Hitman's Secret Baby: A Bad Boy Romance
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Authors: McKenzie Lewis
Hitman’s Secret Baby
By
McKenzie Lewis
Hitman’s Secret Baby
Copyright © 2016 by McKenzie Lewis
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses and incidents are from the author’s imagination or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Design: Kasmit Covers
To SS
Because you believed in me…
Honor means nothing to a dead man.
But love … love makes its own rules.
Mason
I’ve been dead for a decade.
I don’t exist ... and I have no family.
It’s the only way to protect them.
But today, I learned two things.
My sister is marrying the son of the first man I ever killed.
And her maid of honor has a child. My child.
They both deserve better than me.
But now that Taryn's in my arms again, how can I let her go?
Taryn
When the man you love comes back from the dead, that’s a shock.
But then he tells you he’s a contract killer.
And he’s here to do a job.
I wish I could hate him. Or even resist him.
But I can’t.
I’ll do anything to protect my daughter.
But how can I protect my heart?
Prologue
You killed her…
You killed her!
I woke with a gasp, covers tangled around my legs.
Must’ve been thrashing
, I thought fuzzily, with the acrid taste of bile in my throat. I picked up the glass of water beside my bed and took a few gulps, usually steady hands—the hands of a killer—shaking, the liquid inside rippling.
The nightmares were getting worse recently, and I didn’t know why. Ten years had passed since Mr. Foster, since that night on the ranch, the smoke, the fire, and I’d thought those memories were long-buried. A man in my line of work was supposed to be cold, able to keep his emotions on a short leash. Lately it felt as though that leash was slipping through my fingers.
Every night this week, I’d woken up on damp sheets, the smell of burning in my nose. The knowledge of what that piece of shit did to my mother stinging under my skin like a splinter.
That man had deserved to die.
And yet the nightmares came.
I checked the clock: five-thirty AM. Too late—or early—to get back to sleep.
Better to get started on the next job: a drug dealer deep in the city’s underground. It wasn’t a difficult one, a matter of a new I.D and a few bar brawls to establish myself amongst his friends. Get close enough with a knife and—job done, payment collected.
I walked to the lounge and turned on the TV for background noise, flicking through my phone for my best I.D guy.
Before I could make the call, though, something on the local news caught my attention.
“Ethan Foster, son of millionaire ranch owner William Foster, is soon to be officially off the market. No expense has been spared at the lavish ceremony this weekend, as the young Foster marries long-term girlfriend, and lucky local girl, Anna Baldwin. Sadly, it’ll be without the blessing of his father. Ten years ago, Mr. Foster senior died in a freak ranch fire on one of his properties…”
I froze, my insides going cold.
I hadn’t heard the name Foster outside of my dreams in almost a decade, and now my sister was marrying that goddamn son of a monster. The man whose father murdered our mother. God knew how far the apple fell from that tree.
It was all coming back to me, with a suddenness I wasn’t nearly awake enough for. I hadn’t thought about family, about love, in such a long time. They were a man’s weaknesses, and I had no time for weakness. Sentimentality was a fool’s errand.
Did I really fail Anna, my beautiful sister, this much?
Yes, because I disappeared.
“…another casualty of the fire was young Mason Baldwin, older brother of the new bride-to-be. May the future Mr. and Mrs. Foster both find some peace for their loved ones on this happy occasion.”
All it took was a body from the morgue and a pair of pliers and I was dead in the eyes of both the law and the people I loved. They were safe—from me, from the people I’d fallen in with. I was given a new identity and a shiny gun, and trained to kill in exchange for money.
I’d already done it once, after all.
But the Foster family legacy continued to haunt me; Ethan Foster was getting married to my baby sister. If I’d been around, maybe I could’ve stopped it, looked out for her better…
I was a man of action, not sitting around thinking about
what ifs
.
