Saved By The Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 2

  Now, for the first time in my life, I feel seen by a man.

  And not just any man.

  Jett’s sculpted-yet-manly features could be on the cover of GQ, and yet something tells me he’d never do something like that. No, he’s all man, no pretty-boy in him at all. He probably doesn’t even care how ruggedly handsome he is.

  I stamp down on that barreling train of thoughts.

  I’m letting myself fall too easily into the rabbit hole of my mind.

  “Ha, ha,” I say. “Okay, Jett the hitman, I really should be getting back to work now.”

  “Is there much work to do?” Jett asks. “Hasn’t the party already been planned?”

  He’s right, of course. Now it’s mostly a matter of maintenance, making sure there are enough nibbles circulating, making sure the band has everything they need, that the champagne is being iced just the right amount, all the tiny details that Patricia has lectured me about time and time again.

  But I can’t keep standing here with Jett, my panties getting wetter and wetter, my clit tingling with the urge to be touched, pressed on hard, by this man, this hulking beast.

  “Well, aren’t you a know-it-all?” I say, going for a teasing note, but the shield of banter I usually guard myself with feels weak under his gaze.

  “I know a few things,” he growls, soft enough so that only I hear.

  He takes a step forward, bathing me in his musky scent.

  I have to fight hard not to smooth my hand over his jaw, to see if I can feel his beard growing, prickly against my palm, or if his skin will be as smooth as it looks.

  “Hmm, like what?” I say, breathlessly, hardly able to get the words out now.

  Does he want me? Or am I going completely insane here?

  His smirk twitches. “I know that you fell in front of me on purpose, Juliana, knowing that I’d catch you.”

  I giggle, shaking my head. “That is so not true. I didn’t even see you. And didn’t I say everybody calls me Julia?”

  “You did,” he rumbles. “But I’m not everybody. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

  “And what the heck does that mean?” I say, going for fiery again, but the words come out all hazy and leaden with lust.

  He stalks even closer. There’s barely an inch of space between us now, Jett leaning down so that his eyes are level with mine, his massive body like a trap ready to snap shut and swallow me into him.

  I want to sink into him, to melt into him, to feel how hot and hard with muscle his body is.

  “It means I’ve been alive for forty-two years, Juliana, and I’ve never—”

  Suddenly his face changes, his smirk turning into a flat line. All the fun and banter dies in his eyes.

  It’s like he becomes a different man.

  I almost gasp, the change is so sudden.

  He looks deadly.

  He looks like a man getting ready to defend our family from all the evils of the world, a man who’ll roll his sleeves up and do whatever’s necessary to fight anybody who would dream of hurting me – his woman – or his children, my children.

  I stamp down on that crazy thought, telling myself that it’s the last time I’ll let my brain go to such a nonsensical place.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, but the gruffness of his voice tells me otherwise. “Good luck with the rest of the party, Juliana. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  With that, he’s gone, turning and striding across the room. He moves like a force to be reckoned with, the jet black of his tuxedo jacket stretched from one boulder-like shoulder to the other. He moves with purpose, several people leaping out of the way before he crashes into them.

  I realize my breath is coming way too fast when I hear it in my ears.

  I wander to the edge of the room – past the band who are making their way back to the stage – and lean against the wall. I take a few deep breaths, hoping that nobody notices the weird girl on the outskirts of the room, breathing in and out exaggeratedly like a weirdo.

  I’ve been alive for forty-two years and I’ve never …

  But then darkness crept into his features.

  He’s never what? Met a woman like me? Is that what he was going to say?

  “Julia,” Patricia says.

  I look up to find my boss and friend standing there in her stiff suit. Her features are pinched with concern beneath her bob of dyed blonde hair. She’s wearing tall heels, the kind I could only dream of walking in, and her body is as thin or thinner than the wives who circulate the room.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, boss,” I say, this time getting closer to something like lighthearted. “I’m sorry. I just needed a breather.”

  She arches her stenciled eyebrow, clicking closer to me on her heels. “So it had nothing to do with that seven-foot hunk you were just talking to, hmm? The man with the distinguished iron hair and, basically, all the muscles?”

  My cheeks glow red.

  I shake my head, but it’s a weak liar’s gesture.

  Of course, it has something to do with him.

  It has everything to do with him.

  I ache to know what he was going to say before he weirdly cut himself off, walking away without so much as an explanation.

  “It was just small talk,” I say. “Party chatter, you know. Nothing more.”

  Patricia tilts her head, reading me like she always does. Ever since she found me two years ago she’s had this uncanny ability to read me. She knows when I’m hiding something.

  “He’d be lucky to have you,” she says, placing her hand on my arm. “Any man would. You know that, don’t you?”

  I feign a wide smile. “Of course I do. I’m hot stuff.”

  The words ring hollow.

  I don’t feel like hot stuff.

  I never have.

  “Anyway,” I say. “Shall we get back to work? The last time I checked, I wasn’t being paid to mope.”

