Lace and Bullets: A Hitman Romance (3 page)

A
brain-splitting
,
oh my God I drank what
, pounding. It ricocheted through Mia’s head and she fought the urge to vomit. What a wake-up call.

She tried to swallow, but her tongue took up her entire mouth. It stuck there like a dry old sock she couldn’t spit out. She smacked, tried to cough, but it stayed there, thick and scratchy.
Damn
.

Lolling to the side, Mia waited for the world to stop spinning. She hadn’t been this bad off since she had lost count slamming Everclear punch at a frat party in college. At least that time she had been surrounded by friends.

Now, she was…where? Her memories stopped and started in her brain. She had been at her father’s place, waiting for him to come home.

Then it should have been the gala and the photo-ops. Had she had too much champagne at the party? Did she drink away the horrible taste it all left in her mouth?

No
. She remembered…blood…gunshots.

That can’t be right.
She reached for her head, but her hands couldn’t move.
What the hell?
She tugged harder.

Fear wormed its way through the pain. She inhaled through her nose and tried to focus. Her father’s study. She had been there to find the case file…then…
Oh my God
.

Mia snapped her head up as the memories rushed back. Her father had been murdered. She had watched the shootout, her father’s death, and then…another man. She struggled to come back to reality.

Her eyes opened and Mia tried to scream. It came out muffled.
Oh, no
. The thick cotton in her mouth wasn’t her tongue. It was a gag. She tugged on her arms and tried to kick her feet. She was bound to a chair.

Panic bubbled up inside her, hammering her heart, dilating her eyes. She blinked over and over.

Think, Mia. Think.
She glanced around her. She sat in the middle of a tidy living room with a couch, two chairs, an end table and a lamp. It looked like an ordinary room in an ordinary house.

They usually didn’t come with young women tied up in the middle. She twisted to look behind her. An archway to a dining room. Beyond it, the hint of a kitchen. Her stomach flip-flopped and she tried to swallow the rising bile.

There was only one explanation. She had been kidnapped.
Oh my God.
The man who shot the killer. The man with huge shoulders and a firm jaw.

Sweat slipped in beads down her spine.

She remembered it all in slow motion. His body bent over the dying man as he whispered in his ear. The rummaging of her father’s files. The shot that put the killer out of his misery.

Then he opened the closet door and found her.

Mia had fought and struggled and tried her hardest and she hadn’t come close to getting away. The minute he spun her around and fixed those gray eyes on her, she knew. He would either be her savior or her damnation. She didn’t know which.

It didn’t matter that his fingers wrapped around her throat, he had seen her. Peered straight into her soul and made a judgment call. There had been a moment when she had glimpsed something. A spark of humanity? Hope? Something other than cold fury and hate.

But then he had shut it down and knocked her out.

Mia whimpered. If she didn’t get out of there before he came back, he would kill her. Maybe worse.

She tugged on the cord around her wrists. Up and down, side-to-side she worked it, but no matter how hard she yanked, it didn’t budge.

Her feet were no better.
Damn it.
She looked around the room.
Yes!
An empty glass. It sat on the edge of the coffee table, waiting for her.

Could she get to it without him finding out? She turned back and looked at the kitchen. He could be in there, waiting for her. Or he could be outside…or in the shower…He could be anywhere.

She turned back to the glass. It was a risk she had to take.

With a deep breath, Mia launched herself up into the air and lunged toward the glass. She moved an inch.

Again and again she rocked herself back and forth in the chair, throwing her body weight toward the coffee table. Every time she landed, a thump shook the whole room and she turned to look at the kitchen.

Her kidnapper never appeared.

Sweat soaked her hairline and her wrists and ankles throbbed from the pressure. The rag in her mouth was soaked in her own spit. How long had she been at this? An hour? More?

Mia snorted out another breath and lunged.
Thank God.
She bit down on the gag and rammed the chair into the coffee table. The glass shook. She rammed it again and it fell off the edge.

It landed with a thud. All she needed to do was pick it up. It didn’t take much to topple the chair. She crashed down hard on her side, but barely felt the pain. She was running on adrenaline now.

She dragged her body and the chair closer and closer until she could grab the glass. It felt so cold in her fingers slicked with sweat. So deadly. Mia held it by the base and slammed it against the leg of the coffee table. The top of the glass shattered.

Jabbing the sharp end into the cord around her wrists, Mia rubbed.

Part of the glass nicked her wrist and she fought the urge to cry out. She rubbed harder. Another piece cut her and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Again and again she stabbed and rubbed, cutting herself, but cutting the cord as well.

Her wrists slicked with the mix of sweat and blood and she tugged at the looped cord. Just as she was about to give up from pain and exhaustion and hopelessness, one piece broke.