I grabbed my laptop from the coffee table and did a search. The Foster wedding was the talk of the little old town we grew up in, and Ethan had been dating my sister since I disappeared. Did my death, the death of his father, bring them together in grief? Was this my fault?
I skimmed articles, pictures of him and my baby sister and—
Taryn. Oh, god, it was Taryn in the wedding party. The lovely girl I had left behind all those years ago was now a breathtakingly beautiful woman, my sister’s Maid of Honor. And next to her was a child, a flower girl, several earth-shattering words typed underneath the photo:
Anna’s niece, 9-year-old Daisy
.
My mind reeled. It’d just been me and Anna growing up, mom’s only two children, and the little girl was standing beside Taryn, holding her hand. Her age, too. All of it could only mean one thing.
I had a child.
I had to go back.
The dealer job would have to wait. Looked like I was going to a wedding.
Chapter One
Taryn
My baby pink bridesmaid dress trailed along the floor and I picked it up, getting ready for the walk down the aisle.
Daisy did the same, just copying her mommy, and I chuckled. With her dark curls all tucked up with flowers and her baby pink dress that matched mine, she looked like an angel.
“You ready?” I asked Anna, as we stood in the arch at the front of the church. Flowers and ribbons rustled in the spring breeze, decorating the sweep of stone; no expense spared from Ethan.
Anna visibly fortified herself with a deep breath. “I think so.”
“That’s hardly the spirit,” I said dryly.
Anna smiled. She glowed, today, and I had never been more proud of her. We’d been through so much together, her and I, and I was honored to spend this day by her side.
“I’m ready.”
I touched her arm encouragingly, nudging her towards the huge double doors of the church. Two men stood at either side, waiting to pull them open; security, another expense Ethan had insisted on.
“Are you ready, Daisy?” I asked my daughter, shuffling her into place right behind Anna. I handed her the little white basket of pink petals. “You’re to throw these as we walk down the aisle, okay?”
She smiled. “Okay, Mommy.”
We were ready.
As we passed by the beaming faces of friends and family, I was hit, suddenly, with a pang of grief that I hadn’t felt for a long time.
There was nobody giving Anna away today; all the expenses in the world couldn’t buy that. But that was how she wanted it, because it should have been Mason, and that opportunity was robbed from him, just like his short life.
If he couldn’t be there to do it, then nobody else was good enough.
Over ten years had passed, but I still missed him something fierce. Every time I looked into my daughter’s forest green eyes, the shape of her too-smart mouth, Mason was there.
I took Anna’s bouquet at the altar and watched the ceremony with tears in my eyes, clutching my little girl’s hand. If her father hadn’t been taken from us so young, I knew in my heart we’d have had this, too.
As it ended, as Ethan and Anna walked the aisle hand-in-hand, Daisy following with her little flower basket, I startled as someone touched my back, leaned in close, and whispered in my ear.
“We need to talk.”
I shivered, turning, but the man grabbed my wrist and tugged me gently towards a small storage room along the side of the church.
He looked like security, wearing a finely tailored black suit and an official looking name badge. He was six-four at the very least and he held himself like someone not to be trifled with, a swift grace to his movements.
“What’s happened?” I asked urgently, fearing some threat against Anna or Ethan.
Suddenly, I was looking up into two shockingly familiar eyes.
Forest
green
eyes.
“Hey, Taryn,” the man said softly.
“Who—who are you?” I asked, but I knew—I
knew
. I’d been thinking of him just moments ago, his image so clear in my mind.
He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
“It can’t be.” I stepped back, repelled by the impossibility of it. His hair was dark and Mason’s used to be much fairer, but there was no denying those eyes, that rich voice, that tall and lean body. I couldn’t reconcile it; this man was a ghost.
“You know it is, though.”
“Your hair,” I tried, lamely and to no avail.
“Hair can be dyed, Taryn.”
He even said my name the same way. My stomach squirmed, I could hardly breathe, and out of me burst a sudden snap of violence as my hand connected sharply with his cheek.
