Hitman's Revenge (a Forbidden Bad Boy Romance) Read Online Free

they would do that, and why they would keep her alive, was because of me. They needed something from me. And if that were the case, perhaps I’d done something to have gotten Nixon killed, too. My head pounded.
    What if I’d been the target all along? After all, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what made me tick, what would bring the rat out into the light and sniffing around, even though I’d tried to do everything I could over the years to distance myself and sever that connection. Nixon had been a casualty, but maybe Hazel was the true taunt.
    My cell vibrated, and I pulled it out of my pocket, swiping the screen to read the message. It was another job, the address not far from where I was staying. My standard fee was also in the message, along with the date and time that the hit was to take place.
    I considered the message for a minute. I was dead on my feet yet unable to sleep. Perhaps the job would give me a good distraction. Plus, I couldn’t very well ignore it, either—this was my job, how I made a living and how I managed to keep on going, day after day all these years. Killing fuelled me.
    I am the real deal, the boogeyman at night that carries a set of guns and is pretty damn handy with a knife. I had perfected my craft over the years to the point where not one of my hits was the same as another. I was virtually untraceable and highly sought after for that reason. Hardly anything bothered me anymore—which came in handy for those unusual requests. With one exception: I didn’t take hits out on kids. Kids were off-limits; they were innocent, and if someone wanted a child dead, I was more likely to kill the requester than the kid. Those types of people sickened me.
    But everyone else, well, they were fair game. The reasons varied, too. People wanted someone dead for all sorts of reasons, most commonly revenge, money or jealousy. I did the dirty deed they didn’t have the balls to do, and they were able to sleep at night. Once upon a time I kept track of every unfortunate soul I had done in on behalf of someone else, but after ten years of professional killings, I had lost count.
    Not one had made me lose sleep at night. There had been a time when I would get physically sick after a killing, but again, it got easier with age.
    Shifting in the bed, I thought about my last one—a man who had unfortunately stolen something very important from his former employer. He hadn’t even known I was in the house till the last second, and I made his death swift and clean. It was the least I could do after I’d caught sight of the wedding pictures and kids in the photo-frames in his living room. The last thing I wanted to do was have his smiling wife come home to a bloody mess from wherever the fuck she’d been. No, she would come home to find her husband OD’ed on the pills she didn’t know he had, for the problem she would never find out about. I could have a heart when I wanted to.
    I closed my eyes, and Hazel’s face flashed before my eyes; there was definitely no way I was going to get to sleep now. Just the thought of her lithe body had my groin reacting, and I tamped down the feeling, saving it for another day. I certainly didn’t need that type of distraction right now. Instead I forced myself up off the bed, ready to divert my attention to the last-minute job.
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    I moved to the window near the back of the shabby house, my boots making no sound on the leaves underneath.
    The instructions were explicit: take down the man in the back room. He had murdered a six year-old a few months before—it had been in all the papers—but he had gotten off without charge because the police had screwed up the chain of evidence. These types of missions I didn’t mind one little bit—it felt just, like I was righting the scales somehow. He sorely needed to die for what he had done. The cash, I would donate anonymously to the six year-old’s family, or some kid’s charity. I didn’t need the money for