Hitman's Revenge (a Forbidden Bad Boy Romance)

C
opyright
© 2016 by Emilia Beaumont

P
ublished
by Elwynn Cottage

Edited by Amanda at
Stylus Ink

Cover by Elwynn Cottage

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ll rights reserved
.

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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I
’m supposed
to be her white knight, not the devil between her sheets.

J
ack
Steele

Hazel is the one woman I could never have, and I’ve done everything in my power to stay away from her, to keep her out of my dangerous life.

But when Hazel’s dad, my mentor, is brutally murdered and she’s kidnapped I’m left with no alternative. I have to find her and kill the men who so much as lay a hand upon her sweet face.
 

Yet when I do, I fear I won’t be able to resist the temptation to strip her innocence away and keep her for myself.

Hazel Bradshaw

Jack was every girl’s fantasy; dangerous, brooding and sexy as sin, and over the years as we grew up together he slowly became mine. I longed for him to notice me but no matter what I did he always remained distant. I won't let him push me away again, not anymore.

Kidnapped by a murderous and powerful man, a pawn in his game, I must try to stay alive long enough for Jack to find me. For years I’ve saved myself only for him, never letting anyone touch me, and now he must come and save me.
 

And when he does, I’m going to make sure this time he finally takes what’s rightfully his.

“
F
uck
.”

It was the only word that came to my mind as I looked around the well-equipped garage, the anger burning a hole in my chest. He should have listened to me and maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t be staring at the bloodstain on the concrete floor.

Running a hand through my hair roughly, I knelt down beside the stain and swung my flashlight to follow the trail. It looked like it originated from the back office. A glint caught my eye from under a tool bench. As I scooped the sparkling object into my hand;
her necklace.
The one I’d given her all those years ago.

A flood of memories assaulted me all at once, and I felt my insides tighten with rage and sadness. The staggering truth that I didn’t want to acknowledge was fully present in that bloodstain.

She was gone, and so was he.

I could almost hear his voice in my head as he coached me on the proper way to do an oil-change, something I haven’t done in quite a while.

“You gotta drain it slow, Jack,”
he said in that raspy voice of his, the result of years of smoking abuse.
“Don’t rush it or you will be doing the same car again in a few weeks.”

And from now on his voice would be only in my head, haunting me.

Without a sound I stood and walked over to the office. The pools of blood, black and glistening, shone eerily in my light as I dodged them with my boots. The damn law hadn’t even thought to clean the mess up or send a cleanup crew around. Those bastards couldn’t have cared less about the death of Nixon Bradshaw, and I seriously doubted they were putting in any effort to find Hazel, either, Nixon’s daughter and my…

I let out a low breath as I grabbed the doorway with my gloved hand. The utter stillness of the garage was starting to grate on my nerves.

Hazel.
She had always been the apple of her daddy’s eye, the glue that held the garage together, the light that kept our peculiar family from disintegrating.

Even from an early age I could tell she was the most important person in her father’s life, and it wasn’t a surprise that he would die before she was hurt.
As would I
, I thought.
He knew that too
, and apparently Nixon had done just that. God knows what had caused Nixon to be brutally murdered and his daughter to be taken, but I would find out, and just like Nixon knew I would, I’d find the bastard who took her and bring her back home.

I gave a sidelong glance at the ancient chair that had been discarded and pushed over near the far wall of the office. Nixon had probably taken his final drag of a cigarette right there. I fought the tears that threatened. He could always be found in that worn-out chair, well, either there or under the hood of some beat-up car. He was a damned permanent fixture of this place, and I’d taken advantage of that fact, thinking he would always be there.
I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long.

But there was no time to grieve, no time to say goodbye. Hazel and I should’ve been burying the old man together, holding onto each other for support. Nothing would’ve made me happier than to hear her soft voice in my ear right then, telling me she was glad that I was there to comfort her in our moment of grief.

I swore under my breath and pushed away from the door, turning back and walking through to the dark garage. Whoever had done this had made a huge mistake; this was personal now. Nixon had made me into the man I was today, and there was going to be hell to pay once I was able to track down his killer and Hazel’s kidnapper.

Nothing could stop my head from replaying the information over and over, and I calmly decided I must’ve been in some kind of shock. I didn’t want to believe that Nixon had finally met his maker. The old man was tough as balls and damn near invincible, but the proof was right there in front of me.
He was gone
. Yet my brain resisted the notion, unable to get used to that fact. He didn’t die from some heart attack or cancer, but someone had fucking killed him. Why couldn’t he have just gone peacefully, in his sleep? He’d deserved that much for his kindness.