“You fucking asshole,” I choked, palm stinging. I could barely
see
what I was seeing but I knew it was real, and I knew it meant the ultimate betrayal. “How—how could you? How
dare
you?”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, holding the side of his face. “I deserved that, I did.”
“You deserve that and more!”
I folded my arms across my body, feeling completely exposed and chilled to the bone. I wanted to hide from him, I wanted to slap him again, I wanted to
kiss
him—so many blinding emotions.
“I had to do it, Taryn,” he went on, far too stoic for a man who had just come back from the dead. “You don’t know what I did.”
I shook my head. I had so many questions and I wasn’t sure the answers to any of them would make me feel better. But I had to start somewhere and, weakly, I asked him, “Why are you here?”
“It’s Anna. She’s marrying a man who I think could be dangerous.”
“Ethan?” I frowned. “Ethan’s a great guy.”
“His father was a murderer.”
“
What
?” This man just strolled back into town a decade late, dragged me away from the happiest day of my best friend’s life, to spin tales about death and murder. I couldn’t stand there another second listening to it. “This is ridiculous, I’m leaving—”
I turned towards the door but he grabbed me again, his hand circling my wrist. He pulled me into his arms in one smooth motion and I didn’t struggle, letting myself arch against him, letting him kiss me with that familiar heat that ten years hadn’t quelled.
His new black hair felt soft between my fingers as I tugged on it, his body bowing to my sudden need; to be close to him, to
hurt
him, to slick my tongue into his mouth and claim him again—
No.
I pulled away quickly, coming back to myself with an angry jolt and putting a few feet of space between us.
“Stop!”
His stoicism, though, had crumbled at the press of our mouths. “God, Taryn, I am so
sorry
.”
I felt my throat close around a lump, hardly able to speak. “You said that already.”
“You have to let me explain,” he pleaded—with his eyes, his voice, even his outstretched hands. “William Foster, that asshole in a tuxedo out there’s father, killed my mother.”
My mouth fell open.
“It sounds crazy, I know,” Mason went on, as if he could read my thoughts. “But I found out and confronted him and he admitted it, said awful things about my mother, that she was leading him on, that she was a whore. I thought about going to the police but who would’ve believed me?” he asked desperately. “A rich local success story like William Foster or a seventeen-year-old ranch hand with no parents and barely two pennies to rub together.”
“He—he really did it?” I asked softly, some of my anger melting away, replaced by fear of what Mason would say next.
“Yes. He did it and he blamed
her
for it, just a spoiled old man pissed that she rejected him.”
“Oh my God.” I stepped forward helplessly, raising a hand to touch his chest where his heartbeat pounded. “What did you do, Mason?”
“I learned how to kill him and make it look like an accident.”
Those friends of his, the people he’d been getting involve with—they’d always rubbed me up the wrong way, and I’d often worried about their effect on Mason.
“Killing yourself in the process,” I added, swallowing thickly.
“I had to disappear. It was too dangerous after what I’d done. What if Foster’s buddies had come poking around? What if they’d hurt you to get to me? He wasn’t a good man, Taryn. He was dangerous.”
“I cried at your funeral,” I told him, voice cracking. Under my palm, his heart shuddered. “I held my pregnant stomach at the six-month memorial of the fire. I was sick every day and I still don’t know if it was the baby or
you
who did that to me!”
I yanked back my hand, Mason reaching out to stop me, but I couldn’t let him.
“If I’d known about the baby…” He trailed off, mouth moving like he couldn’t find the words.
Bitterly, I helped him. “You never would’ve faked your own death and let me and your sister grieve over a stranger’s body?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”
I turned to leave, once and for all this time, but Mason’s voice halted me as I opened the door to the church. “The little girl.”
“Your daughter,” I clarified, keeping my back turned. If I looked, I risked caving into him. It was always like that when we fought, all those stolen years ago.
