My Bad Boy's Secret: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (197 page)

My dad was a big-time biker in a local gang that had a lot of influence in Detroit, so he introduced me to a lot of people who needed certain other people eliminated. I carried out my first murder-for-hire when I was just 17. Of course, I wasn’t sure I could do it at first. But I surprised myself by how quickly I got over killing someone. The money was good, and I could support myself without asking my dad for money. Just a couple years later, he got shot to death by another gang of bikers during a party. I felt bad, since he was my dad after all, but I never was too close to him. I got over it in about a week. Having too many emotions and mixed feelings will most certainly get you killed. 

For years, I was the city’s prime hitman. I had most of the business to myself. The underworld knew that if they wanted someone taken out without the cops finding out, they came to me. The mafia, triads, street gangs; they all knew I was the best. I got paid well for my work, and I thought it was fun. I killed people using many different methods. I always covered my tracks. I never got caught.

Now I’ve screwed it all up for myself. I just had to leave the job unfinished. My bosses aren’t the forgiving type.

I found out about my mistake reading the newspaper. I almost threw up when I read the headline. “Massacre in downtown, lone survivor in critical condition.” Everyone else would find out, and they’d know it was my fault. And they’d make me pay using the only punishment they ever used: a bullet to the head.

I couldn’t waste any time. I grabbed my stuff, all the money I had lying around, got on my bike, and now I’m white-knuckling the handlebars, sweating all over, and trying to think of my next move. I need to get as far away as possible from anyone who knows me.

I just remembered that I had a safe house prepared in Atlanta. I’d been there a few times in the past for work. There was one apartment I rented, a small one-bedroom place where I had some weapons stored. Nothing fancy, and I could go there and blend in. If I was lucky, maybe no one would ever find me.

All right
, I thought,
I’m going to Atlanta.

Chapter 3 – Rose

My first case as a lawyer was a big one. Someone had just carried out a massacre of upcoming witnesses for a major trial against the Blood Brothers, a powerful biker gang. They were untouchable for years, and now the government had an opportunity to cut them down to size. This killing was a huge wrench in the works. Only one person, a girl, survived, and she was in no shape to help with the investigation. I was excited to prosecute this case, and now I couldn’t do that.

The story was nationwide news, and the pressure to find the criminal was extremely high. According to the FBI, whoever did this had been responsible for crimes committed in the past, but the killer had always been careful enough to avoid being caught. Anyone who was able to kill hundreds of people for money and hurt a child definitely had no soul. I wanted to solve this case and put this monster in prison.

We didn’t have much information to work with, and even after a few days, no new information became available. I drove home one night with Amber and Jessica preoccupied with the case and ruminating over the facts. Just as I was about to park in my reserved space, I saw a huge motorcycle taking up two spaces, including mine.

This was a pain in the ass. A man was dismounting. He looked like the sort of person afterschool specials warn kids about. His black hair was long and unruly, and stuck out in all directions. Tattoos of circles, demons, fire, and other creepy images covered his arms and neck, rippling with muscles. His clothes were caked with years of unwashed dirt, oil, and tar. Everything about him was bad news.

“Get out and walk back home,” I told to my kids without turning my head to them. “Lock yourselves in. I’m going to have a talk with this guy.”

The girls obeyed and left. I got out of my car and approached the stranger.

“Excuse me,” I attempted, trying to keep my voice level. I was going with the polite method first. If that didn’t work…I’d have to try something else.

He didn’t respond at all. He must have been ignoring me.

“Sir, excuse me. But you’re taking up two spaces. One of them belongs to me. I need to park my car here,” I tried again.

He faced me this time, and he was obviously not in the mood for conversation, judging by his face.

He scowled toward me.

“I don’t see your damn name on this space,” he gestured at the ground. “Find somewhere else to park. There’s plenty of place elsewhere.”

“I live here. We all have a reserved space. And this one,” I directed at the spot, “isn’t yours.” My blood started to boil.

“Too bad,” he snarled.  “I got here first. Try again next time.”

“If you insist,” I responded with more calm, “I’ll report this to the apartment management. They’ll make you move. I don’t see what’s so hard about just admitting you were wrong”

              He stepped toward me, making me unconsciously take a step back.

              “Listen, lady,” he began. “You don’t want trouble. Neither do I. You don’t want anything bad to happen.”

              “Move, or I’ll get management. I’m sure they want to know about the new thug staying here,” I said, this time raising my voice to what I hoped was a thunder strong enough to scare or convince him.

              At this, the guy shrank slightly. He paused, as if in thought. Then, he began walking briskly towards me. I started moving back to avoid him.

              But he didn’t touch me. Instead, he went to the front of my car. He raised his right leg, and with one swift motion, kicked it. That single kick had enough strength to push my car down the incline. The car was no longer stopped. It was cruising downhill, and picking up momentum. We watched as the car slid down onto a wide street, and the rear crashed into a shallow ditch that was on the opposite end of the apartment.