Mia laughed, as much from exhaustion as from joy.
I might get out of here alive.
She worked her hands out of the binding and untied her ankles before yanking the rag out of her mouth. It didn’t matter that she was bleeding or that she had on almost no clothes. She was free.

Keeping low to the floor, Mia crept to the door. She twisted the lock and pulled it open. The window shades rattled, but she couldn’t stop now. She yanked the door all the way open and darted out into the night.

Rain hit her face. The kind of rain that keeps even criminals inside. Hard and pounding, it pelted her whole body, soaked through her clothes, and chilled her to the bone. But she didn’t have a choice. There was nowhere else to go.

She took off toward the house with lights on two doors away. The pavement scraped her feet and she stubbed her toe on a crack in the asphalt. It didn’t matter.

Up into the grass of the house next door she ran, passing the
For Sale
sign. Her toes dug into the wet earth, the balls of her feet slipped on the grass, but she kept going.
Only a little more
.

The neighbor’s drive loomed ahead of her, large and full of promise. Too bad she would never reach it.

The ground rose up at terrifying speed and Mia slammed into the grass.
Oomph
. A huge weight landed on top of her. It crushed her ribs, pushed out her breath, threatened to take away her freedom.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the storm stole her voice. She lashed out with her arms and legs, but the person on top of her pinned her down. A hand appeared beside her head and dug into the earth.

And then she saw the sky. He flipped her over like she weighed nothing at all.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Her kidnapper had found her. She would recognize the voice anywhere. Mia struggled in his grip. He pinned her arms above her head.

“Let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

Mia tried to knee him where it would hurt, but he shifted, his thighs coming down to rest on hers. She bucked and twisted in his hands, but all it did was dig her further into the soggy ground. If she worked any harder, she would start burying herself alive.

Shit
. It didn’t matter what she did. She couldn’t get away. Her whole body sagged in defeat.

“I won’t go to the cops. Please.” She would promise him all the gold in Fort Knox if he let her go.

The man adjusted until his face hovered inches above hers. His hood acted like an umbrella, sloughing the rain away from their faces. Even in the dark she could make out his square jaw. The hint of beard on his chin. The fire in his eyes.

Her tongue turned to cotton again, but it wasn’t from the rag.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you go.”

His tone softened as he said it and Mia became aware of so much more than her fear. Every breath she took pressed her breasts into his chest. Her nipples were rock hard from the cold and each rub sent a pang of arousal through her.

It was so very wrong.

She shifted beneath him and their thighs rubbed together. It only made it worse. She couldn’t be attracted to him. He was a killer and a kidnapper. She rolled her lips over her teeth and bit down.

Every beat of her heart sent a jumbled up mess of emotions running through her. Fear. Anger. Passion. Lust.

Mia shivered.

“You’re cold.”

“It’s raining.”

His lips twitched. “Let me take you back inside and warm you up.”

“You’re not getting your hands on me.”

His head tilted and the rain hit her cheek. “You mean like this?” He squeezed her arms and she clenched her fists. “You’re hurt. Bleeding. I’ll help you.”

The icy sting of the rain made her think of knives. “And then what?”

The man stilled.

Mia’s heart stuttered. He couldn’t kill her after all this. She struggled again. “I’m never giving up. You’ll have to kill me if you want me to stop trying to escape.”

For the longest while, her kidnapper just stared at her. Was he debating whether to chop her up into tiny pieces or wring her neck?

Rain soaked into his clothes and dripped down the sides of his hood. His gaze roamed over her face, dipping down to her chin and back up. At last, he spoke. “I’m not going to kill you.”

A thrill rushed through Mia but she shut it down. He was probably a better liar than she was. If he got her back in that house…

She looked into his eyes and plastered on a photo-op smile. “If you’re not going to kill me, you’ll have to find some other way to shut me up.”

Before he could say a word in response, Mia took a deep breath and screamed.

This time, the noise carried on the wind. She took another breath, ready to belt out another shriek, when the man pinning her down shocked her silent.

He didn’t knock her out, hit her, or clamp a hand over her mouth.

No.

He kissed her. Lips against lips. Tongue darting out to rake across her flesh. He tasted of liquor and sin and more danger than Mia had ever dreamed of.

She gasped and he took her deeper, sweeping his tongue across hers, nipping her lower lip with his teeth. The man kissed her like she was the only woman he had ever wanted.

Mia should have taken advantage. She could have bit down on his tongue and scrambled away while he rolled around screaming. But she couldn’t. Not when he had unlocked something hidden deep inside her.

Instead, she did the unthinkable.

She kissed him back.

H
oly shit
.
Damien pulled back and tried not to focus on her swollen pout. She was the district attorney’s daughter.

The dead district attorney’s daughter. He had kidnapped her. Put her in his trunk. Tied her up. Tackled her into the grass.

