The Hit Page 7

  “I’ve never experienced anything like this.” Violet nudges my neck with her nose and breathes in, and it is so fucking sweet.

  Me neither. I don’t say it, though, and I’m not sure why. I’m not playing games with her. I’m just … getting used to it myself. Taking it all in, the enormity of the emotions she’s making me feel.

  “You need to move your stuff in here,” is what I say instead. Shocking myself as much as her if the jolt she gives at my words is anything to go by.

  “What?”

  “You, in here, with me. You’re not a guest here any longer.”

  “What am I?”

  “You’re mine.” I tip her chin up and kiss the tip of her nose.

  “And … are you mine?” She’s hesitant as fuck to ask.

  I get it. I’ve not told her I love her or given her flowery words. Maybe she thinks I mean I’m keeping her … as my gift, which I do, which is sick. But I also mean it on a deeper level. One that goes both ways.

  “Of course. I think I was from the moment you nearly slipped on the ice. I most definitely was when I threatened to spank you and saw you wanted it almost as much as your next breath.”

  We’ve only a moment ago done fucking, but her eyes darken, and her cheeks flush with color.

  “You know what I’m going to do?”

  “What?” She’s all breathy whispers when she answers, and it’s making me hard again.

  “I’m going to go into some old-fashioned fucking store, one of those places that still has a haberdashery department, and I’m going to buy a fuck-ton of thick silky ribbon, and I’m going to tie you up in it. Then you’ll really be my gift.”

  “You’re insane,” she says, but she likes the idea because her flush gets brighter and spreads down her neck.

  “Anyway, you can hardly have me wrapped up in a pretty little bow while these men are here guarding me and Justina, can you?”

  “Oh, I won’t keep you like it always, only now and again, when I want to admire you all packaged up and gift wrapped for me.”

  “What about … you know? Your other women?”

  I give her my full attention, tipping her chin so I know she’s looking at me. “There aren’t any. I sent messages to the two women I had an arrangement with and told them it was over.”

  I reach over to the nightstand and take out my phone. “Here.” I put the number in to access the screen, not bothering she can see it. I don’t have any secrets to hide from her now, and I hope to fuck she doesn’t have any more she’s hiding from me. I bring up the messages I sent and let her see them.

  “Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” she says, reading them.

  I frown. Is it? It’s to the point, no messing about, honest. We weren’t anything to one another, so I didn’t think it needed softening up.

  “Will you be as harsh when you’re done with me.”

  “Oh, my little one you don’t get it, do you? I don’t ever plan on being done with you.”

  On those words, I get out of the bed and head into the bathroom, turning the shower on as I take a piss.

  “Come on,” I shout out of the bathroom door when I’m done peeing. “Get yourself in here, and we can wash up together.”

  She does as I say, getting out of the bed and walking toward me.

  She’s a dream. Long light hair, big eyes, slim petite frame, and tits that are gloriously and naturally too big for it.

  I want her again. By the time she reaches me, I’m as hard as a rock.

  I pull her into the shower and turn her to face the wall. Taking my extortionate shower gel, I squirt some in my hands then rub it slowly all down her back, over her tight ass, and down her thighs and then in between her legs.

  She has her hands on the wall above her head, legs spread, in a prisoner pose. As if I’m the cop and she’s getting a pat down.

  I line myself up with her from behind. “You sore?” I ask.

  She turns her head, giving me her profile. “Only a little, take it easy this time.”

  And I do. We enjoy a glorious, slow fuck, me biting at her neck and ears, and her moaning into the tiles as the water thunders down around us.

  I stroke her clit and move gently in and out of her. When I feel her contract around me, I find my release as if I’m primed to go off when she does.

  For a moment, as I pump my cum into her, I’m tempted to murmur I love her. I don’t. I bite the words back. I don’t know if I do love her or am obsessed with her, or if it’s the same fucking thing.

  I once read a psychology book that claimed love was a form of mental illness. That when we fall in love we lose all reason and do crazy things for it. Some people get addicted to the feeling, the author claimed. I’d rolled my eyes at the time, but now I get it.