The anonymous communication had somehow found its way to my secure email. It had been the first clue that something had gone horribly wrong in my hometown of Rawhide, Louisiana. The very sight of it sent me into cautious action, dropping everything that I was doing and running to the garage Nixon owned. I’d left the seedy motel I was hunkered down in and made the couple hundred miles’ trek east to confirm what I already suspected.

“Damn it. Be strong for me Hazel,” I muttered as I strode out of the garage. I didn’t want to cloud my mind with what they were doing to her, but it was almost impossible to stop the images. It was hard enough keeping my cool and keeping my head on straight, knowing that Nixon was dead and gone. I didn’t need my thoughts to stray to the absolute worst imaginable.

Climbing onto the motorcycle parked in the deserted drive, I took in the garage one last time. No witnesses, no one speaking out or coming forward to the police… but I wasn’t surprised. The garage was in a secluded spot, with no neighbors to speak of for miles around. And all for a very good reason; the garage had been a front, or at least a partial one. With the brutality of the crime, as well as the well-known ties Nixon had to the crime families across the region, no one in their right mind would stick their neck out willingly.

I fired the engine, allowing it to purr under me for a moment. It was a classic Harley Davidson, built for cruising and not for speed, one that Nixon himself had helped me restore during my downtime. I should’ve come home long before now. Should’ve been there with him.

The hot Louisiana air hit me full force as I peeled out of the drive, the roar of the motorcycle filling the stillness of the night as I punched it toward the highway. I grew up loving the oppressive heat of Louisiana, home of bayous and alligators the size of small cars. But the humid air combining dangerously with my temper left me feeling confined, wanting to lash out. I needed to keep my cool. Had to figure what my next move was, find some leads and put feelers out—anything to find Hazel.

As the wind slapped at my face, my eyes blurred from the sting. I was unable to tell the difference between the liquid that was there to protect my eyes from the gusts or the tears that were freely falling.

I had fully prepared myself long ago that death would come knocking; it would forever be a breath away, chasing me down, and if that time was now, here in this state, then I would go gladly if it meant Hazel would be safe. I’d seen enough death while I’d travelled the country, drifting from job to job, but my soul, what was left of it, was always one foot in the bayou.

My face was dry now as I tilted it into the wind. Normally I would’ve enjoyed this little ride in the open air, allowing me time to clear my head, planning what was to come.

But tonight I was riding with pure vengeance, with only one thought in my head.

Hazel.

“
J
ack
! I give up! I can’t find you!”

Jack snickered as he hid in the cabinet under the sink, his small frame tucked into the tight space amongst the cleaning supplies. He was always besting Hazel at hide-and-seek, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was three years older. He was just quieter than the rambunctious six-year-old. He heard her footsteps come close to the cabinet and he swung the door open, jumping out with the intent to scare her.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t judged his timing correctly and the door collided with her forehead, causing her to cry out in pain as she fell to the tiled floor. With his heart hammering in his chest, Jack scrambled to her side, grabbing her up as the first fat tear rolled down her chubby cheek. If she started to cry now—real big hulking sobs—Nixon would hear them, and Jack would be in all kinds of trouble for hurting Hazel.

“Shh, I’m sorry, Hazel,” he started, gathering her into his skinny arms. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”

“You shouldn’t swear,” she said sullenly, her big blue eyes turning on him full of tears. “Daddy said it’s not nice.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.” He smiled as he looked at the small red mark on her forehead. Good. There wasn’t any damage; the mark would be gone soon, or at least that’s what he hoped. If there had been, Nixon would’ve tanned his hide. Hazel was the sunshine in her daddy’s life, and he protected her fiercely. Jack had learned that quickly upon his arrival three years ago, and Nixon demanded the same of him, too—he was just as responsible for the toddler’s safety.

Pulling on one of her pigtails affectionately, he gave her a hug. “I’m sorry, Hazel. I will read to you for as long as you want tonight, okay?”

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she said, her voice muffled in his shirt. “You wouldn’t ever hurt me.”

Jack felt the instinctive need to protect her rise up in his chest. The knot that he constantly associated with Hazel tightened. He would never hurt her, no matter what she did to him, no matter how many punishments he would receive on her behalf. She was the sole reason he had been able to climb out of the bed, day after day, after the death of his parents. Nixon had helped, too, of course. But it had been Hazel who’d banished the darkness. She had in her own way soothed the overwhelming ache in his chest, and he would always remember that. No one was going to mess with Hazel as long as he was alive.

He was her protector.