Dark Savior: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (17 page)

We explode in harmonious ecstasy, rocking back and forth in unity while the carnal pleasure robs our minds. After the last thrill is over, there’s nothing left but heated air and the two of us breathing heavily.

She looks up at me through fogged eyes, strands of hair sticking to her sweaty face.

“You’re insane,” she whispers.

I smirk at her and collapse onto the bed next to her.

“You’re insanely beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes. “Charmer.”

Brat. I force her into my arms, which she lets happen without protest.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers. “This week has been crazy.”

“Ditto,” I reply. “I hate sharing you this much. Here I was, thinking I could see as much of you as I want after putting that ring on your finger.”

She beams up at me and instinctively reaches for the diamond ring on her left hand. Two weeks have passed since I asked the question I never thought I’d pose to anyone. Joseph thought I was joking when I told him that I’ll make this girl my wife. She’s too young, too naive, too innocent, he said. Just a pretty little girl I picked up, like many others before her.

But what does he know? Nothing, that’s what. There are a lot of lies surrounding our relationship. Meadow can’t be the suicidal girl I picked up while finishing a dirty job. I didn’t want anyone knowing about that part. We both agreed on that. It shouldn’t matter what others think about us, but it does matter when it could harm her.

Meadow wanted to go as far as to give herself a new identity. She had left her old life behind, that decision didn’t change even when she no longer wanted to die. She knew I had the resources to help her arrange the necessary papers to take that step, but I never felt completely comfortable with it. Marrying will make things legitimate. She will have a name that’s truly hers — our name. She will have a home, and a family. I feel like the strongest man on Earth to be able to provide that for her. It’s even better than making her orgasm like a bitch in heat over and over, again and again.

Despite Joseph’s mocking, I have absolutely no doubt that this is the right thing to do. She belongs to me, next to me, forever. Meadow was meant to become mine, and I was meant to become hers. Horrible things have happened to lead us to each other, but something great came out of it.

“I would tell my clients that my future husband can’t do without me,” she whispers. “But that wouldn’t change the fact that they need me.”

Despite the lasting sorrow that has claimed her, Meadow is smiling. She’s needed, not only by me, but by the women she works with.

“I know,” I say, kissing her at the temple. “I won’t be so cruel as to rob you from them. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

“I hope so.”

She sighs and cuddles up to me. “It’s grueling, but so fulfilling at the same time.”

“I know,” I say.

Meadow has become the biggest asset in my newest endeavor. Together, we found a way to do our bit in the war against the kind of evil I used to eradicate by other means before. The blood on my hands had not yet dried when I met Meadow for the first time, and I felt that all I could do to improve some people’s lives was to take the life of others. Killing fire with fire. Sometimes, it still burns inside of me, this rage to kill, to take revenge for all those who can’t do it on their own.

When Meadow learned about my financial means and the desire to start something new, it didn’t take long for her to come up with the idea for a foundation.

“A foundation to help,” she said. “A place where women who have become victims can go.”

I have to admit, I was skeptical at first. After all, I was looking to invest my assets into something promising, and I couldn’t see how Meadow’s idea of a private foundation could be monetized. I liked the idea of building something useful, something that would help both of us help others, something that would approach the problems I’ve been dealing with from a different angle. The solution revealed itself to us when a for-profit organization showed interest in working with us, and I saw a way of not only helping in a charitable way, but also providing profits and a sustainable income.

I’m proud of our work, and especially of Meadow. She busted her ass to give meaning to her life in a way that satisfies her. She received the necessary training to become a counselor, and she’s still taking some extra courses even now that she’s allowed to work with clients. It’s been the reason why we have had to spend so much time apart these past few weeks.

I wish I could claim this girl all to myself, but I know I can’t. It would be selfish to deprive the world of her. She almost made that mistake but I showed up just in time to keep her from going through with it.

Our eyes meet and I see nothing but contentment and exhaustion in hers.

“I’m going to fall asleep,” she breathes.

“That’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“Good.”

She sighs and a mellow smile graces her face as she dozes off in my arms.

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CAUGHT

A Hitman Romance

CHAPTER ONE

Mars

One last hit. It needs to be perfect.

Clean, quick and no witnesses—like every hit before.

I squint through the night vision scope, constantly keeping an eye on that one door in the middle of the narrow alley. I know that’s where he will be coming through, just him. No companion, no bodyguards. He will be alone.

I pull up my scarf until it covers most of my face, all except the eyes. A simple precaution. The scarf, in combination with a simple black skullcap hides my face well enough to make it close to impossible to identify me, in case I get seen.

Of course, that never happens. I am careful and thorough in what I do.

