Excerpt from Redeeming the Hitman
Lennox
I’ve just gotten out of the shower after my workout when the doorbell rings. I tuck my glock into the back of my jeans and pull my T-shirt down to cover it as I walk to the door. Then I glance out the peephole. It’s my curvy, sexy little neighbor.
Fuck.
This is the last thing I need.
In my line of work, I don’t interact with people very often. Not people like her anyway. Not pretty women with this kind of scrubbed-clean, freckled beauty. This woman looks like she should have a bevy of woodland creatures following her around doing chores for her.
She looks so damn innocent. Too innocent for the likes of me.
But yeah, that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed her in the months since she moved in next door. Because she’s still fucking hot, with the kind of curves that make me think about how good it would feel to hold onto those soft curves while I plow into her.
Because that’s the kind of asshole I am. The kind who sees a sweet, gorgeous woman and immediately wants to fuck her ten ways to Tuesday.
I watch her through the peephole, waiting for her to turn and walk away.
She doesn’t. Instead, she rings the damn bell a second time.
I open the door and scowl at her. “Yeah?”
She blinks in obvious surprise. Probably because I opened the door fast enough that it’s obvious I was standing right there.
It takes her a moment to recover, but then she flashes me a big, full mouth smile that damn near takes my breath away.
“Hi, I live next door.” She thumbs over her shoulder to point to her house. “Um, I’m Hailey.”
I just stare at her, trying my damndest to keep my eyes from dropping to her chest, where a truly fantastic pair of tits is gently outlined by her tee shirt.
“Right, so anyways, I was hoping you could help me out because I’ve got a little problem.” She clasps her hands in a prayer-like motion. “Pretty please. I can pay you in beer and pizza.”
My mind immediately goes to the filthy ways she could pay me which just proves that I am a bastard and not worth this woman’s time.
“Or cookies,” she continues in a voice that does crazy things to my pulse. It’s a little huskier that I expected, with just a hint of accent that makes me think of Cybill Shepherd in The Last Picture Show—a little bit of west Texas, a whole lot of unattainable rich girl. “I make pretty decent snickerdoodle cookies. I decided I wanted to master that recipe because it’s such a fun word to say and everyone can make a chocolate chip. But a snickerdoodle. Snickerdoodle.”
She gives me another toothy grin and this time I notice she’s got a tiny gap between her two front teeth.
It’s legitimately the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m not sure what to do with that. Because I don’t think I’ve ever even thought the word “cute” let alone noticed something “cute.”
“What’s the problem?” I find myself asking.
I should have slammed the door in her face because she sure as fuck doesn’t need to get involved with a monster like me.
I have no idea why I don’t slam the door on her. Maybe it’s the gap in her teeth. Maybe it’s that dusting of freckles on her nose. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve always been a sucker for snickerdoodle cookies.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I haven’t fucked a woman in over a year—and I’m pretty sure I’ve never fucked a woman like this. Because I don’t do relationships.
Whatever the reason, I just stand there, like a damn idiot, staring at her.
She twists her hands in front of her and it makes me stare at her tits. I could try to be a gentleman but the fucking truth is, I lost that part of myself about the middle of my second tour. You don’t get to be the best Marine Corp sniper by being a fucking gentleman.
Hell, maybe I lost that part of myself long before that, when I buried my younger brother.
But, let’s be honest, this chick has some fucking fantastic tits. Big and full and I’m pretty sure they’d fit nicely in my palms. Now my dick is stirring in my shorts and I do not have time for this considering I’m in the middle of a big assignment.
“So I think I saw some sort of furry creature like run under some furniture. And I know it’s not polite to eavesdrop, but I overheard you talking the other day and I know you’re an exterminator and I just thought make you could come next door and dispose of my little problem.”
Now I’m staring at her face. Brown eyes, brown hair, full lips made to wrap around a cock—preferably mine. And there’s an intoxicating mixture of innocence and mischief in her expression, enough so that I can’t exactly tell if what she says is true or if she’s being coy.
If she overheard me talking the other day, does she know what I do for a living?
Does she really want help with a pest or does she want me to dispose of an annoying boyfriend?
“You can’t call anyone else?”
She bites down on that full bottom lip and I swear to fucking Christ my dick lurches forward. “I mean I guess I could call a company, but since it’s a Sunday, they’re probably all closed or are charging exorbitant rates and it’s not like I can’t pay because I can.” Her eyes widen and her mouth goes round. “Oh, is that the issue? You need me to pay? Of course. I’m sorry if I insulted you by offering to pay with baked goods. I was just trying to appeal to your neighborly kindness.”
