Assassin's Baby (A Bad Boy Romance) (6 page)

ELEVEN

Miles made a phone call later in the afternoon as he took a stroll on the beach. Alexandra was still sleeping. He planned to go wake her up soon, to see if she wanted to swim with him. The beach was mostly deserted; their resort had been insanely expensive and only available to the very wealthy, and it was off season so not many tourists were here. So Miles had the beach to himself at that moment, save for a few people snorkeling off in the distance. He looked out at the gorgeous waves as he dialed the number, and he wondered briefly why he’d let himself get into this profession.

He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. He was a good marine. But his flip had switched at some point, and he’d gone haywire for a while. Then his mind settled and he returned to California where he settled in Malibu. But there was still something off, of course – otherwise he’d have never gone into the hitman profession. He hated feeling like he had to compare himself with the sleazy men who called themselves assassin’s for a mere four figures. Miles had only ever operated for six figures and up, but he recognized that he’d gotten lucky.

In the early days of his career it was rare for someone with no resume or credentials to get such a hefty first paycheck. He could have easily gotten many clients willing to pay him a low four figures, like two thousand for a head – but Miles knew he had to set his standards higher from the get go, to afford the kind of luxury lifestyle he desired.

He had the sniper credentials, which helped him, and after the first client, many more came. Word got out in secret societies that Miles was the man to go to, and so they did – and his fortune built up rather quickly, along with his novel sales. Miles stared out at the ocean and listened to the phone ring six times. He almost hung up, and then the voice answered.

He’d dialed using star sixty nine, so that his call couldn’t be traced. The voice was husky and deep, and he recognized it as Gulliver Jones.

“Brent? Is that you?”

Miles said nothing.

“Is it done?” The voice asked hoarsely.

“Hello, Gulliver.”

There was a long pause, followed by a nervous laugh, “Miles, is that you? Hell, what a coincidence. I was going to call you today about a job I have. Competitor who’s taking my-”

“I don’t need to know the details, Gully. I never do. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be taking this job of yours. I’m coming for you, Gulliver, and this a little heads up. A warning, if you will. You see, I didn’t want to just storm into your house and blow your brains out… No, that would be too easy. I wanted to make it somewhat of a challenge for me, because I think we both know I like challenges. I like the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of the kill thereafter. So here it is, buddy, from one colleague to another – you’ve been warned.”

He hung up the phone and then placed it in his pocket. He stared out at the tide and took a deep breath. When this honeymoon was over, he’d be going back to Los Angeles, and he’d have his biggest job yet. He didn’t know if warning Gulliver had been a good idea, but it did guarantee him some safety in the beginning. Gulliver knew that he knew, and he’d be scared. He’d probably back off, and not send anyone to get Miles. What he’d do instead was have his house guarded at all times. He’d wait for Miles, and then he’d let his men take him down once he arrived.

Miles knew this, and he smiled while thinking about it. It was going to feel wonderful to put the tip of his handgun next to Gulliver’s temple and pull the trigger. He anticipated the sound of the gunshot and the blood splatter that came simultaneously – but above all, he anticipated the thrilling feeling of when he walked into the room after disarming and taking out Gully’s guards… The expression Gulliver would wear on his face would be absolutely priceless.

His vicious thoughts of revenge vanished when he heard Alexandra close the patio door. He turned and watched her come slowly toward him from the balcony steps. She stepped out onto the sand and reached him, taking his muscular arm in her hands and hugging him tightly, “I was so tired,” she said.

“I was too, just woke up.”

“Can I get a kiss?” She smiled.

“Always.” Miles leaned down and kissed her, and his thoughts of revenge took a backseat in his mind.

TWELVE

When they got back to L.A. they went to the house in Malibu, which Miles now shared with his wife. Life was good for the first half of the day, and then Miles went to work. After putting on his usual coat and long cargo pants, he drove Alexandra to her old apartment and told her to wait until he picked her up. She was still paying rent for the remainder of the lease, which was two more months.

She looked worried, and almost shed a tear, “Where are you going?” She asked.

“I just have some things to clear up. It will be okay, I promise,” he said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m a man of rules, remember? And a promise isn’t something I break.”

He drove to the Brentwood home of Gulliver Jones, his briefcase now sitting in the passenger seat. He parked on the outskirts of the community and reached for the briefcase. The sun was setting and he waited for thirty minutes until it was fully dark. He opened the briefcase and grabbed the sets of grenades, which he fastened to the hooks he’d designed on the inner lining of his leather jacket. He grabbed his reliable pistol and placed it in its holster. He reached back into the backseat and flipped a switch which raised the seat cushions – an intricate project he’d worked on for four months which perfectly concealed his weapons if need be. He grabbed an assault rifle out from beneath the seat and then lowered the cushions back down until they snapped into place.

