Her Hollywood Hitman: A Dark Romantic Suspense (3 page)

I knew what my father was doing. It was always the same when I came home from school. Even when I’d first moved in after Mom died, he was trying to pimp me out to producers and directors as the next big thing. He could have just
put
me in a movie, I guess, but he wanted people to want me, to come begging for me… like they had for my mom.

Just because I looked like her didn’t mean I was anything like her. I didn’t have that kind of talent. Or really even that kind of beauty. Yeah, I’d wanted to be like her for a year or so after she was gone. But my father wouldn’t have any of it. But suddenly when I’d turned nineteen, he’d gotten the idea that I was some kind of hot commodity.
 

It sent a thrill through me sometimes, to get those compliments, the sly looks from directors. It made me uncomfortable too, when their eyes lingered too long, when they talked about the B-list movies they wanted to put me in. I’d escaped trouble so far. I was a good kid, or I tried to be. I tried to remind myself that I didn’t want to end up like Mom.

My mom ended up beaten within an inch of her life, found on Goleta Beach near the university. No trace of who did it, and she was in a coma by the time she’d gotten to the hospital. Gone eight hours later.

The Hollywood Rose, first of the great African American starlets in the 1970s.

I don’t think that Art understood it. Why wouldn’t I want to be like her? Well, I could only remember how she ended up. I wasn’t around when she was famous. Just when she was drunk, sad, and dead.
 

I’d go to the party. It was always an interesting sociological study to see how the Hollywood girls tried to whore themselves out to the directors, producers, and casting agents at these parties. I usually just kept to myself, but for some reason, that Red guy was coming along as a bodyguard. Maybe my dad thought it made me more legit. Maybe the folks would think I was already big if I had a bodyguard.
 

And maybe… whatever. I’d have to ditch Red as soon as I got there. That was the only way I’d have a little fun … let off a little steam. I was normally so good back at school, but here, I could slip into a different personality. Even if it wasn’t the personality my dad was looking for.
 

I knew for sure I’d need to be away from Red if I was drinking. I knew that from the moment in my dad’s office. I normally didn’t feel that way about any man, but this one felt dangerous. Like a chasm you stare down into, imagining yourself jumping. Taking that hard dive off the edge. Like I was about to jump off a cliff. Like I
wanted
to.

I shook out my hair, trying to get him out of my head. I knew what he did, or at least I had a pretty good idea. My dad didn’t think I knew anything about his business, or the lengths he went to make sure that he kept his place as one of the top producers in the world. To invest all the money he did, he had to have a lot of people on his payroll. And that didn’t come without making enemies. Red was Dad’s protection against… whatever my dad was involved in.

And it was best not to really think about that. After all, Art Sanchez was my only family.
 

I combed out the thick curls that fell around my face and pulled a dress out from the closet, feeling the fine silken fabric between my fingers. It was a designer piece my dad had made for me, perfectly fitted to my body, in jewel green fabric that complemented my complexion. I pulled it on and shook myself into it, letting it hug my curves just as it was made to do. I glanced in the mirror.
 

Tonight you look just like her
. The pain shot through me like a wave. There was something revolting about my father giving me dresses that made me look like my mother. But that’s the type of man he was—domineering, opportunistic, greedy. I was his plaything, a doll he could dress up and show off.
 

Sometimes I caught a glimmer of my father in my facial structure. Tonight, I was a vision of my mother. The actress who cracked and retreated. Her lifeless body found beside the ocean, bloody and beaten to death in her pretty green dress.
 

I smoothed out the green fabric, brushing my fingers over the cleavage that the dress gave me. I had a fleeting thought of Red and pushed it away. It didn’t matter how he thought I looked. I didn’t want that kind of attention anyway, not from a man like that.

He wasn’t a good man. His eyes showed me a dark depth I didn’t quite understand.
 

It was best not to try.
 

Wasn’t it?
 