What the fuck is she talking about?
She’s going to call a company to take care of her boyfriend?
Okay, it’s not like places like that don’t exist. They do.
In fact, I work for one.
But companies like the one I work for—Men of Ruthless Corp.—don’t exactly have a listing on Yelp. You have to know people to even know Ruthless exists. And this woman does not have the jaded look of someone who knows people.
“I have no kindness. Neighborly or otherwise.” Yes, I’m being an asshole, but this woman doesn’t need to be involved in any aspect of my life and if I go to her house I’m going to want to fuck her. Hell, I already want to just crowd into her standing on my porch and just slip right inside.
It makes no sense why this random curvy babe would dissolve me into a horny caveman, but there you have it.
She claps her hands together, once again bringing my eyes to her breasts. I force my gaze to her face.
“Please, pretty pretty please,” she begs.
“Shit,” I growl. I step out onto my porch and slam my door behind me. “Lead the way.”
She grabs onto my arm and squeezes, clearly not afraid of me on any level. And aside from the fact that I kill people for a living, I’m a scary looking dude. I’m big, bigger than most. I’ve been told I scowl a lot, but seriously if you meet a hitman who smiles all the time, that fucker is messed up in the head.
“How old are you?” I ask as she guides me down the stairs of my porch. Because I need to keep a running list of why I cannot touch this woman.
“Twenty-two.”
I grunt, but don’t give her a verbal response. The fact that I was already a fucking teenager who could legally drive a car when she was born means I’m way too old for her. Even for just a friendly neighbors-with-benefits scenario. She’s off limits. Do not touch. I just need to keep repeating those words over and over.
It’s about thirty steps from my porch to hers and when we reach her porch, she steps in front of me to get to the door.
Letting her walk up the steps in front of me is a mistake because goddamn, but the woman has an ass on her. She’s wearing these tight yoga pants that hug her large, heart shaped ass. She’s not a small woman, not particularly short for a woman and she’s got curves upon tempting curves. I could worship at the alter of her rounded flesh for hours and never sate myself.
Off limits, fucker. Stop staring at her ass.
I force my eyes away and then she’s opening the door and I’ve got to get my head in the game. Especially if I’m expected to dispose of some douchebag.
“Did this pest hurt you in any way?” I ask. Because that would change how I intend to get rid of the fucker. If he’s hurt her, then I’ll take him apart, piece by piece.
“Oh no, he didn’t get close enough.”
I follow her into her house and I realize the layout is very similar to my own home. Twenty-two and she lives here? The rent must be ridiculous. There is nowhere cheap to live in the L.A. basin, but Culver City, nestled between some of the studios and some of the newer tech and special effects companies, is ridiculously expensive. Even modest bungalows like mine are pricey. I deliberately chose this neighborhood because it’s about as far from the grittiness of my profession as you can get. It’s all trendy, family-owned restaurants and farmers markets.
But I live simply. And except for my extensive weapons collection, I just save my money. I’m paid well for what I do. Killing might be the only thing I’m good at, but I fucking hate it. I’m convinced that with every life you take—guilty or not—a piece of your own soul dies with that victim. At this point, I’m not sure I have much of a soul left.
I used to dream of retiring to some exotic beach. Live the rest of my days barefoot and dining on fresh seafood, falling asleep and waking to the gentle sound of the waves and scent of the salty air. But every year that dream gets more and more hazy like a picture fading with time. I can’t even see it clearly anymore.
I’m a killer. It’s all I’ll ever be. Eventually it will eat the remainder of my soul and at that point I’ll just have to hope that God will find some mercy to remove me from this Earth.
She stops suddenly and I’m so wrapped up in my goddamn morose thoughts that I smack right into her plump ass. I grip her hips to stop any forward momentum our crash might cause.
“Sorry,” I grumble. I step away before I can enjoy the feel of her soft flesh against mine. She’s all warmth and softness and I’m hard and cold. We do not match, no matter how much I feel some kind of primal urge to claim her.
The truth is I’m not an actual caveman and it’s illegal to just club a woman over the head and bring her to your house to live with you forever. But fuck me if just being in her presence feels like a cooling balm to my seared soul.
She could save you.
That inner voice is a fucking liar. “Off limits,” I growl.
“I’m sorry?” she asks. There’s something in the lilt of her vowels that lets me know she’s got the hint of an accent.
