KNOCKED UP BY THE KILLER: A Hitman Baby Romance Page 3

  But when she comes to the door, I can tell she’s scared. Her mascara is smudged down her cheeks. Her hair is a wild mess. Her skirt is hiked up near her hips. Selena Russell has bright green eyes and they are wet with tears and wide with fear.

  Immediately, I go into military mode, taking in every entrance and exit, every possible scenario. I meet Selena’s gaze and mouth, “You okay?”

  She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, just as Kovolov comes stomping out, smoothing his hair with one hand, his other hand balled into a fist as he screams in Russian. He’s blind with anger, doesn’t even seem to see me as he barrels toward her. She puts up her hands, screams for him to stop, but he keeps coming, a predator fixated on his prey.

  It’s pure instinct when I step in front of her, punching him in the face hard enough to make his nose crack and his head fly back. He falls to the ground, dazed long enough for me to grab Selena by the hand. We run from her apartment, out to my car. I open the door and shove her inside before running to the driver’s side. I’ve barely got the door shut when I see him come out. I start the engine and squeal away, blocks away before I even dare to take a breath.

  Selena stares out the window the whole drive, shocked, I guess. It’s fine; gives me time to think about what a spectacularly stupid thing I just did. What the fuck? It’s none of my goddamned business what was going on between Kovolov and this woman. The only reason I even give two shits about her is because her husband owes me money. Fuck. I could have gone to her boss directly, worked something out. It’s obvious he wants her. Why wouldn’t I just let him have her, work out a payment from him, walk away?

  This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, hands down. Not only do I now have this scared, naïve woman to deal with, but I’ve started a war with the fucking Russian mafia.

  We pull down into the underground parking garage at my building having not said one word to each other the whole 30-minute drive from Brooklyn to Queens. When I get out, she stays in the car, either frozen with fear or shock, I don’t know. I open the passenger door and grab her by the arm, roughly pulling her out, to her feet, along with me.

  My apartment’s nothing special. It’s a one-bedroom place in a building that looks like nothing. It suits me fine.

  “Sit down,” I say. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  Selena’s like a ghost as she makes her way to the oversized leather armchair. She sits on the edge, like she just can’t quite relax. Not that I blame her.

  I pour us both a double of whisky, handing her the glass and sitting on the couch heavily. I feel weary all of the sudden.

  “What am I gonna do with you?” I ask, more to myself than to her.

  She sips her whisky, making a face as she swallows. Not a liquor drinker, I see.

  “He was going to …” She takes another quick sip, grimacing. Tears leak down onto her cheeks. She looks a hot mess.

  “Yeah,” I say, gruff. “He probably was.”

  She’s quiet a long time. When she finally speaks again, she says, “I feel like I should thank you, but I’m honestly not sure I’m any safer here.”

  “Fair enough,” I grunt.

  We sit in silence for a long while, processing. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking but now I’ve got to live with my decision. It’s likely that Kovolov will have the girl’s apartment watched, so we can’t go back there right away. Anything of value in that place is now out of reach, so I’ve fucked up my own plan to get something out of this mess Matt Russell left behind. Fucking coward.

  I know one thing for sure: I’ll beat that motherfucker’s face in when I catch him.

  Chapter Four

  Selena

  Finnegan O’Hare is a big man. Muscular but also tall, he takes up a lot of space. And it’s not just his size. His presence is big. Even without his sheer size, his character would fill the room on its own. He’s terrifying.

  But also … attractive. He’s got ruddy cheeks and blue eyes. His hair is reddish-brown, on the longer side, like he can’t be bothered to get a haircut. He wears jeans and work boots and a plaid button-down. He looks like an overgrown frat boy. His nose has been broken once or twice, from the way it’s set slightly to one side. He’s got a thin scar under his right eye. His hands are huge.

  He doesn’t make me feel safe. That much I know. Just being around him makes my shoulders hurt, my toes tingle. I feel like running, but I know he’d overpower me before I could even get out of my chair. But he saved me from Sergei. If he hadn’t come, if he hadn’t done what he did, Sergei would have raped me. He would have ripped me apart and left me with nothing.

  I assume Finnegan isn’t a rapist. Or at least not at the moment. He’s stewing over there, figuring out his options. I can feel him thinking. It’s oppressive.

  If I were Finnegan O’Hare, what would I be thinking right now? He punched Sergei in the face—that can’t be good. Especially if Sergei is really in with the Russian mafia. Now he’s made an enemy, though I suppose he has plenty already. Finnegan doesn’t seem the kind of guy who’d be worried that someone hated him.

  I open my mouth but shut it again, unsure what I actually mean to say. He looks at me, eyes narrowed.

  “I … appreciate … what you did. But I still don’t have your money. And now I’m pretty sure I don’t even have a job since you punched my boss in the nose,” I say. My voice is shaky.

  “Well, who wants to work for a rapist?” he asks. “Unless, maybe you like it rough like that?”