  Fuck me, do I get it. If this is falling in love. If this is what it feels like, it’s the best high I’ve ever had.

  I wrap my arms around her as I pull out of her, and I remember the other stuff the book said, about how well adjusted people let the initial high mellow into something more permanent and as rewarding in its own way. Fucked up people, they need the high all the time, so they search for it over and over again. They blow up their marriages, other people’s marriages, their careers. I’d thought them weak at the time, but now I hope I’m not like them, because if I could be normal and do this right, I think I’d like this to deepen. Become something more.

  Trouble is, I don’t know how to go about making it happen.

  Violet turns to me and smiles, and I find myself smiling back. She reaches up for me, puts her arms around my neck, and kisses me. She doesn’t often make the first move at all when it comes to physical contact, and I like that she’s done it. Felt she can do it.

  I kiss her and hold her for a while.

  We both pull away at the same time, and I reach over her to turn the water off.

  When we’re dried and dressed, I decide we need some food. I doubt she’s eaten much, and I haven’t.

  In the kitchen, she perches on a stool by the breakfast bar, reading her Kindle, while I cook up a storm.

  It all feels so … normal, but it’s anything but. It’s a strange fantasy world we’re living in, a temporary madness we’ve inhabited. A place where girls get given to men like me as gifts.

  I want it to be more.

  The truth of it hits me hard, and I almost drop the wooden spoon I’m stirring the pasta sauce with.

  I do want more. No maybe, but definitely.

  Fucked up as I might be, this woman makes me want more.

  I’m positive she does too, but the way we began and the events of yesterday make it seem impossible. I think, at some point, she’ll end up getting her head together, and when she does, she’ll want to leave. She’ll tell herself our relationship is sick, twisted. Maybe it is. I don’t care, though.

  Why should it matter if it makes us both happy? But there needs to be a way to move beyond the past.

  I need to find a way to make this right. To get us to a place where Violet not only wants to stay, but feels she can without betraying her father.

  I don’t know how to do that. I do know how to make her feel safe, though. By never giving her reason to doubt me again.

  The kitchen door opens, and Luka comes in. They would decide to leave the fucking good looking one, wouldn’t they? God, I wonder if Violet thinks he’s gorgeous?

  “Smelled the food, bit hungry. Can I grab a bowl when it’s ready and take it back to the library?”

  Violet pipes up. “Oh, don’t do that, Luka. Eat with us.”

  Fucking marvelous.

  “Yeah, eat with us.” It sounds begrudging, but he ignores my tone and gives me a brief smile. A non-smile. One of those fake smiles that doesn’t meet the givers eyes and is simply a social nicety.

  “Great. Okay.”

  I can tell he’s about as happy at the thought of breaking bread with me as I am at having him at my table.

  Justina comes into the room and settles at the large table
too. She glances at Luka and then at me but doesn’t say anything.

  You could cut the silence and serve it on our plates.

  After a while, Justina starts chatting. It’s bright and breezy and fake as fuck, and she does it as if she’s training in Chatting For England in the Olympics.

  After a while, though, the conversation between her and Luka becomes deeper, more real.

  She’s talking about panic attacks of all fucking things when I tune in, and Luka nods.

  “Had a few of those myself. PTSD related shit, but it’s a lot better now. Therapy.”

  He says the word therapy with a weird mixture of disdain and respect.

  “Course, Cara has helped massively too.”

  He smiles at Justina, and it fades a little.

  “She needed her own therapy after the catastrofuck way we met.”

  “Why? Was how you met bad?” Violet speaks up.

  Luka takes a swig of the alcohol-free beer I’d given him and sighs. “On a scale of one to epic … fucking epic levels of bad.”

  “Epic badness? What happened?” There’s a keenness to her inquiry that’s nothing to do with gossip and everything to do with really wanting to know, and I think it might be due to us and how we began.

  “Long fucking story.” Luka pauses to shovel more food in his mouth.

  “You swear a lot,” Justina observes.

