Viper: A Hitman Romance (12 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RYKER

My tires practically catch fire as I peel out in the driveway of Drax's estate. 

There's ten million dollars in bearer bonds just sitting on the passenger seat.  Until hours ago, that spot was occupied by Jessica Roan.

And right now, I'd give it all up just to have her back again.

"Get your shit together, Viper," I tell myself.  "Your job is done.  What happens to her is out of your hands. 
Remember who you're doing this for
."

This is for Kylie.  This is so that little girl can actually spend time with her dad.  This is so I can get to know her, watch her grow up, and live to share a life with her.

Isn't that worth it?

It's what I've been telling myself all these years.

Through it all, my plan has always been that — as soon as I was free — I was going to go right to the airport.  I'd buy the first ticket to Florida and make my way to the Keys.  Flush with cash, I'd buy a home there.

I should be
happy
.

Instead, I'm more confused than I've ever been.  I'm wondering if I'll truly be happy.  I've been working for this moment for years and now I feel so empty.

Tires squeal as I make a last-second turn, changing routes from the airport to that quiet little neighborhood where Kylie lives.  Seeing her will be good for me.  It'll give me a chance to say goodbye.  She'll be over the moon to know that I'm free — that I'm no longer an undercover cop — and it'll remind me that this is all worth it.

Kyle has her mother's smile.  It lights up every dark corner of my soul.  There's no black mood that smile can't cure.  I can't wait to see it.

I'm half a mile away when I whip out the emergency phone and hit 'call'.

A sleepy voice answers.  "Dad?"

Just hearing those words has me feeling better already.

"Hey, Kylie, are you up?"

There's some rustling and I hear the loud 'click' of a bedside lamp being turned on. 

"I am now.  Is something wrong, dad?"

I never call her, and she only calls when it's a real emergency.  It's one of those rules that's kept us safe for all these years.  No wonder she thinks something is wrong.

I can break those rules, now.

"No, nothing wrong, Kylie.  I'm just dropping by for a second.  Do you think you could sneak down?  I have something important to tell you."

"Yeah, sure…" she says.  I hear her window being shoved open.  She mumbles "bye" into the phone and then hangs up.

I pull up to the cul-de-sac in time to see her slipping out he second-story window.  Her room is right over the roof of the attached garage and she hops onto it and then nimbly jumps down to the driveway.  This kid is going to be trouble when she turns into a teenager, she's sneaking out like a pro.

I park the car and practically run towards her, sweeping her up into a giant hug.

"I'm so glad to see you," I say, holding her so close I'm practically getting a face full of her hair.

Tiny hands come between us and try to push me away.  I grin.  It's a mark of pride for a father to hug your daughter so much it embarrasses her.

"Ok, ok, ok,
dad
…" she whines.

I don't give a damn.  This is my daughter we're talking about.  I hug her some more.

"Dad!"

I let go.  Grinning from ear-to-ear so hard that it hurts my face.  "What?"

"Why are you here, dad?"

I kneel down in front of her, still smiling.  "Why am I here?  Kylie, I'm out.  No more undercover work.  I'm going to be going a way for a little bit — you know how I told you I want get a place in Florida on the beach — and I wanted to say goodbye first."

"Oh."

That sound is totally unimpressed and deflating.

"What is it, Kylie?"

She shrugs and kicks some dirt.  "So, you're going away again.  I just thought that, maybe, we could actually do something together."

Not happy about that either, kid, but dropping off the radar for a bit is essential to starting a new life and I can't just pull a new house and a new, legal, business in Florida out of my ass.

"Yes, I am.  But only for a little while.  And after, we can spend a lot more time together, I promise."

She nods.  "Will Jessica be there?"

"No.  Why?"

I could've gone this conversation without hearing that name.  Without being reminded of her.  All I want is the happiness and elation and freedom that I should be feeling.

I don't want reminders of the woman I left behind.

"I liked her.  She was nice."

I nod.  "That she was."

"Where is she, dad?"

"She's on her own, now.  Her own assignment.  That's why she's not going to be around."

I'm hoping,
praying
, that's enough for Kylie.  It grates me to my bones to lie to my daughter, especially to her face.  All I want is to leave the lying and the killing behind.  I want to get to know my daughter for real.

"Is her assignment dangerous?"  She says.

"Probably."

Her eyes narrow, and I see questions roiling around in there.  It's hard to challenge your parents, especially when you're so young.  Her mouth opens, but it's a second before she speaks.

"If it's dangerous, why aren't you protecting her?  Isn't that what cops do?"

"I can't, Kylie."

"But don't you like her, dad?"

"What makes you say that?"

She gives me a look, one that cuts through all my bullshit like a hot knife through butter.

"Dad, I'm nine.  I'm not
stupid
.  You've never introduced me to anyone, and then suddenly I get to meet Jessica
and
she comes to my talent show?  It's obvious."

"I just needed to get you that picture, kid, and Jessica was happy to take it to you for me.  It was important, that's all."