              My car was totaled. Its rear window was shattered, and it would have to be towed from the ditch before anyone could drive it. I didn’t have any idea how to even estimate the cost.

              For a second, I felt as if I was just having a bad dream. But I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t dreaming. All that had just happened. I had no desire to do anything else today. No motivation to make dinner, do work, or talk to anyone. I just wanted to give up and die.

I didn’t want him to see my crying. I ran back home, praying with all my might that that man would die a horrible death.

Chapter 4 – Blake

Arguing with that bitch felt great when I was doing it. The adrenaline rush was incredible; I hadn’t done anything remotely exciting in over a week. Every day, I just watched TV, surfed the Internet, ate microwavable garbage, and slept. Talking to another human being felt so damn good.

But just like eating fast food, the high I got from doing it immediately went away when I was finished. I replayed the image of the woman’s face as she saw her car, and her running back to her place. I felt like a sack of shit for doing that to her. I’ve done plenty of bad stuff before, but I don’t always go out of my way to be a dick to everyone I meet.

It then hit me like brass knuckles to my face. What if she was so pissed off that she called the cops on me? I’d have my photo taken, I’d get media attention swarming over me, and I’d be as good as dead.

I felt like taking a dump in my pants right then, and I just groaned out loud. I rode all the way out here from Detroit to hide, and now I just outed myself.

But maybe I could still save myself. I could go over and tell her it was all a big misunderstanding, and that I just moved into the neighborhood, and I had a lot of stuff going on in my life that made me snap. I could bring her some random gift, and hopefully convince her not to press charges or whatever.

Or she might still not forgive me and report me anyway.

I still had to at least try to make peace with her. I hated talking to other people and I especially couldn’t stand saying sorry to anyone. In my world, being nice means being weak, and being weak means letting other people step on you. It’s not a good way to stay alive. If I wanted to keep living in Atlanta, I’d have to stay in good standing with everyone I met. And that meant apologizing.

Most women, heck, most people, once they met me, they backed down. The whole community back home knew my reputation. But that redhead didn’t give a damn. She wasn’t scared at all of me. She kept talking back, and I admired her for that. I was so used to intimidating everyone around me that having someone respond like that was actually kind of fun.

Of course, I noticed by just glancing at her once that she was a fox. She was tall and slim, and she just radiated energy with how fast she moved and reacted. The long red hair around her face, plus those shining eyes, legs that stretched on forever, and the breasts on her…I really had to behave myself around her.

I took a shower, put on a light blue dress shirt and black slacks, and walked to a Target nearby. I bought the fanciest and most expensive box of chocolate the store had, and I got a really pricy bottle of champagne as well. Then I summoned all my courage and forced myself to walk over to that woman’s apartment. I didn’t know exactly which number it was, but as soon as I saw a few pairs of kid’s shoes by the front door, I knew that was the one. No one else had little kids with them in this place. This was a cheap and rough part of town. I prepared myself for being cussed out and the door slamming in my face.

Chapter 5 – Rose

The doorbell rang. I peeked through the spyhole and almost threw up. It was him.

He looked…different. His tattoos were covered, since he actually made an effort to dress nicely. In his hands were wine and chocolate. What the hell?

I opened the door just a crack and glared at the douchebag trying to look apologetic. It wasn’t working.

“What do you want?” I asked, putting on my best tough-lady voice.

He stuttered before saying anything.

“Uh, I, uh, here…these are for you. Like a housewarming gift,” he murmured and shoved the gifts to me. I reached out and took them hesitantly.

We stood and stared at each other for a while. He cleaned up quite well; brown hair almost the color black spiked up on his formidable head, while whiskers and a scraggly but well-matching beard lined the bottom of his face. Even standing still, he gave off some sort of don’t-screw-with-me aura. It made me feel wobbly in my legs, and my heart picked up its pace. It was like being back in middle school, and seeing one of my crushes glance at me for a few seconds.

“I just came to say that,” he started and paused for a second, “sorry. For everything that just happened. Me ruining your car. I was an asshole. I just moved in, and I’ve got a lot going on in my life. I should’ve known better.”

This was a surprise. He gave the impression of having an uncontrollable ego when we first met, but now he actually just
apologized
.

At first, I felt like laughing in his face, screaming that I didn’t accept any damn apology from a thug like him, and pushing him out. Hell, I thought about putting his picture on Facebook and warning everybody to avoid this bastard.

And yet I decided to try and forgive him. In an ugly and unfamiliar community, I wanted to have as few enemies as possible. I was impressed that he made the effort to say sorry and make it up to me.

“Why don’t you come in?” I offered to him. He did, and put the bottle and box down on a table. Now he looked even more awkward.