  “Shit, sorry. Habit. If you don’t swear every other word in the Marines, you’re discharged. He smiles at Justina, and she smiles back, and I can tell she’s charmed by the fucker.

  “But yes.” He turns to Violet. “To answer your question, it was bad. Try, I nearly killed her best friend who turned out to be a stalker who kidnapped her, bad.”

  “Whoa!” Justina puts her fork down and stares at Luka. “Really?”

  “Yeah. And you repeat this and I’ll kill you, but it wasn’t a patch on how bad Liam’s meeting with Abi was, and both of us look well-adjusted when you add in how Ethan met Isla. It’s a fucking joke. Still, we’re all happy now. It’s not how you meet, is it? It’s what you make of it after.”

  “How did Ethan meet Isla?” Justina’s eyes are wide.

  “Oh, no. Not my place to go into. Sorry.”

  I can see Violet’s mind working overtime, and she says softly, “Do you honestly believe it’s true, it doesn’t matter how you meet? You can make it work no matter, if you want to?”

  “Fuck yes. I see evidence of it every day. You ask Ethan how he met Isla then you’ll understand. You’d have to get him rat arsed, though, to make him talk. Fucker’s kind of quiet.”

  “Rat arsed.” Justina snorts. “You Brits have the funniest sayings.”

  “Means drunk,” Violet supplies.

  “She knows what it means; it amuses her,” I say.

  “Push the boat out is my favorite,” Justina tells Violet with a chuckle. “What the hell does that mean?’

  And they begin a long, and frankly boring, conversation about sayings, with Luka throwing in a few from the Royal Marines and naval heritage.

  I’m only partially listening because my mind is going over the conversation, and I realize having Luka eat with us was the best thing to happen. I need to find out exactly how Ethan and Isla met. I know it was fucked up, and she was in trouble because of her daddy dearest, so not a million miles away from Violet, but I don’t know the specifics.

  **

  The next couple of days we settle into a routine, a strange one, but a routine nonetheless. One of Liam’s men is always at the house. Mostly, Luka and Liam, but sometimes Ethan too. He’s also doing some other work, so his time here is more limited.

  I’ve had to go out twice, for small jobs, and the guys have then doubled up so two are here. Justina wanted to go shopping the other day, and one of the guys went with her. Liam.

  She’d told me after she tried to flirt with him big time in the car just to fuck with him, but it was like flirting with a rock. I respect Liam; he’s like me. Keeps to himself, Ethan too. Luka’s more chatty, not as much as Reece, but with Reece the shit’s fake. I think with Luka it’s genuine, and he’s pretty happy go lucky. At least he is now. With the therapy.

  Once more, my mind goes to whether or not it would be good for me, or Violet, or both of us. I can’t tell a therapist half the shit in my head, though. I’d be locked up. Patient client privilege be damned, I don’t trust anyone with it. Not even Justina. The stuff I do for Allyov. The stuff I did in the military. It’s wearing me down.

  Speaking of Allyov. Today I have to go see the bastard for a meet at his house. Ever since some loose-lipped idiot told me he’d heard Allyov was looking for a new mistress, I’ve been worried he’s got a leak somewhere. I’ve been looking into it, asking questions, but so far nothing.

  Today, we’re going over the books and he’s showing me the businesses he’s slowly jettisoning in favor of the more legit stuff. After today, I’m going to be more bogged down in his world.

  When I’d asked if he’d be hiring someone new to do the other stuff, the work I’d been doing for him before, he’d shaken his head.

  “Believe it or not, Andrius, those bastards in the legitimate business world are more untrustworthy by a mile than us. I need someone to put the fear of God into them. They must respect me. I have a meeting in a week’s time with a guy from Saudi Arabia, big arms dealer. Legal, but the man is as dodgy as fuck. I want you there. Hit a punch bag the night before, wear a pretty suit, but let him see your hands. Make him understand, we are civilized on the surface, but we like to fight too. I want him to know who and what he’s dealing with.”

  I don’t need to hit a punch bag. I’ll simply untape my right hand and voila, ready-made mashed knuckles.