"Don't lie to me, dad."

"I'm not lying, Kylie."

"Then why do you look so upset?  And why aren't you protecting Jessica?"

"It's complicated.  I
can't
protect her, Kylie.  It's not my job.  Just leave it alone, ok?"

"Is that the same excuse you used when mom died?"

I'm speechless.

Kylie reaches into her pocket and takes out the picture.  She hands it over, determinedly.

"Dad, I want you to take this back."

"What?  Why?  I gave this to you, Kylie.  So you could remember your mom."

"Because you need to remember mom right now.  And you need to remember why you didn't do your job protecting her."

"I told you, Kylie, it's complicated."

She looks at me with eyes that burn with the same fire her mother had.  And it sears me to the core. 

"It's not complicated, dad.  You've been telling me for years that if you care about someone, you do what it takes to protect them, even if it's hard.  You remember what you told me every time I wanted to spend time together?  You said that you were making the hard choice, that even though staying apart was hard, it was what you had to do to keep me safe.  You know where Jessica is, we both know you care about here, so make the hard choice again.  Keep her safe."

Jesus, kid, you are too much like your mom.  You've got her fire, and you're not afraid to cut someone down to size when they deserve it.

"Go back to bed, Kylie."

I hug her once again and give her back the picture.

"Where are you going, dad?"  She looks at me, even though she knows the answer to my question.  The kid can read me like a book.

"To make a choice.  Goodnight, kid."

I kiss her on the forehead and then get back in my car.  The engine roars to life. 

My guns are heavy in their holsters, and I know in my heart I'll be drawing them at least once more tonight. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JESSICA

How am I not dead?

I look up.

Ryker's in the doorway, pistol out, eyes on fucking fire, looking like the embodiment of some unholy god of vengeance.

The stranger, he's got a look on his face like he can't process what's going on.  But then, I'm not surprised.  Ryker's just put a bullet through his hand and shot off a few of his fingers. 

Blood is just
spewing
from the wound and pooling on my kitchen floor.

My would-be killer turns around.

"Ryker."

Ryker nods. 

"Mick."

"I thought you'd left.  I saw you drive off."

Ryker shakes his head.  "I came back.  You shouldn't have taken the job, Mick.  You know that."

"You shouldn't have come back.  Viper's going to get himself into a whole world of shit, and for what?  Some pussy?"

"Watch your mouth, Mick."

There's a muted pop as Ryker fires another bullet, this time into Mick's shoulder.  Blood flies across the room, a spray that splatters my floor and even hits my dress.

The older man's knees buckle for a second, but he fights to his feet and shoots a toothy grin at Ryker.

Both of them are so calm, even though they're in a life-or-death standoff.  And I feel so paralyzed and afraid that I can barely breathe.

"It was three million dollars, Ryker.  For following you around and then cleaning up the mess.  You try to say no to that."

"You should have."

Mick laughs.  "It was going well so far.  Figured my luck was still holding up."

The old man edges closer to Ryker with each word.  Though his gun was blown clear earlier, along with a few of his fingers, both hands are still flexing and forming fists.

"Is this how it's going to be, Mick?"  Ryker almost sounds remorseful, like he's urging this filthy killer to lay low and back off.

Mick nods.  "Even I know not to cross Michael Drax.  I'd rather test my luck with the Viper than piss off that fucking creep."

Ryker sighs.  Then, slides his gun into his belt.

"If this is how it's going to be, old friend."

"It's been good knowing you, boy."

Mick moves quick for a man with two bullets in him.  One second, he's talking, and another, a switchblade is in his hand and slashing out with his blade.

Air screams with each slash, but the knife never bites its mark. 

Mick is raging, blind bloody fury but Ryker is serpentine grace, every bit as slithery and fluid as his namesake.  And with every missed swing, Ryker strikes back.  Fists lash out and return, knuckles covered in blood and leaving behind crunched cartilage and battered bone.

Another errant swing from Mick. 

Ryker steps in and, in one smooth motion, clutches Mick around the back of his neck.  A quick pull brings Mick's face down to forcefully meet Ryker's rising knee.

I watch his nose break.  I hear the garbled
uumf
as Mick's body shudders at the blow.  Thick blood streams from the man's shattered face.

Exhaling, Ryker lets go of his old friend's neck.  Mick collapses to the ground.

Another sigh, Ryker steps back, looking down at Mick. 

Then he looks to me.

"I didn't want to do that.  I wanted him to leave," he says.

I just look at him in shock.  I feel like I'm watching everything from outside my body.

Groaning, Mick starts to move.  He pushes himself to his knees.  There's a glint of steel and he lunges forward.

Before I know it, Ryker has his gun out again. 

He doesn't flinch. 

His face is a mask of cold stone.

One quiet
crack
ends his best friend's life. 

The bullet takes him right in the forehead.

The only sound afterward is the clattering of the shell casing as it hits the tile floor and Ryker releasing one weary breath.

