Hitman's Revenge (a Forbidden Bad Boy Romance) (3 page)

J
ack watched
as Hazel walked toward his car, her eyes downcast as she approached him. He knew instantly that something was wrong, that something had happened at school today. “Hey, Hazel,” he started, pushing off of the car to open the passenger door for her. “How was your day?”

She mumbled something and climbed in, pulling her book bag into her lap without even looking at him. Usually she greeted him with a smile, her bubbly persona always making him crack up by the time they got home. But today, something was off, and he wasn’t so sure of what.

Jack eased the passenger door shut and walked around his car, climbing into the driver seat but not cranking the engine just yet. Once they got home he would be expected to go down to the basement to train, and she would go to her room to do her homework, so there would be no time to talk without Nixon present.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or should I guess?”

Hazel’s long dark hair covered her face as she fiddled with the zipper on her bag, her thin shoulders just moving in a shrugging motion. She had grown up before his eyes, their three years’ difference playing tricks on Jack as he watched her start to become the beautiful, fiery woman she was no doubt going to be one day. Lately she had been moody and weepy, nothing like the Hazel he knew. In fact, Jack was starting to think that all women were a bit moody. Lara, the girl he was seeing, was a bit unpredictable herself, kissing him one minute then pushing him away the next when he tried to get to second base.

“Come on,” he tried again, gripping the steering wheel to keep his cool. “We aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!” she blurted out, startling him. He looked at her sharply to find her teary eyes looking back at him, traces of more tears staining her pink cheeks. Jack fought the urge to punch something as he took in her appearance, hating the fact that she was crying. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

“What do you mean, Hazel? How do you know you are dying?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said softly, turning back to the window. “I-it’s so embarrassing.”

Confused, Jack reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Whatever it is, we will get through it together, Hazel. You and me, remember?”

She took a deep breath while he held his; he was really concerned for her. If she was really dying, they would get the best doctors around to take care of her, no matter what it would take. Nixon wasn’t going to let his baby girl die, and Jack sure as hell wasn’t going to, either. Hazel was the glue that held them together, the light in their lives. He wasn’t going to lose her.

She turned back toward him, her eyes more tearful now. He gripped her hand tightly, the ball of worry in his throat growing by the second as he waited for her to tell him the worst. He would go ballistic if something happened to her.

“I’m bleeding down there,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming red. “The girls at school tell me it’s nothing, b-but I know something has to be wrong with me.”

Jack exhaled a shaky breath as he realized what she was referring to, thanking someone up above that it wasn’t more serious. “It’s okay, Hazel,” he said, giving her a smile. “We can deal with that. It’s completely normal.”

She snorted and wrenched her hand out of his, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s most definitely not normal. Are you telling me you bleed out of your penis, too?”

Jack nearly choked with laughter as he heard her haughty words, thinking that the word penis shouldn’t be coming out of her mouth. Not his Hazel. “Ah, no, but I assure you it’s fine, Hazel. Hasn’t anyone ever talked to you about a woman’s… period?”

Her eyes dimmed, and Jack regretted his words immediately. Hazel’s mom had died when she was young, and Nixon had raised his daughter alone until Jack came along. He berated himself. Of course she hadn’t had a woman talk to her—it was a stupid thing to say. “I’m sorry,” he said regretfully. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s fine,” Hazel replied, giving him a weak smile. “I so shouldn’t be having this discussion with you, but I didn’t know what to do.”

He gave her a wink and started the engine, pulling away from the school. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what to do. We will be fine; you will be fine, Hazel.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her soft lips grazing the hint of stubble that had started to appear on his face the past few months. He hadn’t wanted to shave it for fear that it might not come back and besides, Lara, his current girlfriend, seemed to like it.

“Thank you, Jack. I can always count on you.”

Jack looked over at her and grinned, glad that she had entrusted him with her secret, however embarrassing it was. He would always be there for her.

I
woke
up in a foul mood, my dreams filled with every imaginable fear that I never wanted to have to deal with. I jumped into the shower and washed off the grime of the past two days before dressing, packing all of my shit back into the small duffel bag I liked to carry around before heading out. I was done with the motel. Walking out, I tied my bag onto the motorcycle and turned in the key card, paying off the rest of what I owed in cash before slinging myself over the seat and pulling away. It was somewhere near five AM; I’d managed about three hours sleep—much good it did, tossing and turning, but I had lived off less. There wasn’t a relaxed bone in my body, though. I was itching to get my hands on Romano so bad that I could taste it, but there were necessary stops I needed to make before my planned surprise visit with him.

Turning north, I drove about an hour to a rambling house in the midst of the bayou, the sweet smell of the swamp greeting me as I climbed off the motorcycle. I had travelled that damn road numerous times in my life until I knew every bump and turn. The field before the old mailbox came into view, and then the dirt drive that led to the house, set back off the road.