  “I don’t … no,” I say. “My things are all at the apartment. I found a few things … a watch, a bracelet. I could give them to you. They won’t be worth what he owed you, but it’s something. And the car. I don’t know if it’s worth anything, but … well, I never wanted a car anyway. So you can take it. Get what you can for it.”

  “That shit’s gone,” he says. “He’ll have someone watching. I took something he feels is his. You understand that? He set his mind to having you and he’ll want you back, even if it’s just to finish fucking you. Then he’ll kill you. The shit in that apartment doesn’t matter. You don’t live there anymore. You got that?”

  I feel my chin wobble, the lump in my throat unavoidable as I realize my entire life is in shambles. I cry in earnest, huge, ugly sobs that have me nearly bent in half as I realize what Matt Russell has done to me. He’s left me with nothing. Not even a shred of clothing, because my dress is torn up the front, ruined from wrestling away from Sergei. My purse, my whole identity—all gone.

  I literally have nothing but the unwanted attention of two very dangerous men.

  It makes me angry. Who do these men think they are? Even Matt, who never wanted me to work, never wanted me to have a life outside of the one he curated for me. He wanted a trophy wife, a beautiful woman to be at his side at Wall Street events. He wanted me home, waiting for him, ready to be at his beck and call. All the while, he was spending money, gambling, taking loans he couldn’t possibly repay. And Sergei Kovolov, a powerful man, so nice to give me a job. Oh, but he wants between my legs. Wants me at his beck and call. The dirty secretary who blows him under his desk, no doubt. And finally, Finnegan O’Hare, the loan shark. The man who cares nothing about anything other than money. My knight in shining armor. Christ. Another man who will want to control me.

  I’m fuming as I let these thoughts swirl in my head with the alcohol. I’m not a heavy drinker. I had two glasses of wine at dinner, one at home. Now a double of whiskey and my head is fuzzy. Rational thoughts are making way for irrational ones that include me getting up and raging on Finnegan O’Hare, my fists pummeling against his hard chest as I cry.

  To his credit, he doesn’t get angry. He just grabs ahold of my wrists, his big hands easily encircling them, making me feel he could snap my bones with very little effort. He holds me in place and I meet his eyes. There is mostly willfulness there, but also some softness, some compassion as well.

  “Look, you can work for me. Stay here. Pay off your debt. It’ll be safe
r. If I can get into the apartment to get you some things, I will. If not, we’ll get you what you need,” he says, somewhat resigned.

  “You got me into this,” I say. “I can’t go home because of what you did.”

  “That’s some kind of gratitude, lady,” he says with a dark laugh.

  “Gratitude?” I say, teeth clenched as I try to wrestle my hands free from his grip. “What am I thanking you for? For helping me lose my job? For ensuring I can’t go to my own home? Fuck you. It isn’t even my debt!”

  “Look,” he growls, his hands tight around my wrists, no matter how hard I fight, “I’m offering you the best I can offer. Stay here, be safe, work off your debts.”

  “I’m just a secretary,” I say. “What could I possibly do for you that would get me even close to earning back money I don’t even owe? And don’t say I can fuck you or suck your cock or whatever, because I’m no whore.”

  “Never said you were,” he answers, trying to hold back a smirk.

  Obviously, he thinks this is some kind of joke. It pisses me off. I feel the scream of rage way down in my belly before it comes out of my throat.

  ***

  Finn

  I have to let go of one wrist in order to cover her mouth with my hand. I doubt there’s anyone within hearing range right now, but I don’t need the cops showing up to investigate screaming. Somehow, I manage to twist her around so she’s in my lap, one of my hands over her mouth, the other arm across her chest, holding both of her wrists. She squirms and while I’ve never gotten off on rape, I am not immune to the feel of a sexy ass against my cock.

  I don’t know what to do with this woman. She can’t go home. She can’t just show up at her job tomorrow. I mean, I guess she could, technically. She could explain that I’m a shark, that I was after her on a loan her deadbeat husband skipped out on. She could play victim, get on her knees. She could give him what he wants and beg for his protection and forgiveness.

  He’s vain as hell. And he might make her do some demeaning sexual thing before saying yes, but he’ll have what he wants—her body, power over her … he’ll have her right where he wants her. Will he pay off her husband’s debts? Probably. I could be out of this mess, out of this picture. She’ll just have one asshole to manage.

  I saw her, though. She doesn’t want him. He was hurting her. Sending her back to him, no matter how many problems it fixes, will put her in further danger. She’ll be raped. Maybe worse. Can I live with that? Obviously not, since I punched him in the face for coming at her tonight.

  Fuck. I’m so fucking stupid. I let myself get too involved. Now we’re both fucked.

  “I’m going to let you go, Selena,” I say. “But don’t scream. If you scream, I’ll shove a gag in your mouth. Got it?”

  She nods, whimpering a little. I let go slowly. She’s breathing heavily, sagging against my body. She stays there even after I drop my hands. It’s a smart move, because it gives me pause. It confuses me enough that she’s able to get up and off my lap and toward the door before I can grab her.

