of this strange truce we’d found ourselves in. Sex and intrigue could only sustain us so far, I thought with dread. My feelings for him were growing, but that didn’t mean he felt the same.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you make things cloudy!” he said, too loud in the quiet room. “You screw with my head!”

  My throat closed up—outrage, now, not fear. I couldn’t speak for it—how dare he! It took me whole seconds to gather up my wits again, seething anger writhing in my stomach.

  “I calmed your sister down, by the way,” I snapped eventually, ignoring his point completely. “Made her understand why you did what you did, explained to the both of them how much danger Ethan’s in. You’re welcome.”

  I shook my head in disgust and turned to leave, my hand halfway to the door handle when he was suddenly right there, his breath against the back of my neck.

  “Don’t,” he murmured, the heat of his closeness seeping all up my back.

  “Fuck you,” I breathed, but I didn’t move any farther. Goddamn him for doing this to me, making me want him more than sense—

  Oh. That was exactly what he’d meant by cloudy. He screwed with my head, too, and even now, my hand reaching for the exit, I couldn’t move away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” he told me, his nose nuzzling into my hair.

  “You apologize a lot.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m a total ass most of the time.”

  Despite myself, I laughed. “Fuck you,” I told him again.

  One word whispered into the bare skin of my shoulder: “Please.”

  I gripped his hand, hovering near my hip, and yanked him against my back. It was animal, this feeling—raw and impulsive, out of my ability to control it. Mason was a searing line of heat against me, crowding me against the wall, and I wanted him.

  I shucked up my dress, bringing his hand around to my front and down into my underwear.

  “You feel that?” I asked, my voice already ragged. I was so wet his hand slicked right through my folds. “That’s what you do to me.”

  He pressed his swelling erection into my back. “Ditto.”

  His fingers curled into me and I arched back against him, crooking an arm around his neck to hold him close. His mouth latched onto the side of my throat, sucking kisses, licking with damp strokes of his tongue and stinging with his teeth.

  “Show me how much I mess with your head, Mason,” I demanded, knowing how utterly fucked up that was, and he released me, the scratchy feel of his jacket gone and the metallic rustle of his zipper echoing.

  He put a hand on my back and steered me to the nearby desk. I had to brace my hands on the desktop as he pushed me over it.

  He fell to his knees behind me, his hands wrapping around my bare thighs, pushing my dress all the way up around my hips. I felt his teeth catch in the band of my underwear, and then the cool air of the room on my ass and between my legs as he slowly dragged my panties down.

  I sighed a shaky laugh, my palms starting to sweat where I was leaning. I turned my head back over my shoulder to see what Mason was doing.

  He was looking—just looking.

  He tossed me a dark smirk that burned like a whiplash and slipped two fingers back inside me, making my knees wobble. His teeth grazed my butt cheek, and with his free hand he gave me a sharp slap.

  “Ah!” My cry came out more like a moan. “Goddammit, Mason.” I fought the urge to call him a tease again; it was exactly what he wanted.

  Two fingers deep in me, his face pressed into my pushed up skirt at the bottom of my back, he slapped my ass again.

  I arched my back, toes curling in my shoes. Mason’s fingers slipped easily in and out of me like a slow torment but it wasn’t enough. I was so damn wet, so ready for his cock.

  He knew it, too, and he kept it up, adding another finger and biting into the swell of my ass, slapping with his hand when I got too used to the rhythm.

  I felt my walls tighten around him, every bite and slap and thrust building up until I couldn’t stop myself from giving in.

  “Mason, please,” I finally begged, and he growled against me, standing and manhandling me into the position he wanted.

  One knee up on the desk, my legs stretched wide open. He parted me with his fingers, the blunt head of his cock lining up, and the first push had me groaning.

  It hadn’t been that long since the last time but I was so desperate for him.

  My height made it difficult for me to even keep one foot on the floor, and I had to brace myself on the wall above the desk for balance. I knew it was on purpose; in this position, he had more control over me. He pushed his cock deep, pulling me roughly back against him with every long stroke.

  “You want it hard, huh?” he asked, through his hitching breath.

  “God, yes,” I moaned, eager for all that strength in his tightly coiled body.

  He didn’t disappoint. I felt defenseless against his desire as he set the pace, jolting the breath out of my body with every thrust. He wanted me helpless and on the very edge of uncomfortable and I knew why, every drag of him inside me amplified.

  I could hardly swallow around my gasps.

  My voice came out in a constant stream of moans and mutters, please and God and Mason. His hands on my hips were bruising, yanking me back onto his cock every time he thrust forwards.

  “You feel so good,” he told me breathlessly. “So damn deep, I can’t believe it.”