Weeks of research and stalking lie behind me. I’ve studied this guy inside out, his habits, his everyday life, his usual hangouts. Wherever he was, I was, too, constantly on his tail. Sometimes he was aware, because we know each other and it’s not uncommon for us to be in the same place at the same time. But most of the time he had no idea, and he certainly had no clue that I was following and watching him.

There is not much consistency in his life. He’s a mobster, just like all of my targets. A guy like him doesn’t follow a normal routine, a simple life with a job, a wife, some friends, maybe even kids. Luckily, he doesn’t have any of that. It makes eradicating him a lot easier, at least in that regard.

However, it’s not like he’s an easy target in general. He’s smart, experienced and usually well guarded. This douche has been in the business for long enough to know his way around. Even when there is no imminent threat to his life, he is always prepared. He even hired a bodyguard, but only has him around when he’s close to the club for some reason. The mob’s hangout spot. At least it used to be, before everything went to shit.

There are just two things that make this a lot easier for me. First, he doesn’t know what’s coming. There is no particular reason for him to assume that someone might be after him, especially me. After all, we used to be close enough for others to call us friends. That’s just them, though. I’ve never seen him as a friend, but more as a necessity.

I could never call someone like him a friend.

I straighten up and stretch, relaxing my face for just a moment, before I scan the surroundings down below. Just as I hoped, the streets are still empty. Not many people like to walk around in this neighborhood at night. It was one of the reasons for me to choose this spot. That alley, that door.

The second thing that makes this job easier for me is his need for women. Cheap and quick women. Why on earth he chooses to come to this particular brothel, I will never understand. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money to go somewhere else, pay for better quality and frequent a better location. Less shady, safer and more enjoyable, I would assume.

But for some reason, he goes to this place. Twice a week. It’s one of the few constants in his otherwise unpredictable lifestyle. He arrives at eleven in the evening and leaves shortly after midnight. Every single time. There has not been one exception since I started observing him.

It’s almost midnight now and I’m beginning to get tense.

Soon. Very soon all of this will be over. I’ll finally be out and free of this shit.

This job has taken its toll. Every single hit left a mark on my already dark soul, and I hate it with a passion. Truth is, I wanted out as soon as I started it, but that’s not how it works. You don’t just quit working for the mob like you would quit any other job, hand in your notice and be gone a few weeks later.

A nasty grin finds its way on my face as I think about it. What a silly thought. Quitting the mob. It’s impossible.

Well, I’m about to do exactly that. Achieve the impossible

Clean. Quick.

No witnesses.

I glance around one more time, my eyes scanning the street fifteen stories below, checking windows and doors of the surrounding houses. There’s light in some of them, but I don’t see a single person. No eyes that are looking up to the edge of the roof where I’m all set up with my rifle, ready to flee the scene once the job is done. Though, tonight is not a job per se, but more of a personal errand. My ticket to freedom—and one fewer asshole in this world.

I get back into position and continue to focus on the door, squinting through the scope with my heartbeat racing as if this was my first hit. I am nervous, which is weird. My hands are sweaty and my mouth is dry. It annoys the hell out of me. I cannot lose my cool tonight.

It’s not the hit itself that has me unraveled, but what comes after it. The prospect of a life that is free of this deed. A life that no longer forces me to stain my hands with blood, though I have tried to avoid literally getting my hands dirty for the longest time.

There were exceptions, but most of my hits have been carried out with my sniper rifle, a loyal companion for years. I have always had a good aim, a special talent that can hardly be used for a good cause. It’s good for killing, and that’s that. Killing from afar with one clean shot.

After all, why be messy? A good aim, a reliable rifle with a strong suppressor, that’s how I like to operate. That’s how I intend to finish this last blow as well.

Any moment now.

I will have to be quick. He will open the door, but won’t step out of the building before checking the alley left and right. That’s what he does. He doesn’t want to be seen here. I have been sitting in this exact same spot again and again, watching him through the scope of my rifle with no intention of pulling the trigger. It was just my way of making sure that he doesn’t change his routine, that his actions will be predictable when I am ready to take him out.

He always pokes his head out first, looks left, then right, before he steps out, letting the door close behind him while he scurries off to the left, toward the building that I am sitting on. As soon as the door closes shut, that’s my moment. That’s when it will happen.

My last hit.

As the tension grows, I do what always do when the circumstances allow it: I whistle a little melody. It’s always the same. The catchy and short refrain of a song that my mother used to sing to calm us down after the yelling stopped. It still works its magic.

My eyes are glued to the door, and that’s where they’ll remain until the deed is done. Now is the time to focus. I will have to trust my ears and instincts in regards to my immediate surroundings.

Tonight is the first night where they will fail me.

I am on my knees, squinting through the scope with all my attention on the back door of a low class brothel, when things are finally set in motion. The door opens, and everything that follows happens extremely fast.