A Killer's Heart Read online

  A Killer’s Heart

  Crime Kings Book 10

  May Gordon

  Copyright © 2020 by May Gordon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor: Beth Neal

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  About the Author

  A Killer’s Heart

  The boogeyman. Known and feared in every deep dark corner of the underworld to the most lethal Crime kings. Smith is an assassin for hire, killing the worst of the worst for the monsters in the world. It's all he's ever known, and all he's known for. That is till his newest targets enter his sniper scope.

  Poppy doesn't know how she ended up single and pregnant. Her baby's father a man she wants nothing to do with after a brief mistake. For now, she's focused on her career and raising her child to the best of her abilities. What she didn't know is that it won't be so easy with a sizeable bounty on her head.

  For once in his life, Smith feels something in his dead heart, Poppy bringing him to life. But with every assassin in the world after her, he'll do everything in his power and claim ever chip he needs to keep her safe, even if that means killing every single person he crosses paths with to do so that means her harm.

  Prologue

  Smith

  Though you’d never expect it by looking at him, Ernest Donald is a mastermind, one that cooks different drugs to sell and ship worldwide. His clients range from small gangs to big time players. It doesn’t take but a moment to realize the eight guards nearby are scared of me. Clearly my reputation proceeds me, though not as much as it should if he thinks I won’t take them on and win.

  As if on cue, Ernest opens his office door and enters before sitting behind his desk. Without dismissing the others, he greets me, not bothering to shake my hand. Either he was told I hate doing that shit or he doesn’t want to get too close. "Mr. Smith."

  "Ernest," I respond, intentionally using his first name as I give him a stern glare. "You know I don't like to be kept waiting." He quickly apologizes, explaining he was confirming the details with his son, not wanting to give me the wrong information.

  "That would be problematic," I assure him, watching as he shifts under my gaze. Ready to be done with this, I ask, "Who's the target?"

  He clears his throat as if he’s nervous, then tells me, "Poppy Lane. She's twenty-three." I hide my surprise at her age, wondering how a kid found herself on this family’s hit list.

  "She was here in France, though I've gotten word now she took a job in South Africa."

  "Timeline?"

  "As soon as possible,” he answers. “She threatens the hierarchy of our business." That is a serious accusation considering how long his family has been at this. Underground royalty the Donald family is.

  "Wire me the fee," I command before rising and adjusting my leather jacket. He states that it’s already been done as he gets to his feet and gives me a nod. As I leave his compound, I light up a cigarette. As always, I never ask more than the necessary questions of the person hiring me. I prefer to do my own research. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t killed a female before. Just as with men, there are some horrible women in the world and they deserve what they get. However, who I take out is my choice. I’m not sure what Poppy Lane did, but one way or another, her life as she knew it is over.

  Chapter 1

  Poppy

  In preparation for tonight, I walk through the museum to double-check the displays. Wealthy businessmen, socialites, and the locals deemed royalty are expected to attend. I’ve worked so hard on this collection and I hope to sell each painting. Even though I’m exhausted, this job couldn't have come at a better time. I have no one to blame but myself for the fact my life was turned upside down. Art has always been my passion and I graduated top of my class from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I went on to work not only in the same city, but also New York, and D.C. With no reason to remain in the States since my parents were already gone, I jumped at the chance when I was offered a fantastic position in Paris.

  Once I arrived, it was like a dream come true. I was living my best life professionally and personally when I met Max, a businessman. We went on a few dates, dinner, the theatre, etc. On the fourth, he took me to a wine tasting. Admittedly, I’d had too much to drink, but I should’ve still been safe. Instead, he turned aggressive, pressuring me, not listening when I told him no. Having only been with a guy once prior to that, a boyfriend in college, it was scary. I ended things the next day via text, not even wanting to talk to him after what he’d done. Within a week, I was asked to be the museum coordinator here in Cape Town and, seeing it as fresh start, I took it.

  Then I discovered I was pregnant. Through my shock, I debated whether to tell Max, but the reminder of how he was that night stopped me. He’s dangerous, and terrified me. I refuse to have a man like that be a part of my child’s life. Just being near him would taint my son or daughter, so I decided to raise them alone to the best of my ability.

  "Ms. Lane," Mr. Belton, the owner and the one who hired me, says as he joins me. "Everything looks great. You’re doing wonderful here. Artists are flocking to us, eager to have their work associated with us, knowing it will sell.” I smile at the sweet older man who reminds me of my grandfather, thanking him, then excuse myself to run home to change. “Don’t be late,” he warns with a teasing grin. “You’re the best at getting them sold.” I promise I won’t, then get in my car and drive the few short blocks to my place.

  I could’ve walked, yet being four months pregnant, and wearing higher heels, would make it difficult. Thankfully, I haven’t had morning sickness and have been able to hide my baby bump so far.