  There’s a knock at the door. I open it to see Ethan and Liam. Both wearing their ready-made scowls and here to take over from Luka. I’m glad I’m not leaving Violet with Luka. I know he’s attached and all, but he’s too handsome and too chatty for my liking. These two are morose, and it suits me fine.

  “Thank fuck you two are here. I’ve had two harassed texts from the missus, and she’ll have my balls if I’m not back for some family time today.”

  “See you later. Enjoy your family time.” Ethan shoots Luka a smirk, and Luka cuffs the back of Ethan’s head as he leaves.

  “I’ll be gone for around three hours or so,” I tell Ethan.

  “Don’t split up. If Justina wants to go out or shop, she’ll have to wait. Okay?”

  Liam nods. “Yep.”

  Christ, I want to fucking punch him in the face. I’m paying him the going rate for this shit. He works for me. He might not like me or what I do, but right now, he’s my employee. Worse, I saved his fucking wife … girlfriend … whatever she is from facing a murder charge, and this is the thanks I get?

  I take hold of his upper arm and lead him out the door, ignoring him when he gives a death stare to where my fingers grip his bicep.

  “Do you want to dial down the fucking attitude?” I glare at him.

  “Not really.”

  “I saved Abigail from a lot of shit.” I’m talking about his woman, and the help I gave them in covering up a crime that would have put her in jail for a long time. I expected a bit more gratitude for Liam than this.

  “Yes, you did. And I’m grateful.”

  “Is this how you treat all the people you’re grateful to?”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have to like you or be nice to you to do a good fucking job here. It comes down to it? I’ll lay down my life for those women in there. I don’t like what’s going on here between you and that girl. But that’s between you and her, so long as she’s not being held against her will, and I’ve seen no signs of her wanting to leave … yet. So, no, I don’t like you, I don’t like who you mix with, and I definitely don’t like this situation. None of which will stop me from protecting Violet and Justina with everything I have.”

  He gives me a considered look. “I’m surprised you ca
re what I think or how I act.”

  So am I. Something about having a fellow brother in arms being so shitty with me rubs me the wrong way. I don’t say anymore because I’m not about to beg the fucker to be nice to me. Screw him. Let him be a moody fucking shit. As he says, so long as he’s protecting Violet and Justina with his life, we’re good.

  “Fine,” I snap at him, taking out my sunglasses and putting them on before striding to my car.

  I hear Ethan snort as Liam goes into the house and then mutter something I don’t catch. Fucking fuckers.

  By the time I get to Allyov’s, I’m more chilled. Thank God because he greets me with his smirking face, and I need to be calm and focused in this meeting. I’ve got a feeling by asking me to join him, he’s going to be wanting some cash from me. I can afford to buy in, but I need to make sure my money isn’t going to be thrown away on some vanity project or other.

  “Andrius.” He leads me into his house, through the hallway, and into the kitchen where he begins to pour us both coffee from a jug. “How is the Black Widow?” He chortles as if he’s highly amusing.

  He has his back to me, and I have to restrain myself from grabbing one of the knives from the block on the work surface and slitting his throat ear to ear.

  “Andrius.” Donna slinks into the room, and I force a smile on my face. I don’t trust the bitch one iota.

  “Hi, Donna.”

  “I hear you have a girlfriend. This is exciting. Are we going to be having a proper Russian wedding soon? I’ve not bought a formal gown in a while.” She winks at me.

  My first instinct is to roll my eyes at her preposterous idea, but then it settles in my gut, giving me a strangely warm feeling. I can imagine Violet in a white dress, her blonde hair piled on her head. Maybe she’s dancing at the reception and some of her hair has come down, and I simply pick her up and carry her out of there to our room. Hell, some people in my uncle’s village used to do mock bride kidnappings. As soon as the thought pops into my head, I want to be back home with Violet playing at bride and groom. Except the bride is being captured, and I might have to tie her to the bed. I drag my mind back to the room to see Donna watching me with mirth dancing in her green eyes.