Then he stepped out of the car and looked around. Lights were on in all the houses, most people seemed to be home. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and began to walk through some brush and backyards, careful to stay out of view from the residents. He hunkered down low as he approached Gulliver Jones’ mansion, crawling on his hands and knees. He made his way past the barricade which he climbed over and fell down flat onto his hands and knees. He looked up toward the house and saw that the lights were on.

It was probably a trap. Men would typically be sitting on the back porch, but there was no one. No one hiding in the trees, no one waiting to burst around the corner and pump him full of led. There was nothing there. Miles knew the men would be inside. He carefully continued to crawl towards the house. The rifle was still over his shoulder and he climbed slowly until he got to the back porch. From there, he climbed beneath the flooring through mud and a makeshift home of a raccoon family.

He was already filthy from the crawling, and when he reached the window that looked into the basement he could see a set of four armed men sitting on a couch and watching television. It was Gulliver’s entertainment room; lavishly decked out in red velvet flooring and black walls. There was a pool table, a projector which screened films, a ping pong table, and an indoor swimming pool.

If four of the men were sitting down here, seemingly lazy and watching television, then there must be some upstairs actually guarding Gulliver. Miles crawled out from beneath the porch and went around the edge of the building where he hastily hopped up into the air and grabbed hold of a column that led to a section of the roofing. He shimmied up quickly with the skill of a professional and then got onto the roof and crawled extremely slowly.

He glanced at once through the window of the house. It was a bedroom, and it was empty. He crawled further down the roofing until he reached another window, which looked out onto the hardwood flooring of a hallway that led eventually to a staircase. Miles knew the house fairly well, as he’d been here a few times in the past – but it had been a while and his memory was somewhat rusty. He knew that the main level of the house had the usual rooms. There was a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room. There was also a small office with a computer and a desk with filing cabinets behind it. Miles began to try and pry open the windowsill when an alarm began to blare.

“Fuck
.”

The siren was loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood, but it was quickly shut off. The men knew what they were doing, as did Gulliver. They didn’t want attention; the brief sounding of the alarm was all they needed to know that Miles had arrived, and they certainly didn’t want the police to show up. Miles was probably speaking to a security officer from the security company at that very moment, assuring them that he’d accidentally opened the door with his alarm set.

Miles kicked through the glass of the window and jumped inside. He burst down the hallway and spotted two men coming for him from downstairs. As they made their way up the steps, they fired their automatic weapons. Miles ducked down and landed flat on his stomach, aiming the rifle through the spokes in the stair railing and firing. A stream of automatic shots pierced the hardwood flooring of the steps, along with the chests of the two men. Miles continued to let the bullets rain down all around the downstairs as he flailed the rifle’s barrel back and forth. He was screaming as he did so.

After a minute, he pulled the gun away and peered down. The two men lay on their stomach and back, both of them soaked with blood and ridden with bullet holes. They were as good as dead, but Miles knew there were more coming from the basement, and they came very quickly.

“Put the gun down,” one of them bellowed. As if.

Instead, Miles positioned the assault rifle back through the spokes of the railing and opened fire. He was met with fire from them as well, and bullets burst through the drywall and missed him by inches. His finger was held firmly on the trigger as he let the bullets twist and turn through the downstairs foyer, and he heard sounds of screams and groans through the rapid fire.

Miles loosened his grip from the trigger and waited. And then, footsteps. He pressed the trigger again, aiming blindly for the staircase until he realized he was out of ammunition. Quickly dropping the rifle to the ground floor he reached for his pistol and grabbed it from its holster. Spinning into position, he met the man as he reached the top of the staircase with a bullet to the neck. The man gripped down on the trigger of his machine gun as he fell backwards and bullets flew past Miles until he fell through the broken railing and onto the ground floor.

He landed with a thud and most likely a broken rib, but was onto his feet in a matter of seconds; quickly enough to escape a gunshot from a surviving guard. He leaped into the air and sent himself spiraling into the den where he landed on carpeted floor and barricaded himself inside the room by locking the door. Then he stood to his feet and aimed the pistol towards the door. He himself stood out of view from the door to prevent himself from bullets that would no doubt burst through it.

They did, and fast.

The door within a matter of seconds was hardly there anymore. It was covered with bullet holes and Miles quickly began to panic before bursting out the window of the den and landing on the shards of glass that covered the front porch. A man came out of the front door and aimed a rifle at Miles but wasn’t fast enough, Miles shot him through the stomach and then rolled off the porch and into the shrubbery.

It was a trap, alright. Gulliver hadn’t even been in the house.

But where
?

He ran to his car, miraculously uninjured, and drove quickly through the night. As he made his way down Sunset Boulevard toward the Palisades, he phoned Alexandra. She answered on the fourth ring, “Baby?”

“Yeah, are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

Miles tried to hide the panic in his voice but had a hard time doing so. He continually checked his rear view mirror to see if he was being followed, but it seemed like the coast was clear. Besides, it was almost impossible to tell if you were being followed in Los Angeles due to the high traffic. And if he
was
being followed, it would be easy to lose them. It’s hard to keep track of cars in a city so dense with them.

