Driven to the Edge: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance Read Online Free Page B

myself, trying to build a tiny bit of a rapport, just enough to convince him I may not murder him after all.
    “Alain Ference. The accountant. I don’t give a shit who killed him, but I need to know what happened to his assets.”
    The man who pulled the trigger on my brother is irrelevant to me. I know who ordered the hit, and that’s what matters. The guy who pulled the trigger, he’s just like me: just doing his job.
    Certain valuables were stolen from my brother’s home before the Császár family set fire to it. Martinsen will know where these things were taken.
    More importantly, the bastards also took my brother’s six-year-old daughter.
    And I know what the Császár family does with girls, once they’re old enough.
    When I take my boot off Martinsen’s throat, he wibbles unstoppably, his face red and contorted with pain, tears leaking from the corners of his beady eyes.
    You know, there’s a simpler way of doing this.
    “Sorry,” I say. “I figured out a way to do this without you.”
    I mutter a curse in soft-spoken Hungarian, then shoot Martinsen through the head just like Voss.
    Mindful of the mess, I lean down and slip Martinsen’s phone out of his pocket. I heft up one of his hands and press the dead man’s index finger to the fingerprint unlock screen, slide it across.
    “Thanks Luka,” I say, letting his arm fall down again. I reset the lock screen from the phone’s settings, then secure it away into my pocket. My brother cooked the Császár family books for several years. I know all their code words and slang.
    If Martinsen himself wasn’t involved in kidnapping Elise, I’ll just kill my way up the food chain until I find who was.
    Now to get out.

6
    ~ Alicia ~
    I t’s been so long since anyone kissed me that I forgot how good it could feel.
    Or maybe I’ve just never been kissed quite like this.
    His mouth is on mine, so hot it burns and so hard it feels like he’s crushing me, like he’s trying to steal my breath right out of my lungs. His hands--big hands with strong fingers--hold my shoulders, pressing me down. He pins me in place while he drags his teeth along my bottom lip, nipping hard enough that it almost hurts, and then he kisses his way further down...
    I arch up into his hands, my body alive with the sensation of just how badly I want him. I gasp as he latches his mouth onto the side of my neck, trailing kisses down my bare shoulder, before his tongue brushes lightly over one of my nipples, which stiffens instantly under his touch.
    He sinks down atop me, his heavy weight a reminder of just how much I belong to him. I’m so much smaller than him, there’s no way I’d be able to wrestle free even if I wanted to.
    He devours my skin, teeth raking over my breast, one of his hands migrating to cup the other one, squeezing gently at first, then harder. I’m almost ashamed of the sounds coming out of my mouth: light, heady gasps and moans, like my body is reacting so strongly to his touch that it can’t even keep itself quiet.
    Heat rising under my skin, I throw my head back, opening my eyes. The ceiling of the Maybach has a mirror atop it, so I can watch us both in sharp detail: his muscular, tanned body atop mine, the way his shoulders shift under his tattooed skin.
    He wanders two fingers down my stomach, skimming them over my navel, along my inner thigh, teasing me.
    I murmur something incoherent that ends with, “please.”
    A shudder runs through me when his fingers finally reach their destination. He brushes two of them over my sex, just the outside, not teasing his way inside just yet. God, he’s taking his time with it.
    Whining impatiently, I rock my body against his, slitting my eyes nearly closed as he finally sweeps one finger along my lower lips.
    He tilts his face up toward mine for another kiss, and I catch a hint of a smirk, of something possessive and naughty gleaming in those dark liquor-colored eyes.
    It’s Jake Hawthorne. My client.
    I promised myself