And all he wanted to do was kiss her again. Run his tongue down her neck. Twist those pencil eraser nipples that poked into his chest. Take her places she had never been while she cried out his name.

Fuck
. He never thought with his dick. Never.

Damien yanked her up to stand. With one hand holding her body tight to his chest, he clamped his free hand around her mouth. They needed to get back inside before someone called the cops.

She struggled in his grip.
Still feisty.
A certain body part liked it.
Down boy.
He gritted his teeth and focused on what mattered—getting the little firecracker back in the safe house ASAP.

He busted through the side door and tossed her onto the couch. She bounced.

“Strip.”

Mia’s eyes turned to saucers and she scrambled across the seat until her back hit the arm. “W-what are you going to do?”

Damien ignored her and stalked down the hall.
Isn’t it obvious?
He grabbed the comforter he had wrapped her in earlier and headed back to the living room.

Instead of a
thanks for thinking of me
, or an
oh, how thoughtful
, he got a fly-by. The ceramic vase grazed his ear as it whizzed past his head to shatter on the wall.

He exhaled in a huff. “Quit wrecking the place. It’s not yours.” For being a pompous lawyer’s brat, the woman sure didn’t know her manners. Damien stepped toward the little vixen and she balled her hands into fists.

“You’re not touching me.”

“You need to get naked before you pass out.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

Damien snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I’ve got no interest in that teeny little body of yours. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and it only made her nipples stand at attention. The rings of darker skin shone through her shirt like beacons calling him forward.

Damien adjusted himself and bit back a grin. He’d always been a good liar.

“You keep staring at me like you want to rip my clothes off.”

Or not
. He frowned. “Your clothes are soaking wet and you’re chilled to the bone. You need to warm up.” He tossed the comforter at her. “If you don’t get naked and wrap up in that, you’ll have more than blue fingers and toes to deal with.”

Mia glanced down at her fingers and a gasp slipped from her lips. She looked back up at him in shock.

Ding, ding, she finally got it. “Believe me now?”

She nodded. Her hands slipped under the edge of her shirt, but she didn’t take it off.

“What is it now, princess?”

“Can you…turn around?”

He rolled his eyes. “And give you a chance to hit me over the head with the other vase? Sure thing.” He motioned at her shirt. “It’s not like I can’t see it all already, honey.”

Despite the shivers that wracked her body, Mia’s cheeks turned pink. “So that’s a no?”

He didn’t bother to respond.

“Fine.”

Damn, she’s stubborn
. Damien hadn’t known a woman so determined since…He pushed the thought aside. They weren’t anything alike.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. Mia bit her lip.

“You’re not getting any warmer.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. It was such an unexpected act of defiance that Damien forgot to play the asshole.

He laughed.

And in that instant, Mia softened. Gone was the scowl and the angry brow. Exhaustion and surrender took their place. Her body shook and trembled and her eyes looked at him with something other than hate.

His hand twitched with the urge to comfort her.
Damn it.
Comforting wasn’t his thing. It never changed the facts. She was still his only way to get out of this mess.

Mia turned around and peeled the soaked shirt away. Damien forgot his troubles.

He had been honest when he’d told her the clothes didn’t hide much. But seeing her without them…Pure torture.

She shimmied out of her still-dripping shorts and Damien’s cock throbbed.

Firm and tight and big enough to hold onto, that ass of hers was what dreams were made of. Visions of her straddling him, bouncing up and down as she milked him dry, filled his mind.
Fuck
.

Mia grabbed the comforter, tugged it around her curves, and Damien closed his eyes. He’d never forget that body.

“Where do you want these?”

Damien blinked his eyes open and snatched the dripping clothes from her hands. “I’ll hang them up.”

“Thanks.”

He paused mid-step.
Did she just thank me?
He swallowed. “You’re welcome.” He held the soggy mess in his hand and strode into the kitchen. The sound of the blanket dragging across the floor followed behind him.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Damien wrung out her shorts in the kitchen sink. “Which time?”

“At my father’s house. When you opened the door to the closet, why didn’t you just kill me?”

The pink terry cloth twisted in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

He braced himself on the counter. “Believe what you want. I don’t need to tell you shit.”

The shorts would dry by morning. He laid them over the faucet and picked up her shirt. A scrap of a thing, he wasn’t sure it would survive much more.

“You don’t by any chance have any spare clothes laying about, do you?”

Damien smiled to himself. She’d read his mind. “I’ll check the bedrooms. There might be something.”

Mia stayed quiet behind him as he squeezed the water from her shirt. He hung it on the faucet next to the shorts and braced himself. He still wasn’t prepared when he turned around.