“I’m looking for Jones, honey, the man who ordered my head on a platter. I want you to make sure the doors are locked in your apartment and stay away from windows. I don’t think they’ll come after you, and besides I doubt they’d know how to find you. For all they know, you’d be at home in Malibu. Jesus, I’m so glad you still had a couple months left on that lease…”

“Baby, I miss you, and I’m scared.”

“Honey, trust me… You’ll be alright.”

“I’m scared for
you
.”

“Don’t be, I’ve had to deal with this kind of thing before,” he lied.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? Where are you?”

Miles hesitated for a moment. He hesitated because of one reason – the sound of his wife’s voice. It was trembling. She was scared for herself, and for good reason. There was someone in the apartment with her, someone ordering her to find out where he was. He didn’t know what to say in a situation like this, but he knew he’d be coming there to rescue her.

“I’m on Hollywood Boulevard,” he lied again, “Looking for Jones. I’m going to turn around and head to his house in the Palisades.”

Miles hoped this lie would be delivered to the men. He wondered how many were there. He hoped his lie would make some of them thin out and take off toward Gulliver’s Palisades home, but he couldn’t count on it.

“Honey? I love you,” he said.

He hung up the phone and parked on a side road in Westwood. He reached back and pressed the seat’s button. It sprang upwards and revealed a heavy set of artillery. He would need a lot of firepower for this, potentially, but he hoped he wouldn’t. Alexandra’s home set on a hillside which was perfect for hiding in. He tried to remember if there was a good view from her back window from the hillside, but he couldn’t remember since he’d only been in her apartment a few times. He was wondering if he’d have a good spot to snipe from.

He drove to her neighborhood and parked a good distance away. It wasn’t easy avoiding eyes on him in this densely packed street, because there were plenty of cars driving by, and even people outside on their porches. So he kept his rifle hidden beneath his coat, along with the other guns he brought with him.

They just fucked with the wrong guy. They come after me, it’s one thing, and it’s enough to kill them. But they come after my wife, it’s a whole ‘nother ball game. I’m going to make them wish they were never born. I’m going to blow them away
.

Miles made it to Alexandra’s shack and hunkered up slowly in the hills. The brush was thick and prickly, and he didn’t try to hide himself. No one would be looking for him, because they expected him to be heading towards the Pacific Palisades by that point. He hunkered down, finding a wonderful vantage point with a clear view through her kitchen window.

He aimed the rifle and looked through the scope, waiting to see someone’s head move. But no one ever came, and as he thought more about it he wondered how tangible this idea was. Shoot one man and then what? Once a man came into view and he blew his head apart, what then? The others would undoubtedly panic and scurry to grab Alexandra and off her. He didn’t even know how many men were in there.

He crawled back down the hill, cursing to himself, and then went up the back steps to her house very slowly. He dialed her number on the cell phone, fingering the grenades he held in his jacket.

“Hi honey, where are you?” The strained voice returned.

“Take me off speaker phone.”

“You’re not on it.”

“Do it for a moment, I need to say something private to you.”

“Okay…”

Apparently the men had silently told her to do so. They didn’t know for sure that Miles knew they were in there, and they didn’t want to blow the surprise. So they told her to act normal, as if she were alone. They trusted her not to lie about his whereabouts, if only for a moment.

Alexandra pressed the button to take him off of speaker phone, “Yes, honey?”

“Your window, is it open?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sitting in the loveseat next to it?”

“Yes.”

“Now stay calm, what I’m about to tell you is going to change the outcome of everything. Do you understand, baby? I’m standing on the back porch with a grenade in my hand. I’m going to kick through the glass of the back door and toss it inside. I need you on the count of three to
quickly
jump head first out the window. Your fall should be softened by the dirt hillside below you, and breaking an arm is a lot less scary than what’s going to happen to you if you stay in there and let those men kill you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now, on the count of three.”

“Okay, honey…” Her voice sounded stilted and full of panic.

“One, two, THREE!”

Miles relied on pure trust. He trusted Alexandra that she jumped out the window. He trusted that he wouldn’t blow her to smithereens. Surely she’d known how serious he’d been. Upon the scream of
three
, Miles kicked through the glass door of the balcony and tossed two grenades inside, as far as he could throw them. For good measure, he tossed a third. He heard a single shot ring out before the grenades exploded, and then he was blown back down the steps by the force of the blast.

He rolled down the steps on his back, head, and shoulders. After struggling to get up for a moment, he hesitated and stretched back, cracking his neck, “Fuck’s sake…”

Then, remembering his wife, he hurried to the front of the building to check on her. Sure enough, she’d listened. She lay whimpering between two cars that had debris landed all over them. Dust as well. She was cut up slightly, covered in tiny scratches, but not from the explosion. It was from the thick bramble she’d landed in. Although it had hurt her, it had probably also saved her; being thick and cushiony. He held her in his arms and kissed her, and then hurried her back to his car before speeding off into the night.