  He pressed his hips flush against my ass to make his point, and I hung there, clawing the wallpaper with his cock all the way inside me, my pussy grinding down on him.

  My stomach muscles ached from the position but he didn’t seem to be struggling at all.

  “Mason, please,” I pleaded, not above it with the electric feel of my orgasm sitting right under my skin.

  “I don’t know,” he mused, holding still and unrelenting. “I haven’t even kissed you yet.”


  I twisted my head back over my shoulder as far as I could. “That’s awfully sentimental, Mason.”

  He leaned down, catching my mouth in bruising, open-mouthed kiss, sloppy at this angle but hotter for it.

  He renewed his assault, pulling his cock all the way out of me and then slamming back home so hard I cried out, breaking the kiss. His fingers curled around my body, snaking against my clit to press slickly there, and he fucked me until I came with a groan, caught off guard by it with my poor stomach muscles seizing over and over until I felt punched and winded.

  I was trembling when I came back to myself, and Mason was holding still deep inside me again, breathing hard against my shoulder.

  He was desperate to come, I could tell, but he’d wanted to finish me off first.

  “Bed,” I told him, and we made it there, Mason sitting with me firmly in his lap.

  His fingers carded through my hair, hands framing my face. “You okay?”

  “Dumb question,” I slurred, my movements clumsy and shot to bits by the strength of my orgasm.

  Mason gripped my hips tightly. “God, I’m close.”

  I rode him over the edge, rocking our hips together, holding him deep and barely letting up an inch. He tipped his forehead against mine, suddenly tender, and came with my name in a gasp on his lips, his eyes falling shut, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

  Beautiful, I thought in awe. He was a goddamn marvel.

  The thought settled into a fierce yearning, an inability to let go of him. I kissed him, instead; a possessive slip of tongues together. Anything to make the moment last a little longer.

  I wanted, with such a startling brutality, to tell him to stay with me. Not just for now, but forever. I wrestled with the urge to spew a torrent of sap and sentiment until it dampened, but it lingered there, even as I pulled out of the kiss, as I looked into his face, sated and satisfied.

  “I think we were meant to be talking about something real important,” I pointed out.

  Mason bit softly into my lip. “We’re still mostly clothed, which is a step up from the other times we tried to have an adult conversation.”

  “Let me get freshened up and we’ll talk.”

  I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, stretched my back, and climbed out of his lap, closing myself in the bathroom to clean myself up a little.

  In the mirror, my hair was a mess from Mason’s fingers, my throat pink from his mouth. My ass felt a little sore from his teeth and hand and I couldn’t help but smile at my reflection.

  “Madness,” I told myself softly, turning off the tap and heading back out.

  Mason had seated himself in one of the room’s armchairs in the corner and I joined him there, taking the seat opposite. It seemed better this way, keeping away from the temptation of the bed.

  “So,” I began, that smile still tugging at my mouth.

  Mason smirked. “So.”

  I shook my head. “So. Anna and Ethan know the whole story. They’ve… accepted it. Or they’re trying.”

  “Does she wanna see me again?”

  The tentative hope in his voice made me want to put my arms around him. “Once she’s gotten her head around all of this, she’s gonna need you.”

  “Taryn,” he said softly, and I held my breath in the pause. “I should thank you.” He winced. “I am thanking you. You’ve done more for me than I deserve.”

  “Mason—”

  He cut me off. “No, don’t Mason me. You’re too modest…always have been. Just take the gratitude, please? This isn’t easy for me.”

  I ducked my head and huffed a sigh. “Fine. Gratitude accepted, now can we move on?”

  “You’re anxious,” he said suddenly, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to run something by you but it’s gonna sound insane.”

  “More insane than everything else right now?”

  “Oh yeah.” I laughed, a little hysterically. “I don’t even know if it’ll work, or if it’s possible, but—”

  Mason leaned forward, putting a hand on my thigh. “Taryn, what?”

  “What if the person who wanted Ethan dead were to… die.” It sounded even lamer than it had in my head, and definitely lamer than it had when I’d run it by Ethan and Anna, and I cringed.

  “If Carl Monroe were to die?” he repeated flatly.

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess his organization would go into lockdown and an acting leader would be appointed until they decided on a permanent replacement.”

  “And what if that guy died?”

  Mason’s eyes widened. “What are you saying, Taryn?”

  “What if there was no one left to want Ethan dead.”

  He stared hard. “You’re not thinking of getting the police involved again,” he said slowly, but he knew that’s not what I meant; it wasn’t a question.

  “No.”

  “Do you think it’s so easy to kill off an entire criminal organization?” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “You think if it was, the police or a rival gang wouldn’t have done something like that years ago?”