  I take a quick shower, then remove the dress I purchased last week from my closet. With this being a black-tie event, I chose accordingly with the color and fit. It’s a little tight as I’m currently growing a human, but the second layer of the skirt conceals me quite well. I gather my blonde hair into a bun, then apply my makeup, keeping it simple yet striking. Having chosen more appropriate attire for my feet, I decide to leave my car, knowing the exercise is good for both me and the baby. At least I have tomorrow off to recuperate.

  Hours later of what is probably the longest night of my life, my feet hurt and my lower back aches. Mr. Belton, however, is very pleased as almost every piece has been purchased. I’d do anything for a cool beverage. Unfortunately, it’ll have to wait as a few guests are still here.

  "Drink?" A deep, masculine voice asks, sending a shiver down my spine. As I turn to see the stranger, I immediately notice how handsome he is and the power that radiates from him hard looking body. I take a small step back, partly to get a better look at him, but also because there’s a dangerous air surrounding him. I take in the dark denim jeans, black leather jacket, and white shirt that barely contains his impressive chest. It isn’t unusual for billionaires to wear something like this, seeing as his clothing is clearly expensive. I’m a bit embarrassed by the impact he has on my pulse.

  "No, thank you," I politely decline. He deposits the glass on the tray of a passing waiter, though his eyes never le
ave mine. He’s studying me, making me feel like I’m under a microscope. Snapping out of my trance, I paste on a fake smile and see if he’s enjoying the show. He shrugs, which isn’t really an answer, and questions if it’s going well. Deciding not to lie, sensing he’s a no bullshit type of guy, I inform him that we are. “The artists being featured are world renowned.”

  "Which is why they cost so much," he grumbles, annoying me. He obviously knows nothing about art nor what it entails to create.

  “You mean why they’re worth so much.” I correct him with some attitude. Once more, he watches me, and I take the opportunity to admire his features, then point out, “I didn’t catch your name.”

  "That’s because I didn't give it." At first, I think he's joking, except he doesn't crack a smile. Tit for tat and all, I introduce myself, not wanting to be a rude as he is. “I know,” he replies.

  When Mr. Belton gets my attention, I shift to see what he needs. When I pivot to the stranger again, he’s gone. I try, yet I can’t find him anywhere, so I chalk the whole interaction up to a strange experience and brush it off.

  When it ends, all the items have been sold and it’s time to call it a night. A security guard lets me out and I begin my journey home. It isn’t long before I stop to remove my shoes, letting the blisters I can feel forming breathe. I should care that I’m now barefoot on a public sidewalk, but I don’t. The cool pavement feels good against my heated skin. Halfway to my destination, I feel an arm wrap around me, covering my mouth with a cloth. I don’t know what it was soaked with, just that it makes me feel dizzy a second before my eyes shut and the darkness takes me.

  Chapter 2

  Smith

  From my chair, I watch Poppy. She’s stunning in that dress and I find it hard to tear my gaze away from her there on the bed. Usually when I’m this close to a client, it’s because I’m in the process of killing them. However, the second I saw her picture something inside me shifted. No, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning. My body demanded I get near hers, breathe the same fucking air as her. Having never experienced this or anything like it before, I tried to brush it off as a fluke, telling myself she wouldn’t affect me this way in person. Fuck was I wrong. Which means I have to admit, even if only to myself as those assholes would gloat, the Crime Kings were right about the impact meeting your one has on a man.

  With a contract being out for her life, more than one I’m sure, I knew I had to work fast. The Donald family does not mess around, they always hire professionals to do their dirty work. When they don’t receive confirmation from me that the job is completed, they’ll look to the next to do so. The mere thought of this beautiful woman being on anyone's hit list, mine included, has rage boiling inside me.

  According to my research, she has no red flags, on paper at least. This woman is smart, was a great student, graduating with honors, whose parents are deceased. I didn’t uncover a connection that would explain why Ernest wants her dead, so that part is still a mystery.

  Poppy stirs in her sleep, coming out of the nap I’d essentially forced on her. Standing, I double-check the windows and door before going to her side, assuming she'll try to make a break for it. I've already decided I'm not finishing this job, yet the thought of her leaving hurts. I have no plan past the fact that she's staying with me.

  She groans as she slowly sits up, hands moving to her temples to gently rub them. "Oh god, my head hurts." I want nothing more than to join her on the bed and comfort her, soothe her pain, but I remain where I am to give her space.

  Trying to sound non-threatening, I urge her “take the pills next to the glass of water they’ll help”. My voice has her eyes widening, a scream escaping her as she scrambles to put more distance between us. I hate seeing the panic on her face, knowing I caused it, as she frantically glances around the room."I promise I won’t hurt you."

  "Says the man who kidnapped me!” She responds which is a very valid point. “Where are we and what do you want?" I notice as she pats herself, no doubt searching for injuries, she pays special attention to her belly.