Nixon had said he’d wanted to see trouble coming if it found him way out here, and with the house butting up to the bayou, the chances of an idiot trying to come the back way was very slim. I roared up the drive and pulled in front of the house, cutting the engine and looking at the house before climbing off of the Harley.

Never again was I going to see Nixon in the doorway or waving a hand at me from the attached toolshed and garage. I wasn’t going to walk in and see him sitting in his recliner, smoking those damn cigars he enjoyed. That time in my life was long-gone; Nixon’s life was over. I’d lost one set of parents to violence… and now this.

“Shit, man, get it together,” I muttered to myself, climbing off the bike and walking to the front door. I needed to stop fucking about with my feelings and get what I came for.

Walking into the quiet, empty interior of the house I chose to leave the lights off… the possibility that someone was lying in wait ever present in my mind.

I knew the house like the back of my hand, able to move around with ease in the dark. It had been the place I had grown up in, the place where I had become a man and also left Hazel alone for her own good. I hadn’t known how the hell to handle her closeness, choosing to stay the hell away from her for her own safety and my sanity. But now I could see her smiling face in every crevice of this damn house. Even now I could smell her vanilla perfume intermingled with Nixon’s favorite cigars, and the light smell of what was probably their last meal together lingering in the air. The house didn’t feel the same without them there, and I found myself sneaking around like a cat burglar, waiting for someone to catch me. Would it feel the same to Hazel without Nixon there? Would she be able to come back to this place once I found her?

Walking down the hall, I paused just outside of Hazel’s room, my boots ringing on the hardwood floor. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, letting the scent of her wash over me. She would never know how many times I had come in from a late night to do exactly that as she slumbered away in the bed, her protector watching over her and keeping her safe, just like I said I would.

Her presence was always like a balm after a hard night, and often I had closed my eyes to think of her after a particularly hard job that had left me unsettled. Not sorry or disgusted mind you, just unsettled. I forced myself to walk farther down the hall to my old room, popping my head inside for a moment. It was still set up like I was coming back any day. I imagine it had been Hazel’s doing, considering the old man and I had discussed my need to not be around her and had agreed it was for the best. Nixon knew better than anyone the dangers of my job. And I couldn’t put her in harm’s way—though my actual absence hadn’t helped much, had it?

Balling up my fist, I smashed it into the wall next to me, feeling the satisfaction as it punctured the drywall. Even the job earlier hadn’t helped like I thought it would. This wasn’t just anyone missing or lying in the morgue. This was the only damn family I had left. These people, however convoluted my childhood had been, had given me a place to stay, someone who cared about my existence. Nixon had taken me under his wing without a second thought—he never said why and I never asked, but I’d always assumed it was some unpaid debt he thought he owed my parents. And Hazel, she had treated me like I was someone special in her life, even though I felt like anything but.

My hand throbbed lightly. I pulled it out of the wall and proceeded on my original quest to locate an old key ring in Nixon’s top drawer amongst some old clothes. He thought I didn’t know where he kept it, but I had eyes—it wasn’t hard to figure out. The key dangled from the ring and brought a smile to my face as I clasped it between my thumb and forefinger. The motorcycle was going to have to be put up for now. I needed something with more cover, something with more room and with less risk.

My reluctant smile grew wider as I opened the door to the garage, flipping on the overhead light and catching the covered object that sat lovingly in the midst of the chaos that was Nixon’s personal garage. I flipped off the cover, sending dust motes scattering into the enclosed space, and I took in the sleek black paint that covered the 1970 Pontiac GTO, restored to its former splendor with the original parts.

Nixon loved this car. He bought it on a trade years ago with the hopes that Hazel would drive it one day. She had balked at the thought, and Nixon had been forced instead to buy her a truck, of all things. It was hard to think the same girl who’d begged for days to decorate her room pink wanted to ride around in a huge truck, but that was what she had gotten. All the while the Pontiac sat in the garage with Nixon and I tinkering with it on and off. I had offered to buy it once—secretly naming her Lucky—but he had shaken his head while running his hand over the hood. “It’s as much a part of me now as she is. I’d rather keep it.”
But now he wouldn’t be missing it much.

With an exhaled breath, I pressed the button on the garage door opener and watched as it slid upward, creaking and banging in its rails as it went. I made quick work of pushing the Harley in and transferring my bag over to the car. On the way over I had made some calls—pulled in a few favors—to ensure the place wouldn’t get ransacked, so I felt fairly confident the house would still be standing when Hazel came home. It was her birthright now.

I climbed into the Pontiac and turned the key in the ignition, patting the dash of the old girl and momentarily grinning like a fool when she roared to life. A quick assessment told me everything looked good, and I pulled her carefully out of the garage, applying some pressure to the gas to hear her engine roar. Nixon hadn’t disappointed. Lucky was still in immaculate condition.

Good job too, I needed all the luck I could get.

After ensuring that the garage door closed tightly behind me, I turned back toward the south. Now I could concentrate on business, starting with Romano, and getting Hazel back.