He kneels over his Mick's dead body. 

Gently, with gloved hands, he slides the eyelids shut.  He places his gun in Mickey's hands, tightens the man's grip around the hilt, planting fingerprints, before tossing it to me.

"Fire it.  Once.  You need the residue on your hands."

Even gutted, even mourning his only friend, Ryker Blackwood is a professional.  He's setting up the scene.  I fire the gun into the wall, then toss it away.

"I'm sorry, Mick," he whispers to his dead friend.

In the distance, I hear sirens.  Many sirens.  And they're drawing closer.  Someone must've called in to report the gunshots and the screaming.

"We need to go.  Now."  He says.  It's less a statement, more a command.

And it thrills me.  My heart leaps just seeing him, knowing he came back for
me
, because he cares.  He came back, despite having his freedom, everything he had been working towards for years.  He cares.

But can I really leave? 

"No," I reply.  It's the hardest thing I've ever said or done.  I have to dig deep into my soul to pull that one word out.

"What do you mean,
no?"

"I'm not leaving Connor."

My brother's still a motionless mess on the floor.  I'd run to him, but right now, I don't feel like I can even move.  Ryker takes two steps, and takes hold of my brothers wrist.

"He'll be ok.  His pulse is strong.  The cops will take care of him.  Now, come on."

He still doesn't get it.

I know the risks he took coming back.  I know that, behind the killer's mask he wears, he's a good man.  I'll always respect his sacrifice.  But I can't leave my brother — my last remaining family member — bleeding out on my kitchen floor.  As much as I want to take Ryker's outstretched hand and join him in his life on the run, as much as I want to wake up every day in his arms and feel protected in his embrace, I can't.

"No.  I'm not leaving him."

He looks heartbroken.

"You know I can't stay here, right?  They'd take me away, and I'd never see Kylie again.  I'd lose
everything
.  But if you just come with me, we can make it work.  We can have it all together.  A new life.  We can leave this mess and never look back.  Please.  I want you.  I
need
you."

Ryker, how I wish I could take your hand.  If there were any way.

I look away.  Down at the floor.  Teardrops fall from my face, mixing with the pooled blood on the tiles.

"I can't…  I can't leave him.  Don't you get it?  It's because of me he's shot, it's my fault.  I can't abandon him… And even more, If I disappear and leave my brother and a hitman dead on my kitchen floor, just think what it will do to his life.  He'll be fucked.  Jesus, Ryker, I'd never be able to look him in the eyes again, knowing what I did."

"Jessica, please.  Come with me.  This is our chance.  Our only chance.  You know I can't risk any more than I have.  You know I can't bear leaving you."

I look up. 

My tears are reflected in his eyes.  My pain, my fears, my
hurt
is staring me right in the face.

"No, Ryker.  The only way I can fix this is if I stay.  I won't go with you.  I
can't
."

"Fix this?  Do you realize the mess you're in?  The cops will be here any second.  And I promise you, they are the least of your problems, because Michael Drax wants you dead."

I shake my head.

"I don't care.  I'm not leaving.  Maybe you should go."

Those words unleash something within Ryker.  Or maybe it's how I say them — unyielding, resolute, final.  Fear and hurt turn to rage within him — I watch the change on his face — and suddenly, that angry god is back in my kitchen. 

He cracks my kitchen table with a blow.

"Do you even understand what I've sacrificed —  what I've risked — just coming back to save you? 
Everything,
Jessica.  I killed my only friend, my mentor, for you.  I risked my daughters life, for you.  And this is how you repay me?  You ungrateful…"

The words die off, choking in pain, but I know what he was going to say.  I feel every word deep in my soul.

And the worst part?  I agree with it.  All of it. 

He's right to feel that way.  I know I can't leave, but I also know he's risking so much for me.  And all because we got so close.  This goes so far beyond just being professional.  He's let me inside of his life, he's opened himself to me in a way that made him vulnerable.  And now he's paying the price.

I can barely see for the tears in my eyes.  My heart feels like it's shattered, but somehow, it pumps enough blood so that I can stand. 

I can scream.

And I do. 

I scream with every bit of pain that's boiling inside me right now.

I scream because I can't have him, even though I want him more than anything.  I scream because I love him, but he's asking the impossible of me.

I scream, and I chase him away, because it's the only thing I can do.

"Get out. 
Get out
.  You
ruined
my life.  I
hate you
, Ryker Blackwood."

I want him gone.  I don't want any more reminders of the man I've hurt.  The man I love.  The man who's love put me in this position where my brother is bleeding out on the floor, where everything in my life is upside down.

"Goodbye for good, Jessica Roan."

Those simple words.  Barely above a whisper.  And yet more powerful than if he'd screamed them.

He whirls.  The angry god that goes by the name Ryker Blackwood leaves my apartment.  Leaves my life.  And, like I'm sure has happened many times before, there are dead bodies in his wake. 

He doesn't look back.