  "You're uninjured,” I reassure her. “And the chemical I used is perfectly safe." That seems to ease her worries some as her gaze takes me in once more.

  "You're the handsome stranger from the gallery."

  I hide my smile as I ask, "You think I'm handsome?" I don't know why that part matters to me, just that it does.

  Finding her courage, she rises, her expression angry as she demands “What the hell do you want from me?”

  I have to admit, I like this feisty side of her. Not wanting to lie, I give her the truth and hope for the best. “I’m an assassin hired to take you out.”

  Why would anyone want me dead?" Poppy asks in confusion.

  I shrug, telling her I have no idea. “All I know is they consider you a threat.” I try to keep the disbelief from my tone, finding it difficult to believe of her, though I fail to do so.

  "I could be if I wanted to,” she mumbles, apparently offended. I’m discovering it hard to hide a smile at her response, something I never do. And then she challenges me. "So, are you killing me or not?" she snaps.

  “Not.” is all I say.

  “You suck at your job,” she declares as she sits back down. “What’s the plan then?”

  "They’ll send others when I don't confirm you're dead, which means you'll have hundreds of wet work agents on you within days." She clutches her stomach at my statement, then runs past me and into the hotel bathroom, slamming the door shut. I hear the water being turned on, followed immediately after by the unmistakable sounds of her getting sick. “Poppy,” I holler with concern as I bang on the door. “You okay?”

  "Fucking perfect," she responds between heaves. I feel useless, wishing I could do something. As I can’t, I suggest she take a shower, hoping it’ll help. At the least, it’ll give her time to herself, which I’m sure she’s desperately wanting. When I hear her doing just that, I slip from the room, confidant Poppy is currently in no condition to make a run for it. Hitting the nearest store, I grab anything I think she’ll need, for once completely out of my depth as I guess about what that might be. When I return, I set the bags down and knock on the bathroom door. Since she might not be able to hear me, I try again, louder.

  “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in to check on you,” I warn her. She tries to tell me she’s fine and will be out soon, but her voice is weak. Worried, I twist the knob, not surprised it’s locked. A few minutes later, having picked it, I step in and find her curled up in the shower, hugging her knees to her chest, crying. Seeing her so fragile breaks my heart, an organ many would doubt I owned. I slowly open the glass door and crouch in front of her from the outside of the shower.

  “I got you some fresh clothes, and some food that will settle you.”

  Her eyes are red and bottom lip quivers as she looks up at me. I hate that it’s aimed at me, though it’s understandable considering the situation. I promise that I’m only trying to make this easier and that I’m won’t her. When she nods, relief fills me.

  "Can you hand me that robe then face the other way?" Doing so, I place it on the rack within her reach and add a towel next to it. My ears are highly tuned to her every movement, which is how I recognize that she needs me, her foot more than likely catching as she attempts to get out. Reflexively, I catch her, stifling the groan at feeling her naked wet body against me. I steady her, trying not to glance, but one part of her catches my attention. A small yet obvious baby bump.

  "What. The. Fuck?" Poppy wraps herself in the towel.

  “I’m pregnant, that’s why I wasn’t feeling well.” she confirms. Not sure what to do with this information I just leave the back room. Just seeing her had turned my world upside down, even more so in person, but now to discover she’s with child? I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do, but I can guarantee I will protect both of them from anyone that comes at them.

  Chapter 3

  Poppy

  Surprisingly,
I feel rested, having actually gotten some sleep last night. The sickness I’d felt at first had faded, the shock and stress wearing off as I realized he wasn’t going to hurt me. That in fact, he wanted to stop others from doing just that. Though I know discovering that I’m pregnant threw him for a loop. Join the club. The clothes he’d gotten for me fit better, which means there’s no covering my belly any longer. “What are you doing?” I ask. I’ve been staring at him, watching him work on his laptop for a while now.

  His gaze doesn’t leave the screen, letting me know he was aware that I was awake and watching him this whole time. "Scrubbing your information." Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up and want to know why. "To protect you," he says matter of fact. Now he looks up at me, his voice serious as he informs me, "We need to talk."

  "Is work all you do?"

  "No. If so, you'd be dead." Wait. Was that a joke? Standing, he walks to the mini-fridge, removes a bottle of orange juice, then hands it and a pill to me. When I ask what it is, I can’t help but smile when he responds, “Prenatal vitamin. Google says it’s essential for your condition.” Okay, that’s very sweet. I swing my legs, planting my feet on the floor, and take both. I thank him as he sits next to me. His weight causes the bed to dip a little, making me slide a little closer to him. Facing me, he gently states, “Want to tell me why a beautiful pregnant woman is on a hit list?” I take a whiff of his scent and find it intoxicating. What does he wear? Or is it him naturally?