R
omano was slacking
; none of his goons were stationed out back in the alley behind the barbershop, and I crept into the back of the shop without any fuss. He obviously thought he was safe from harm—got a bit too big for his britches, in my opinion.

I eased the door to, and wedged a small box to keep it open in case I needed a quick getaway. I didn’t know how Romano was going to react to seeing me, but I sure knew that he wasn’t going to embrace me with open arms, so I had to be cautious. The last time we locked eyes he had ended up with a bloody thigh, and I had gotten out of there by the skin of my teeth.

Ahead I could hear the steady swipe of the barber’s blade as he shaved the crime boss’ face, still opting to use the straight blade instead of the new, faster blades that were in style. I exited the storage room and walked directly over to the chair with my gun leveled at the back of Romano’s head. The barber saw me first, his eyes growing wide as he stepped back, his hand raised, the razor shaking in his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Romano asked before he caught a glimpse of me in the mirror, his ugly mug twisting into a cruel smile. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. I should kill you where you stand.”

The sound of a gun cocking caught my attention, and I returned the smile, pressing the muzzle of my gun into the back of Romano’s slicked-back hair. He had a rapidly receding hairline and was very vain about it, which was why he tried his best to cover it up with a comb-over. I gave him a year tops before he really would have to start doing something different. “Tell them to back down.”

His eyes met mine in the mirror and for a moment weighing up his options, and I thought he was going to call my bluff. I had no qualms about blowing this asshole’s head off—would do the area, the town and people a whole load of good, I thought, though it would probably start a turf war, too—but my chances of getting out was going to be pretty slim afterward, and hell, Hazel
needed
me. I couldn’t be hasty; I couldn’t let her down, not now.

“Fine,” he barked out, motioning with his hand. “You look desperate, Jack, so I will allow you to live. For now.”

I eased my gun away from his head but kept it in my hand, ready to fire if necessary. I didn’t trust Romano. “So what can I do for you, Jack?” he said, motioning to the barber to continue.

“You’re going to help me connect the dots,” I forced out, my instincts on high alert. “And word on the street is you have the answers that I’m looking for.”

“That weasel Pedro,” he spat, allowing the barber to finish the last line of shaving cream and wipe his face with a towel. “I should have killed him years ago.”

I shrugged. Not confirming or denying that Pedro was my source—let them two figure it out between themselves. He spun around in the chair, his shrewd eyes looking at me. I saw the hatred deep within his cold eyes and couldn’t blame him. Hell, I hated him, too. The man was dirty, and I refused to take any jobs from him or any of his associates. I might be an asshole and a killer, but I didn’t like to be double-crossed.

“So, Jack, what’s the trade?”

“How about we just call it even,” I drawled, making a great show of my gun. He snorted with laughter and I stood there, waiting for him to calm his fat ass down. He always had to put on a show—a diva in another life, I thought. Finally, he wiped his eyes with his hands and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing me. “You shot me in my fucking thigh.”

“You tried to screw me over and cheat me out of fifty grand,” I shot back, tapping the gun against my thigh just to rile him. His eyes darkened and I grinned, glad to get on his last nerve. “Come on, Romano. Give me what I want and we will call it a day.” I was starting to lose my patience, and his thugs kept edging forward. “Tell me what you know about what happened to Nixon and where his daughter is.”

“Oh, so it’s the girl that you’re after, is it?” Romano eyed me for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction. I kept my face stuck in neutral. Startling me, he threw up his hands, and pushed himself out of the chair. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Colt wants your head on a platter. What did you do to piss him off, Jack? Shoot him in his leg, too? And if it didn’t piss me off so much to even say his name, I probably would’ve teamed up with him to get your weasel ass. But you know me, I don’t have any dealings with that son of a bitch.”

Colt. I had a name at last, but it was the last name I ever wanted to hear. “Why?” I asked darkly, my mood getting worse.

“That’s all I know,” Romano replied, shrugging his coat back on. “There, we are even now. No more favors. Next time, I will kill you myself.”

“Like to see you try. But it’s good to see you too, Romano,” I said, giving him a smile as I holstered my gun. His words meant nothing to me. All hell would rain down on his head if he killed me, for I had bigger, more powerful friends in my back pocket than he did, and he knew it. Everything he was doing was for show.

“Get the hell out of my sight. I don’t care to see your ugly face ever again.”

Taking my cue, I walked out of the barbershop and back to the car, slamming the door shut before I allowed myself to react.

“FUCK!” Colt being the one who did this was the worst possible news I could receive, and Romano wasn’t one to lie. Slimy piece of shit, yes, liar, no. And no matter which way I tried to slice it, there was going to be no easy way I’d be able to waltz into Colt’s area of control, out east, without alerting him. I’d hoped that Pedro had been right—that it was somehow Nixon’s fault, that it was all going to be some low-level beef gone wrong, but Romano had confirmed my worst fear.

It was my fault.

Nixon’s death was blood on my hands.