Dirty Boy by Nichole Rose

 

Taken by the Hitman

Excerpt

 

My heart pounds, yet I feel eerily calm about revealing myself to this girl. There's no point getting worked up about it now. I made my decision. I just hope like hell she's as smart as I think she is. Otherwise, this could get ugly, quick.

"Don't scream," I whisper, coming up behind her.

She whirls around with her hand on her heart. Our eyes meet.

Blue. Her eyes are sky blue.

For a split second, the entire world tilts on its axis, wobbling uncontrollably as we stare at one another. And then it snaps back into place with a jolt that rattles me all the way to my bones.

She's younger than I thought, but I was right about her. She is tougher than she looks. Her eyes are full of a quiet strength that ages her far beyond her years. She's even more beautiful up close. Long, dark lashes frame her haunting eyes. Her cheeks are pink, her lips full and plump. The soft curve of her cheek and the gentle slope of her neck are masterpieces.

My cock stirs, lengthening in my pants. The reaction is visceral, automatic. And all the more surprising for it. It's been years since my dick reacted to much of anything. I haven't been with anyone since I was a teenager. In all the years since, no one ever tempted me. This girl though…this one is different. I feel that truth roaring to life in my soul like a battle cry.

Her gaze drops to the gun in my hands. She sucks in a sharp breath, her face paling.

I don't like seeing her afraid. It's…painful.

Don't be afraid, little one. Not of me.

"Don't scream," I murmur when she takes a step backwards. "I'm not here to hurt you, but you are in danger. Right this second, he's looking for the sedative he plans to inject you with. When you wake up, you'll be in the back of a van, headed toward a life you don't want."

"He's going to drug me?" she asks, her eyes narrowing. Storm clouds drift through the sky blue as if the thought pisses her off more than frightens her.

I almost smile at the sight of her scowl. She's a fierce little thing.

"And hand you over to a cartel. You won't be the first."

"I knew there was a reason I didn't like him," she mutters to herself. "I thought I was just grumpy because the food wasn't very good and he talks too much, but no. He really is an arrogant, psychotic jerk."

She's right on both accounts.

"Saint will kill him for this," she says, looking at me again.

Saint. Stinson mentioned his name to her earlier. The only Saint I know of is Saint Green, front man for Vengeful Saints. Stinson is a music producer, so it's possible that is who she's talking about. Is she dating him? Possessiveness roils through me at the thought. I shove it down, ruthlessly quelling it. I don't have time to figure out who Saint is to her or what he means to her right now.

"I need you to hide in the kitchen," I murmur, keeping an eye on the hallway.

Her gaze falls to my gun again. "You came here to kill him."

"Yes," I say, not lying to her. It's already too late for that. I put my fate in her hands the minute I decided to save her. Whatever happens from here…well, at least she'll be safe from Stinson and his cartel buddies.

"Good," she growls like a little tiger cub.

Christ, she's cute. And far too innocent for what's about to happen. She might be angry, but she isn't a killer. I'd keep her from being here for this if I could.

"I found the demo track," Stinson calls from down the hallway.

"Go," I mouth to Savannah, pressing myself flat against the wall.

She takes off for the kitchen, moving quickly. Her gait is stiff, her limp obvious as she hurries to safety. Her eyes meet mine over her shoulder, brighter than any eyes I've ever seen before. They burn right through me, shaking loose something I haven't felt in two decades.

Hope.

 

 

Taken by the Hitman is now available.