  “Okay, maybe not all of them, but what about just the ones who might have a stake in Ethan being dead.”

  “That’d still be a lot of guys,” Mason muttered, more to himself now, like he was thinking about it, turning the logistics over in his head.

  “I just happen to know someone who might be able to hook us up with a hitman,” I said smoothly, and he scoffed a laugh, shaking his head.

  “You’re right, this is fucking insane.”

  “Is it doable, though?”

  “For someone in my line of work?” He considered it, frowning. “I don’t know if I’d trust anyone with this. It would have to be me. I’d have to do it.”

  I hadn’t wanted to hear that. I’d greatly suspected it, sure, but I hadn’t wanted to consider it. I pulled in a breath, feeling guilty and off-balance. “Could you?”

  “If there was even a single link back to me, my life would be over. If my boss found out, I’d end up strung up by the balls.”

  “Why couldn’t you have someone you trust do it?”

  He shook his head sadly. “I don’t trust anyone, Taryn.”

  I nodded, guilt smothering the anticipation that had been building in me since I spoke with Anna and Ethan about this. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s dumb.”

  “I didn’t say dumb. I said insane.” Mason laughed, suddenly—a genuinely amused chuckle. “You said you didn’t want our daughter to know her dad was a murderer and now you’re asking me to kill like half a dozen guys.”

  I smiled wryly. “Someone taught me that sometimes it’s okay to do whatever it takes to protect your family.”

  “He sounds like a wise man.”

  “He’s a lunatic, actually.” I reached out to take his hand, threading our fingers together. “But, uh, I kinda like him. A lot.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He stood, shaking my hand loose and walking away, and I reeled, not knowing what I’d done wrong. I tracked him across the room, to the minibar where he grabbed a small Jack Daniel’s bottle and screwed off the top.

  “Do what?”

  “I need to think about this, Taryn,” he said, not looking at me. “Give me a few days to figure out how to start.”

  I felt dismissed. His whole body had become a brick wall, closed off to me completely. I stood, stepping closer to him, but he turned his back and drank down the entire contents of the miniature bottle.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll get going then.” The moment had taken on the uncomfortable air of a cheap booty call. I grabbed up my purse and opened the door, taking a last look over my shoulder and asked hopefully, “I’ll see you soon?”

  He still wouldn’t look at me. “Sure, I’ll be in touch.”

  I didn’t know what the hell had just happened. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, my muscles feeling well-used, my body still tingling, I felt like Mason had dumped a post-coital
bucket of cold water right over my unsuspecting head.

  Maybe my suggestion really was just that insane. Or maybe this was what he was like on a job, switching to stone-cold work mode while he plotted to kill people. If that was true, it scared me a little. Had my idea fucked him back up again after all the progress we’d recently made?

  I couldn’t bear to be responsible for that, but what choices did we have? The window to save Ethan would eventually close, and then what?

  I was at a loss, floundering in a strange sea. This wasn’t my world and I had no right imposing on it like this.

  More than anything, I wanted to see my daughter. I had that luxury, still.

  I pulled out my phone and called Justin to check they were home, and then I hopped in my car for the short journey to his place.

  When I walked through the door, I was greeted with a flurry of ribbons and Frozen pajamas, Daisy’s arms wrapped around my waist before I’d even fully stepped into the house.

  “Uncle Justin did it,” she informed me, as she led me into the kitchen.

  I looked over her uneven pigtails, some of the hair falling out of the ribbons, and laughed. “He needs practice.”

  “Hey,” he admonished from the coffee pot. “I’m getting better, okay?” I kissed his cheek and he muttered in my ear, “You okay, sis?”

  “I don’t even know,” I told him quietly.

  He pushed a fresh-made coffee into my hand. “You seen him?”

  “Just now.”

  Vividly, my mind threw up images of us together: Mason fucking me, kissing me, holding me in his arms on the bed. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish them, as well as our frosty goodbye.

  “Daisy, tell Mommy about your new drawing,” Justin said, a welcome reprieve.

  “It’s a family portrait,” she babbled excitedly. “But you can’t see it yet. Neither can Uncle Justin. When it’s done, you’re both gonna love it! Auntie Anna and Uncle Ethan, too.”

  “I can’t wait, honey.”

  “Mommy,” Daisy said softly. “When can I come home with you?”

  “Soon,” I promised, feeling anything but certain.

  It wasn’t fair for me to keep leaving her with my brother, even though he loved her dearly and she was safer here. I was at a loss, completely, over what to do. I was at Justin’s more than I was at home myself, these days. When I wasn’t with Mason, anyway. It felt like living a double life and it struck me again how I was becoming more and more like Mason.