Hitman Next Door

“Truce,” he said, holding out the flowers. Fuck, this wasn’t what he wanted to do right now, but a date? That was a big fucking deal and now he needed to go research who this John Krause was.

“Nate, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. I’m not used to making friends, okay? I am a loner by nature. I don’t get attached to anyone. That’s how my job works, and I like you, Lemon. You’re a great girl.”

“A great girl. Thank you.” She took the flowers. “If we’re going to be friends, I don’t suppose I can come and get your advice later on the dress I’m going to wear?”

“Don’t wear jeans,” he said. “Jeans are the kiss of death on a date.” He also didn’t want this John Krause to see how fucking gorgeous her ass was in a pair.

She chuckled. “Okay. Thank you.”

He loved how quickly she smiled and how she didn’t hold a grudge for too long. “I better get going. I don’t want to keep you from picking out an outfit.”

“Thanks, Nate.”

She stepped back and closed the door.

Hands clenched into fists, he wanted to go and pound this fucker’s face in. Since when did someone take notice of Lemon?

He was very cautious in keeping an eye on everything that was associated with her. No one paid any attention to her.

Entering his home, he ignored all the lies and pictures decorating the walls. This was the persona he had to portray. Most of the pictures were taken with actors or people on Rocco’s payroll. They were all paid to play a part and to keep silent.

Nate had insisted if he had to play friendly neighbor, he didn’t want the bullshit that came without being prepared. Some jobs he went into without any preparation at all because they didn’t need it. Lemon was different. He was on bodyguard and babysitting duty.

He fired up his laptop and hacked into the local council register to find John Krause. Once he had the name, he did a quick search across social media accounts, police servers, and any other relevant database that would help him to build up a picture of this boy.

The image of the guy made Nate tense. Classic boy next door with light blond hair and green eyes. A smile that told Nate the fucker was lying about something.

Within the hour, he had all the dirt he needed on John. The boy was the son of one of the wealthiest people in town. They owned a vacation villa out in the middle of nowhere, with views for miles, and John had a history a mile fucking long. On his record, it all looked squeaky clean, but beneath the surface was a man who liked to take what he wanted without listening to the woman say no.

He was a player.

An asshole.

And there was no way he was going to let this John anywhere near Lemon. She didn’t deserve this.

He knew where John was taking her, an Italian restaurant in town, and Nate called ahead, booking himself a table.

His doorbell rang just as he hung up from making a reservation.

That had to be Lemon.

He walked to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

She stood in a dress that nearly fucking killed him. Tight in the chest, pushing those tits together, showcasing her cleavage. It was fitted at the waist and flared out over her hips. At least she wasn’t showing off her nice ass.

“What do you think?” she asked.

He didn’t like it.

She looked amazing, and that should have all been for him, not anyone else.

“Is it all wrong?”

“No. No. You look gorgeous,” he said.

Lemon laughed. “Seriously? Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No, I’m not just saying that. I mean it.”

He didn’t want her going anywhere else but upstairs so he could strip her naked.

“I’m so pleased. Thank you, Nate. I’ll see you later,” she said.

He walked toward the door and heard the sound of a car honking its horn.

“That’s John.”

She looked so happy, and it pissed him off to know someone else was putting a big smile on her face.

No.

All her smiles.

All her happiness should be for him. No one else.

Hands clenched, he watched as Lemon approached the car. The fucker didn’t even get out to get her door. The boy needed to be taught some manners.

Once he saw the bastard’s taillights going in the distance, he grabbed his jacket and left his home, intent on following them.

He climbed behind the wheel of his car and went straight toward the restaurant. On arriving, he clocked the car, parked a couple of spots away, and headed inside.

The maître d’ didn’t waste any time, and Nate paid him well for it.

A waitress sauntered up, hips swaying, but he wasn’t interested in her.

After a glass of water came, he sat back and watched Lemon and John talk. He noticed her hands shook a little.