  She’s not fast enough, though. I get to her just as she reaches out for the door handle. I grab her, flip her over my shoulder, and march toward the bedroom. I’ve got a slatted headboard that will work nicely for keeping dumbass women from running off into the street. There are zip ties in my nightstand. I work them onto her wrists, tying her to the headboard, assuring the ties are tight enough to hold her, loose enough that they don’t cut off her circulation.

  “Where the fuck you gonna go?” I ask once she’s secured, a torn piece of T-shirt over her mouth so she won’t scream. “No money? No ID? Don’t be fucking stupid.”

  Her dress is even more ripped now from our little battle by the doorway. Just because I’m an animal, I tear it all the way up, pulling it away, revealing the most luscious body I’ve ever seen. She works out, and there’s not a spare ounce of fat on her. Her breasts are more than a handful, creamy and spilling out of her white silk bra. Her hips are shapely, filling out her panties.

  How long since I’ve had a woman? Work’s been keeping me busy and I’ve lost track. A month? Two months? And no matter, because no one I’ve seen looks like Selena Russell. Her long hair is all over my pillows. Her full mouth is stretched over the makeshift gag and her body is stretched out and long, starting with her arms, tight above her head. What I wouldn’t give to fuck that sweet body right now. I’m hard just looking at her, a fact that does not go unnoticed. Her eyes are wide in her beautiful face as she takes in the way my cock strains inside my jeans.

  “You want to see how big it is?” I ask, the monster starting to take over for the man.

  I unzip and pull out my cock, stroking it as I savor every inch of Selena’s smooth skin. “You’re a fucking piece of artwork, you know that, little girl? Your body is fucking perfect. I see why he wanted you so badly.”

  She watches as I stroke myself. At first, I see fear in those eyes. She’s right to be afraid, right to wonder if I’ll force her the way he was going to force her. But then, I see things change. I see the hard peaks of her nipples push against the thin fabric of her bra. She rubs her thighs together, closing her eyes. I push her legs apart and, yes, there is the telltale sign in a small spot of wetness. I keep stroking, wanting nothing more than to taste those juices, than to bury myself inside that warm slot.

  She twists, pushing her legs together again, trying to make her body stop feeling the way it feels. I like it.

  But the man emerges as quickly as he disappears, and he forces the monster back. This isn’t the right time, no matter how badly I want it. No matter how much I think she’ll like it. I shove myself back into my pants roughly enough to cause pain, in hopes it will quell the desire I feel.

  “I’m going out,” I say. “You’re going to stay here until I get back. Kapisch?”

  She nods. I pull off my clothes right in front of her, giving her a view of my body. I’m pretty sure I hear a little whimper once I’m fully naked. I pull on my running shorts, shirt, socks, and shoes. I need to get some of this energy out. I need to think. I need a solution to this dumbass problem I’ve created for myself.

  I’ve got to get out of here.

  Chapter Five

  Selena

  I’ve never seen a body like that. Finnegan’s body is … oh my God. Yes, that’s the word—he’s a god. He must work out three hours a day. His ass. His huge cock. His defined abs and pectorals. I’m embarrassed at how my body reacted to his, especially when his whole act was designed to intimidate me. Tying me up? Looking at me like he wanted nothing more than to devour me? Pulling his dick out and stroking it like that?

  The thing is, I didn’t feel the darkness from him that I felt from Sergei. When Sergei touched me, it was with power in mind. He wanted to show me who was boss, who owned me if I accepted his help. And the more I said no, the more he wanted to establish control, the more he wanted to hurt me.

  With Finnegan, I felt something different. Yes, mind games, for sure. But there was real attraction there, almost a surprised attraction. He liked what he saw. He wanted to take ownership but he pushed that desire down, forced it away.

  My core is aching just thinking of him, but I snap out of it, realizing that if I can get loose of these restraints, I can run. I can get away, maybe disappear like Matt did.

  I have very slim wrists, very small hands, so I work against the plastic zip ties and the more I work at them, they stretch a little. I’m able to get one hand almost free but then I hear the door. He’s home. I don’t have enough time to get the other hand loose before he comes in here to check on me, so I push my nearly-free hand back through the loop. Just in time, too, as he walks in a moment after I’m back in my restraint.

  He undresses in front of me again, his body slick with sweat, his scent masculine. Why does this man turn me on like this? He’s literally holding me hostage.

  He stands at the side of the bed, completely nude. “I’ve got a plan,” he says. “We’re going to get t
hat money from your boss.”

  I try to respond but the gag is still in place. He pulls it away and I say, “That’s nuts, Finnegan. He’s powerful and dangerous. He’ll kill us both.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if he’s the king of Egypt,” he says. “We’re going to extort that Russian piece of shit for all he’s worth. And it’s Finn. No one calls me Finnegan.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  Finn leans over me, his scent powerful and heady and making me kind of insane with desire suddenly. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve read about Stockholm Syndrome. Is that what this is?

  He checks my wrists and tsks at me like an old lady. “Selena,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Your right hand is red and scratched. You tried to get out of your restraints, didn’t you?”