The Hitman’s Angel

“What are you going to do? Kill us?” I swipe at my eyes. “Why?”

Hank’s upper lip curls. “I don’t owe you an explanation, you mouthy bitch.” I simply wait, knowing he won’t be able to help himself. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to let your mother live yet. The regulars upstairs still ask for her. I’d love to put her back to work after she walked out on me. It would serve her cheating ass right.”

Beside me, my mother starts to cry softly.

“What about me?”

Hank laughs and lights another cigarette, taking his time on the first drag. “After you left last night with the Russian, I got to thinking. Something didn’t sit right about him. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since I cut my business partner out of this place and I knew. I knew that big Russian fucker came here to do me in.” He looks me over and I’m grateful to be wearing a hoodie. “Maybe I should thank you for distracting him. How long did it take you to spread your legs for him, Margaret? A couple of hours? Like mother like daughter.”

I refuse to let him make Lenin and my relationship something dirty. I know better. I know it was created in love. If my life ends here, I’ll keep that truth alive until I can’t anymore.

“I confronted my ex business partner last night and after some convincing…” Hank smirks, and I have a feeling his convincing involved torture. “…he confessed to hiring the hit through a third party. That third party is a nasty son of a bitch and he doesn’t like when he hires someone and they don’t deliver on time. He’s looking for the Russian now and he’s willing to forget about the hit if we bring him the Russian. Dead.”

My blood freezes. “How are you going to do that?”

“Oh come on, little Margaret.” His laughter makes my insides shrink up. “I know the look of a man who has been hypnotized by pussy. He’ll show sooner or later.”

Hank nods at the other man in the room and he brandishes a gun.

They both laugh.

A sob climbs my throat and bursts free. They’re going to kill Lenin.

Because of me.

Tears blur my vision as Hank continues to talk. “You sure know how to pick them, Margaret. Your first man and he’s a world-class killer for hire.”

I’d already pieced together what Lenin does for a living and this confirms it. He was at the club last night to kill my stepfather, and on top of that he already told me he’s not a good man. I’m in love with a hit man.

But that’s not all he is.

He’s caring and thoughtful and passionate.

He had a nightmare about me crying, for crissakes.

He saved me from this place and treated me with respect.

Restrained himself until I was ready to go further.

He fed me, promised me a future—and I believe him.

Tears track down my cheeks. Now he’s going to get ambushed—

There’s a precise crack and the man holding the gun drops into a heap on the floor. A shadow appears within the shadows at the edge of the room. There, but not there. Hank scrambles to draw his own gun, but he yelps in pain and a red stain blooms on his thigh. His gun clatters on the ground and he stumbles.

Lenin steps out of the shadows. His gaze is murderous, directed at Hank.

My heart cheers like an audience of thousands.

“Angel, please dry your tears before I look at you.” His voice resonates, deep and livid in the cold room. “I’m trying very hard not to scare you, but if you cry right now…” He stops for a shuddering breath. “When we leave, I will have to burn down this building with everyone inside.”

I use my sleeves to mop my cheeks. “Let’s not do that. It’s mean.”

“Stop crying and I will consider it.” He makes a miserable sound. “You are not harmed?”

“No. I’m fine.”

He squeezes his eyes closed, briefly. “I will double check later.”

I have the sudden urge to laugh, I’m so relieved and happy. “Okay.”

Hank dives for his gun, but Lenin fires and hits him in the arm with a bullet before he can grasp it. My stepfather wails and rolls into his back, cradling his bloody forearm to his chest. “Jesus Christ. Help me.”

“You thought I would be trapped by two filthy vermin?” Lenin stops beside Hank and points the gun at the center of his forehead. “You use my angel as bait?”

“I’m sorry.” Hank holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Lenin’s expression is pure disgust, his finger turning white on the trigger. “You would already be dead if she wasn’t watching, you piece of garbage.”

“I can turn around,” I suggest.

“Margaret,” my mother gasps, nudging me with an elbow.

Swallowing, I turn to her. “You don’t get to question me anymore.”