“Where are you from?”
“Texas.” She gives me that gap tooth grin and it makes me want to smile right back at her.
But I haven’t smiled in so long, I bet I don’t remember how. It would probably be like that cartoon Beauty and the Beast when they try to get the monster to smile and it looks even creepier when it does.
“Where’s the pest?” I ask. So far I don’t hear the sounds of anyone struggling and I wonder if she’s bound and gagged him. Was he an intruder or a date gone wrong? I have so many questions.
I haven’t seen a lot of guys—or even one for that matter—coming in and out of her place. But when I’m on a job, I work long hours and sometimes I’m gone for days at a time. So what do I know?
She grabs my arm and leads me into the kitchen. Then she bends over right in front of me and I swear my whole fucking life flashes before my eyes. It would take nothing to yank those yoga pants down, tell her to grab her ankles and I could be balls deep with the pull of my zipper. Fuck.
“Last time I saw the little bastard, he’d run under here.” She points to a gap under the cabinets next to the fridge.
A spot clearly not large enough for a person. “What kind of pest did you say this was?”
“A mouse or rat? I’m not really sure. I just saw a flash of fur and then an icky tail.”
“An actual rodent?”
Her brow furrows. “Yes. Why?”
For a moment, I’m tempted to ask if she considered training the rodent to braid her hair while she sings to it.
Thankfully, before I can, she asks, “Do you not do rodents? Are like exterminators specified? Like you only do bugs or something?”
I fight the urge to laugh because fuck my life she thinks I’m an actual exterminator. Like one you could look up in the phonebook if people still used those sorts of resources.
“Something like that,” I murmur.
She bites down on that lip again and though I deserve the torture, it’s wearing me down. And I’d rather not get involved with this woman. She’s too young, too innocent, too pure and good and all the lovely things about the world, and I am the opposite of all of those things.
Is it crazy how much this woman reminds me of a damn animated princess? Yes, it is. What can I say? I watch a lot of movies. And some of those animated ones are damn good. Don’t judge. I’m a multi-faceted man.
Being a trained killer means I work weird hours, but still have a lot of free time and zero social life. When I’m not working, I exercise and I watch movies. That’s it.
I can tell she’s interested in me, I’ve seen her looks and her coy glances and I know she’s been watching me through our shared fence. But I cannot pick up what she’s putting down.
“Can you still help?” she asks.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I lay on the floor and begin looking for a sign of any kind of creature hiding. Half an hour later I haven’t even come across so much as a tiny mouse turd. I’m thinking this woman hallucinated the whole ordeal.
Eventually, after scouring her house, I stand to find her smiling at me. “Do you want a beer or something? Or I could order a pizza?”
I shake my head. “Sorry I couldn’t find anything. Maybe call a better professional next time.” I walk away and head for the door because I’ve got to get away from this woman.
She’s hot on my heels though, but I ignore that.
“Thank you so much. And it was so nice to meet you. You know if you ever need anything, like a cup of sugar or whatever, then let me know. I’ll just be here, right next door. Your friendly neighbor.” She releases an awkward chuckle.
I just nod and walk out her door. She’s so goddamn charming and adorable that I just want to press her against the wall and kiss her senseless. But I’m too smart to make that kind of mistake.
Whoever it is she thinks I am, she’s wrong.
I’m not the kind of guy who borrows a cup of sugar or shares a pizza with his hot neighbor. I’m not the kind of guy a pretty girl bakes snickerdoodle cookies for.
I don’t know if I was ever that guy. Maybe once. A lifetime ago. Before my younger brother got lost in drugs and OD’d. Before his death broke my parents’ hearts. Before killing people for the Marines snuffed out the last dregs of my humanity.
But even back then, all those years ago, there’d been something reckless and jittery about me. Too restless and wild for my own good, my mother used to say.
The only thing in my life that ever made that restlessness still is the silence of sitting alone, with a rifle in my hands. The killing never brought me peace. Thank God, I’m not that fucked up. The stillness before, the waiting, the hours and sometimes days of quiet beforehand. Sometimes I’ve found a tiny sliver of peace then.
Yeah, that’s the kind of fucked in the head that I am.
Which is why no matter what this chick thinks she sees in me, she’s wrong.
I don’t deserve pizza and cookies and a woman with the most fuckable tits I’ve ever seen.
I deserve the misery and loneliness that hits after the crack of a rifle breaks that sliver of peace.
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