  Patricia sighs. I can tell she doesn’t like it when I take jabs at myself, even if they’re sarcastic. She’s always telling me that I’m talented and funny and attractive, but it never hits home, not really.

  Because I’ve never felt like that.

  Well, except once.

  When Jett stared at me, his blue eyes burning into me, pinning me into place, maybe then I felt attractive.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jett

  The contact has never given me his name, even after all these years. I first learned of him after I left the SEALs and came home to care for my sick mother.

  One of my SEAL buddies said he knew of some work that might suit me, a man who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty and was comfortable in the shadows.

  Ever since then, I’ve never asked for their name.

  I’ve never needed it.

  But now – as I sit in the dark conference room, my hand a tight fist around the burner cell – I could fucking roar it down the phone.

  And tell him that he’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to hurt her.

  When the cellphone buzzed in my pocket, it was like a reminder of what I am, of how insane it is that I’ve given this girl my real name when I’m supposed to be on a job.

  It didn’t exactly break the spell she has over me. I don’t think anything could do that. But it did pull me, momentarily, back to reality.

  Then I went into the hallway to check the phone, not wanting one of the partiers to accidentally see my screen and maybe spot their own face.

  But it was a photo of her, the woman I’ve already mentally marked as mine, mine alone.

  The woman I need to claim, whose body and smile and scent captivated me the moment I stopped her from falling.

  It was a photo taken on the street with a long lens, with her name beneath it in stark black letters.

  That was it. No reason. No justification.

  “Do you really think I’m going to kill her?” I snarl down the phone, my other hand gripping the conference table
so hard my knuckles turn the color of bone.

  The alien voice answers bluntly, “You don’t have a choice. No, that’s not true. You do have a choice. Do your job as you always have … or we’ll put you onto the same list she’s on. You’ll be hunted. Your life will be ended. Now just ask yourself, Jett, is this woman worth it—this woman who you don’t even know?”

  “I’ve never killed a woman,” I snap. “I only kill the guilty. What crime is she guilty of, eh? Tell me.”

  I slam my fist down on the table. The wood cracks and splinters under the force of my fist.

  “You’ve been afforded the courtesy of knowing what your targets have done over the years, Jett, firstly because of your SEAL experience – we thank you for your service and all that – and later on because you’re such an effective agent. But it seems that somewhere along the way, you forgot that it was a courtesy and not an obligation. Do you understand? We owe you nothing. But you owe us a whole lot. You signed up to do this work. Now do it.”

  My fist trembles against the table, the jagged broken pieces of wood grinding against my skin. I feel like roaring until the tendons in my throat break.

  This was supposed to be my last job. This was supposed to be the end of it all.

  “I’m not killing her,” I snarl, picturing her kind, sassy eyes, that curvy body of hers.

  Dimly in my mind, I can hear our children singing and laughing, children I never even knew I wanted until I laid eyes on her.

  But now I know that I want them—no, need them.

  Something ancient and hungry has awakened inside of me, something I don’t understand, and yet I can’t ignore it. I can’t even try.

  I don’t want to try.

  She’s mine.

  I’d die – I’d kill – before I let anything happen to her.

  And this bastard thinks that I’m going to kill her myself?

  “Don’t be stupid,” the alien voice warbles. Beneath it, I can make out some emotion, urgency, and eagerness to convince me. “This is the end of the line for you, Jett. You’ve taken out fifteen targets for us over the years—”

  “And every single one of them was a killer or a rapist or some sick bastard who hurt children. I’ve never touched a woman. And I’m not going to hurt this one. She …”

  I trail off, grinding my teeth from side to side.

  I was about to say, She means too much to me.

  But how can I say that to him when it doesn’t even make sense to me?

  “She’s nobody,” the voice roars. “Jesus fucking Christ. She’s an orphan, a speck of dust, a nothing. Nobody will miss her. Nobody will care.”

  I’ll miss her, I think but don’t say.

  I’ll care.

  “You can try and convince me all you want,” I snarl. “But it’s not happening.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” the contact snarls, fierceness beneath the electronic distortion of their voice. “You know what this means, Jett. You know we have to terminate you. This is your last job, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Making a mistake because I won’t murder an innocent woman in cold blood?” I laugh grimly. “No, pal. You made the mistake the second you thought I’d do something so fucking wrong.”

  “She’s going to die anyway,” the voice snaps. “We’ll just send somebody else.”

  “If you send somebody else to hurt her, I’ll put them in the fucking dirt.”

  “What? Why?”

  Because I’ve already marked her as mine because she was mine long before we ever met. As insane as it is, something burns inside of me when I think about Juliana belonging to any other man.

  She’s mine, as though she was carved into my fate long ago, and now all I have to do is take her.

  “You don’t get to ask questions anymore,” I snarl.

  “Then it’s going to be war,” the voice says, sounding weary. “We’ll have to kill you both.”

  “Yeah,” I laugh darkly. “Good luck with that.”

  “Who do you think you are?” the voice snarls.