All innocence and vulnerability. Mia stood in the kitchen of a drug cartel’s safe house, caramel hair fanned out like a halo, white comforter fluffed around her shoulders like wings. She shouldn’t be there. And Damien sure as hell shouldn’t hand her over to Marcelo.

She would never survive.

He jerked his head to the right. “Bedrooms are this way. Come on.”

The door to the first room opened with a creak. He ushered her inside. “There’s a shower. You can clean yourself up if you want. I’ll look for some clothes.”

Mia tugged the comforter tighter. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try something?”

“You want to live, right?”

She nodded.

“Then don’t.”

After a minute, she nodded and headed toward the bathroom. The door shut and Damien heard the lock click into place. He exhaled and slumped down onto the bed.

He had looked grown men in the face and pulled the trigger. He had watched the life bleed out of someone a pint of blood at a time. Beatings, confessions, drug deals. You name it. He either did it or witnessed it.

But never in all the years he had worked for Marcelo had he ever done something this fucking hard. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. Mia wasn’t some drug addict Marcelo threw his way.

She was beautiful and strong and so fucking stubborn. Damien didn’t know whether to knock her out or kiss her senseless. If she hadn’t made a sound…If she hadn’t seen his face…

He would be back at home, half drunk on vodka so cheap rubbing alcohol tasted better. But she had fallen into his lap. Mia Davenport was his ticket out of hell. His chance to get out of the cartel once and for all.

The water turned on in the shower and he glanced up at the door. He just needed to survive her first.

With a grunt, he stood up and made his way over to the dresser. While she showered, he would get everything ready.

By the time the bathroom door opened, Damien leaned on the wall, a handful of women’s clothes in his hands. “Found these.”

Mia took them and shut the door. When she emerged again, Damien could finally look at her without cursing. The sweatshirt was too big and the jeans hung off her hips, but they were clothes.

As long as he couldn’t see her tits, he’d do okay. “Do you have any injuries?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Are you hurt? Do you need any bandages? There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “Just thought I’d offer.”

After a moment, she nodded. “I have a few cuts on my wrist. They could use some attention.”

“Ladies first.” Damien moved out of the way and Mia eased past him. Her hair smelled fresh and clean and he leaned in as she walked out the door.
Mmm
. He wouldn’t mind breathing her in all night.

When they reached the kitchen, he pulled out a chair. “Sit. Show me the wound.”

She followed his instructions and he pulled out bandages and ointment.

The cuts were angry and red, but not that deep. She’d really worked that phone cord to get free. “Lucky for you, they’re just surface scratches. You’ll survive.”

“Will I?”

Damien didn’t answer as he dabbed the ointment on the gash. He pulled open a bandage. “You won’t die from these.”

“Comforting.”

“I try.”

Mia snorted. “If you’re not going to kill me, then tell me why I’m here. What good am I to you alive?”

“There are other people who want you more than me.” He placed the bandage on her arm and pretended not to notice her quiver.

“You mean Marcelo.”

Damien’s eyes snapped up. “How do you know that name?”

“Come on, Mr. Kidnapper. You’ve got more sense than that.”

“From your father.”

“No. The TV news. Every time there’s a crime in this town, his name is the first one mentioned. Everyone knows about the Marcelo empire. The drugs. The weapons. The girls.”

“Then why ask?” Damien ran his fingers over the bandage until it laid flat against her skin. He didn’t let her go.

“I needed to hear it from you.”

“Happy now?”

“No. I’m terrified.” She pulled her arm away. “Handing me off to a thug like Marcelo is a death sentence. You have to know that.”

Damien steeled his expression. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

“Not in this. I’m sorry.”

She crossed her arms. “Not sorry enough.”

Damien stood up in a rush. He didn’t need to justify himself to this woman. Just because she looked up at him with those pleading brown eyes full of fear and sadness. He couldn’t help her. It was too late.

He grabbed the rope off the table and walked around behind her chair. “Give me your arms.”

“Why?”

“Do it before I chop one off.”

Her arms flew behind her back. Damien tied her wrists together and looped the rope around the back of the chair. Then he did the same with her ankles before scooting her and the chair over to the radiator. With a chain he’d found in the carport, he hooked Mia and the chair to the metal.

No more toppling chairs for her. He walked around to face her. “I’m going to get some dinner. Do I need to gag you?”

She sneered. “Afraid I’ll wake the neighbors?”

He reached for her still damp tank top. “This should do.” He spun it until it formed a twisted-up rope.

“You don’t need to gag me. I was just yanking your chain.”

“Too bad. You should have cooperated instead.” Damien shoved the moist lace into her mouth and tied it behind her head. He crouched to catch her eye. “Any allergies?”

Mia cocked her head.

“To food. I don’t want you going into shock before I can hand you over.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head no.

“Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone.”