Red
 

I pulled up in the Aston, idly wondering if cars would impress a girl like Gabriella. Probably not. She was at some good school, couldn’t remember which, and she was supposedly studying medicine. Plus, her father had more money than anyone in Hollywood. I noted the modest silver Audi parked by the walkway. No Astons for this girl.
 

I looked at my watch and back out at the immaculately landscaped property that Art Sanchez called home. Supposedly, he had started out like me. Penniless, immigrating to this black-hearted city from Boston. Except he’d had the idea to work in movies, and all I’d ever done was kick the shit out of people. That was the difference between him and me. As much money as I might have, I didn’t have the finesse that men like Art had, or the mind for business. I had a pair of battered hands and a collection of guns that would impress a congressman from Alabama.
 

Art’s morbidly carved doors opened, and anxiety gripped at my chest. There was Gabriella. Gabi. And she was wearing that same shade of green that her mother had always favored. I lowered my sunglasses and looked at her, letting the car idle.
 

If Gabriella’s mother Rose had been beautiful and alluring, Gabriella was stunning. In the most literal way. The angles of her face were harder and less forgiving than her mother’s soft lines. But her body was the same bombshell shape, breasts high and firm… her hips and ass juicier and rounder than any of the stick-figure girls I was so used to here in town. My cock stiffened as I watched her walk to the car, and I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t going to be good for me to be close to this woman. She lit some primal fire that I hadn’t known in years. I was hyperaware of her body, shifting away from her as she opened her door and got in.
 

“Gee, thanks for the welcome,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Usually, I go to these whoring events by myself, and I thought it would be nice to have someone with me.” I arched an eyebrow. Apparently she was more perceptive than I thought she was. It occurred to me that it must be lonely to be Art’s daughter. To be paraded about like this and told what to do.
 

“No one else to go with you?” I asked, pulling the car up to the iron gates that kept Art isolated from the rest of Hollywood. The gates swung out silently as we approached, and Gabriella kept her face turned to the window. She shook her head and glanced at me.
 

“None of my friends are here, anyway. I went to boarding school in New Hampshire. And now I’m at Berkeley. Art has always kept me on the move. Even when I’m home. He’s got all these plans for me… like he’s trying to show off the famous dead woman’s daughter. I know a few people here and there at these parties, so it’s the only social time I get when I’m at home. So I guess I kind of enjoy it.”
 

I nodded, pulling onto the twisting curves of Mulholland Drive. I looked at the girl from the corner of my eye. She was as pretty as a fucking picture, and she was talking to me like I was a
person
, like someone she might want to know. That couldn’t be. I cleared my throat, unable to think of any response. I gazed at the GPS system and noted our location. The party wasn’t too far. It was at some other producer’s house up in the hills. It wouldn’t be too difficult to keep an eye on Gabi. I’d keep myself in check.
 

There was no reason I needed to mess with a Hollywood producer’s daughter.
 

I knew it wouldn't be good for me. And it sure as hell wouldn't be good for her. But I couldn't help that feeling of fire spreading through my veins, like something inside of me had opened and was finally pouring forth. Sure, I had been with a lot of women. In addition to the salary, Art made sure I was entertained with women.
 

Gabi wasn't like any one of them.
 

“Los Angeles smog makes for a beautiful sunset,” she said. Her voice wasn't as hard now, and she looked over at me. I felt her eyes searching me, and I wondered exactly what she was looking for. On the horizon, the orange sun blazed over the Pacific Ocean, the pinks and purples reflected through the haze that hung over the city.
 

“It ain't bad,” I said, taking a cigarette out of my pocket and sticking it in my mouth.
 

“That's a foul habit, Red,” she said, reaching over to my face and plucking the thing right out of my teeth. I caught her hand. “Hey, let go. If you're going to be looking after me tonight... or whatever the hell my father is paying you to do, you can't smoke. It's disgusting.”