  “I’m Jett fucking Jackman,” I growl in response. “I’m a Navy SEAL and the best operator on the East Coast. I’m the man who’d make you shit yourself if I ever showed up on your doorstep. I’m the man who’ll kill every man you send to harm this girl. That’s who I am. I’ll give you one chance.”

  “What?”

  “One chance.” I shake my hand, shrapnel from the table sliding loose and landing on its surface. “Call off your dogs. Promise you won’t go after her. And we can end this peacefully.”

  “Do you really think you’re in a position to wager?”

  “I know you’re not harming her, under any circumstances. That’s what I fucking know.”

  “Give me a minute,” the voice says.

  “For what?”

  “I have to check with my superiors. I don’t want this going sour any more than you do.”

  “Fine, go, and check.”

  I take the opportunity to steady my breathing, reaching for the dead-calm that has been my resting state for so many years now. It’s the calm that has allowed me to do my work without letting emotions puncture the hard shell of my soul.

  But one conversation with Juliana has done more than over a decade of bloody work.

  I feel, for the first time since Mom and Dad were alive.

  I feel and it hurts, it aches and it throbs, and I know that there’s nothing in this world that will stop me from defending my woman. And the children I’m going to put inside of her the first chance I get.

  Finally, they return, their voice crackling down the phone.

  “One last chance, Jett. Will you complete the job or not?”

  I stand up and lay my blood-dappled fists against the table, wishing I could reach through the phone and throttle this coward.

  “You have your answer,” I snarl.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this—”

  “War,” I say gruffly. “If you’re going to force my hand on this, then it’s war. I’ll be waiting.”

  I hang up and then take the phone apart, snapping the SIM card and then snapping the burner in half. I leave the crumpled remains on the table and walk into the hallway.

  I have to keep a close watch on Juliana now.

  I have to save her life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Juliana

  I return to my one bedroom apartment to find Rebel curled up on the clean pile of clothes I sorted before heading out for the evening. The moment I moved out of the orphanage, I made a promise to myself that I’d always keep my apartment clean. The orphanage was never tidy, so much debris of life cluttered everywhere, so much mess.

  The truth is, I don’t always succeed. But I try.

  And that’s what matters, right?

  I drop onto the bed and let my little Chihuahua hop from the laundry and climb into my lap. She makes a little purring noise as I run my hands through her short brown hair, opening her mouth to give me the cutest grin imaginable.

  “Potty, girl?” I say. “Wanna go onto the balcony?”

  I’ll take her for a proper walk tomorrow morning, but right now I’m ready to collapse into bed. I walk across the room, Rebel leaping from the mattress and trotting along next to me. The apartment is tiny, all the rooms huddled close together, but at least I have my own bedroom and living room and bathroom and kitchen, and even better, a tiny balcony area where Rebel can do her business.

  I wait just beyond the open door, the city wintry-blue with the February moonlight, the cold whispering in and tickling over me. Rebel is over the cold as much as I am and quickly returns to the warmth of the apartment after a quick squat and leg-lift.

  We walk inside and I feed her, sitting on the living room floor with her bowl in my hand and her small, delicate body in the other. She moans contentedly as she feeds, just a small meal, enough to satiate her until breakfast. I gave her a proper one before I left.

  Maybe it’s funny, or maybe it’s just sad, that I’m so much
more diligent with my dog’s diet than my own.

  After feeding her, I return to the bedroom and lie on the bed, atop the covers, closing my eyes and trying not to think of Jett.

  After his disappearing act, I didn’t spot him again all night. I kept waiting for him to appear, the memory of his strong, hot hands on my hips almost too much to take. I’m glad that Rebel is curled up against me now because it stops me from sliding my hand into my trousers and stroking my hand along my tingling sex.

  I shouldn’t indulge in these crazy fantasies.

  They lead nowhere.

  A man like him, with his silver hair and his ripped-as-hell body, would never be interested in an inexperienced girl like me.

  He was just being nice.

  But what about his unfinished sentence?

  I’ve never …

  Met a girl like me? Felt this way before? Been so attracted to a woman?

  Fine, it could be that, but it could also be, I’ve never been so disgusted. Do you really think I’d want you, you silly girl? Grow up. Life isn’t a book.

  I lie back, waiting for the heating to warm up. I think I’ll drift off to sleep in my clothes, but images of Jett keep tugging me back awake.

  Rebel moans and leaps onto my chest, lapping at my face with her tiny tongue, as though she knows that something is wrong.

  I giggle and sit up, running my hands through her fur. She yaps and starts to run in circles around the bed, tail wagging like crazy.

  “Wanna play, girl? Hmm? Wanna play?”

  I get her favorite stuffed animal from the box under the bed, tossing it around the apartment for the next fifteen minutes, trying to focus on Rebel and nothing else, nobody else.

  But Jett keeps intruding into all the little moments, his voice loud and gruff in my hand, his touch burning a phantom tattoo into my hips even now.

  I imagine him grabbing me and carrying me from the ballroom into the hotel, throwing me onto a bed, and then …

  And then what?