Not stolen. Purposefully hidden.
“My—my daughter.”
“She doesn’t even know her father,” I said roughly, my hand gripping the doorframe until my knuckles turned white. “And we should keep it that way. As far as I’m concerned, I buried him ten years ago.”
I walked away, slamming the door closed behind me. The door to my past, to the man I used to love. I’d thought it shut a long time ago, but how wrong I’d been.
Outside, in the sunshine of the church yard, I felt dizzy. Everything was too bright, the happy chatter of the guests too blaring, the air too fresh. I staggered to a wide tree trunk, leaning under it to catch my breath and ease my spinning head.
“Taryn!” Anna’s voice came on a shout from nearby, getting closer. “Where the hell have you been? We need you for the photos.”
“I need to—” I started hoarsely.
Leave?
Yes, I really wanted to leave this place. But Anna needed me, and she deserved to know. “I need to talk to you.”
“Are you okay?”
I looked over at the photographer setting up a shot of Ethan and Daisy. I would’ve found it adorable fifteen minutes earlier, but with Mason’s words ringing in my head, I suddenly felt afraid.
I nodded, told her, “I’m fine,” and allowed her to drag me to join the rest of our family in front of the photographer.
I felt anything but fine. I felt my skin itch and my eyes sting, an overwhelming flight-or-fight reflex trying to grip me. I wanted nothing more than to get away, be alone with my spiraling thoughts.
As the photographer snapped his pictures, I kept myself between Ethan and my daughter, torn between rationality and swelling panic. I’d always thought Ethan’s father a good man, a pillar of our small community, but if what Mason said about him was true, could I have been wrong about Ethan, too?
I’d been wrong about Mason.
“I’ll meet you guys up at the estate,” the photographer told Anna and Ethan, finally getting his last picture.
They seemed intent to chat for a while, longer than I could bear the thought of, and I felt myself start to sway. I had to move.
I hunted Justin down near the gate, kneeling to play with his niece. “I have to go, could you watch Daisy at the reception?”
My brother stood, startled by my abruptness. He gripped my arm before I could walk away. “Whoa, Taryn, what the hell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “You have
no
idea.”
Daisy looked up with her big green eyes and I could barely hold her gaze. “Mommy, aren’t you coming to the party?”
“I can’t, honey.” I pressed a trembling hand into her curls. “Mommy has to go and deal with something today, okay?”
“Sis,” Justin prompted, but I shook my head violently.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.”
I launched into a quick walk, my head bowed as if I could avoid any kind of confrontation. I couldn’t, not today of all days, and Anna’s voice shouted down the street after me.
“Taryn!”
Her heels clacked on the sidewalk, fast and catching up. It wasn’t fair; I couldn’t do this to her. I couldn’t bear to leave her in the dark, and I couldn’t bear to tell her either. Just another explosion of chaos Mason had left me to tidy up.
I turned around and Anna’s immediately concerned face felt like a punch to the gut. “Hey, what on earth is going on with you?”
“I don’t know how to say this.” My breath hitched, my face scrunching up, and Anna gripped my shoulders, her frown deepening. “Mason. It’s Mason. He’s—he’s alive. He was here, he pulled me aside and he told me—”
I was babbling, and Anna started shaking her head—the same denial I’d felt back in that storage room. “What are you
talking
about, Taryn?”
“Mason faked his death, all those years ago, and he was
here
, he was at your wedding!”
“No,” Anna said slowly, her hand moving to press against her chest—actions betraying her words. “He can’t have. That’s impossible. It’s insane.”
“I know, but it’s true.”
“And you spoke to him?”
“I’m not going crazy, Anna!” I yelled. “I stood face-to-face with him; he told me in his own words.”
I watched as all the color slowly drained out of Anna’s face, the realization dawning. It made my heart start to pound again, that terrible feeling of being trapped rearing up.
“How could he…” She trailed off, her voice small and insubstantial.