“That's not your choice, Gabriella.” The rage welled up in me again, mixed with something akin to arousal. I gripped her harder, making her fingers release the cigarette. I thought of taking her right there, pinning her down and fucking her in the Aston until she screamed my name out.
 

“Fuck, stop! You're hurting me,” she snapped. I released her hand and gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car up into the hills that overlooked Hollywood. Gabriella sniffed and rubbed her hand where I’d grabbed her. I had hurt her. And she’d made me want to do it more… take her roughly. Give her something she’d never forget.
 

“Goddammit, Gabriella,” I said, pushing the desire down. Why had the rage risen so quickly? And why had one touch almost overpowered me completely?

“Don't pull that shit with me again, Red,” she hissed. “And here I was thinking we could be friends... Despite whatever illegal bullshit you're doing for my father.”

I grimaced and guided the car up the driveway to the sprawling mansion. I could see pink and red lights coming up from the back of the house. Here would be a good place to get lost. Gabi could damn well take care of herself.
 

And I could have a fucking smoke. I parked and got out, feeling like an overpaid chauffeur. No matter how beautiful she may have been, this wasn't in my job description. Keeping the cartel away from Art suddenly seemed like a far less dangerous project than watching out for Gabi. If I were smart, I'd keep my distance from her. And if there was one thing I knew something about—besides fighting—it was self-preservation.
 

I got out of the car and slammed the door behind me. I didn't look behind me to see if Gabi was still sitting there. It didn't matter. She was different.
 

Too different.
 

Her beauty wasn't enough to distract me from my job. And I'd better leave getting to know her the hell alone.
 

Gabriella

I screamed in the car and beat my fist on the dash.
 

“It would serve you right if I fucked up your car, asshole.” Something in me had wanted to reach out to him, but that was a big fucking mistake. Just because a man was completely fucking gorgeous didn’t mean he’d be the type of person I should get to know. He was beautiful and cruel, just like all the temptations in L.A.
 

“
Dick
. I don’t even know why I talked to you in the first place,” I said, banging my hand again. A surge of anger welled up in me. All I’d wanted was one person I could talk to, one friend among the wolves. I crumpled, folding my body over and putting my head in my hands. I
wanted
something, an ache rising deep within me. Red had set it off, and I wanted to rush after him, find out why and what it was.
 

But he’d left. And I was alone again. It was best that he did, anyway. I could go inside and get good and wasted, and then I wouldn’t have to think about
what
exactly that man made me want.
 

Can’t get involved with a man like that, anyway. Mama said.

Never trust one of your father’s men,
she always told me.
They’re loyal only to him. And they’ll rip you to shreds
. I shuddered and watched as the tall, lanky man opened the gate and went in the backyard.
 

Damn, his body is a work of art.
Not even twenty-four hours out from Berkeley, and I’m already looking for trouble.
 

Fuck. Fuck that man. I’d get fucked up tonight and prove to him that he was shit at his job.
My father could deal with him in the morning. I shifted in the seat of the Aston, that heat spreading through my thighs again. Red was all trim muscle, molded into that suit. The car smelled faintly of him—clean and masculine.
 

Cool it, Gabi. He’s not interested.

 
I’d seen him looking at my body while I was walking out to the car. His gaze had hit me like a freight train, making me so hot I thought I might strip in front of him. Maybe I'd gotten the wrong impression. He’d grabbed my wrist so hard I was sure there was going to be a bruise. I didn’t tolerate shit like that. I couldn’t be with a man like that after what had happened to my mother.
 

Fucking arrogant jerk. Why you gotta be so good looking? There’s gotta be another person at this party who can make me forget, at least for a moment.
 

I flung the car door open and nearly fell onto the elegant walkway. It was a different style of mansion than my father had created for himself, the Art Deco vibe a little dark and foreboding as the sun started to set. This was a house I hadn't been to before, the home of some other director who was probably interested in gawking at Rose Dawson’s daughter.