Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(156)

In response, Mickey simply drops the gun on the floor. Leon snatches it up and latches the safety back on before tucking it into his leather jacket. “Good choice. Nice doing business with you, Mr. Lamar.”

“Genn, get him into the back room and leave him there. Then get outta here while you still can,” Leon orders. “I’ve gotta talk to Miss LaBeau.”

At the sound of my name, I freeze up. How did he figure out who I am? Did he look me up? Was he watching me? Was he only pretending not to know me when he questioned me this morning? Then he looks back at me. As soon as those vivid mossy-green eyes land on me, my whole body tingles with a low thrum of electricity. He’s a lightning bolt of a man, and I find myself oddly exhilarated at the idea of being left alone with him here.

At yet another crime scene. I can’t help but wonder which one of us is attracting such dangerous situations: him? Or me?

Genn replies curtly, “You got it, Prez.” He drags Mickey off down the aisles, the two of them stepping all over broken glass and puddles of spilled booze as they go. Mickey is kicking and screaming like a petulant toddler, but Genn restrains him easily, without even having to say a word or break a sweat. He locks the store owner in the storage room at the back before jogging out an emergency exit door on the side of the building. I hear the rumble of his motorcycle engine firing up, the roar fading away to nothing as Genn disappears down the road.

Leaving me all alone in this fucked-up scene with Leon.

He’s looking at me almost warily, like he doesn’t know how to approach me. I wonder if he knows more about me than I know about him — he’s got to, since what I know about him is hardly anything at all. I take in his enormous height, his muscular build, his jet-dark hair and those damning, electric green eyes.

I swallow hard. He seems to notice this — the tiniest but tell-tale sign that I’m afraid. That he has the upper hand here. After all, he’s the one with the gun tucked into his jacket.

“Why are you here?” he asks in that deep, commanding voice.

“I — I think we should both just go,” I breathe. “Cops will be here soon.”

“A call to this neighborhood?” he scoffs bitterly. “They’ll take their damn time.”

“Please just let me leave. I’ll go home. I’ll stay out of this — whatever this is,” I plead.

Leon steps closer and shakes his head. I instinctively fall back slightly, even though some foolish, inexplicable part of me longed to get closer to him. Much closer. I forced that little voice in my mind to pipe down.

“You’re in it now, prekrasnyy. No going back,” he replies quietly.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I messed up. I should never have — ”

“Ah, but you did,” he croons, moving in on me. “You wanna play cops and robbers? Well, you got what you came looking for. Hope it lives up to your expectations.”

I shake my head quickly, putting my hands up in front of me in surrender. “No, no, I swear I’ll just disappear and you’ll never see me again. I promise.”

He reaches out with lightning-quick speed and grabs hold of my wrists. He’s so close now I can feel the heat radiating off of his hard body. Those jade-green eyes search my face earnestly, as though he’s trying to glimpse my soul. Like he’s trying to remember something he once lost, something far away and out of reach.

“I won’t let that happen,” he answers quietly. “Not again, Cherry.”

There it is again, that burning warmth that passes down the entire column of my body at the sound of his strong, baritone voice saying my name. My flimsy, silly name.

“How do you know my name?” I dare to ask, regarding him fearfully.

Leon’s eyes flash dark momentarily, as though I’ve offended him. No, softer than that. Like I’ve hurt his feelings or something. But surely a man like this doesn’t get his feelings hurt very easily? Besides, what could I possibly have done to him?

“You don’t remember me at all, do you?” he asks, a little sadly.

Sunlight dappled through gem-blue water. Wondering if this is the last thing I’ll see as my chest grows tight, the sharp pain in my lungs threatening to drag me into unconsciousness as the oxygen in my brain dissipates into nothing.

Hands around my wrists. Just like now. Holding me up, up out of the water.

I gasp at the realization. “I… I remember you,” I whisper, scarcely able to believe it.

“The girl from the shore,” he says, almost fondly. His thumb traces a soothing circle over my hand as he opens his mouth to say something else.

Just then, there is the distant wail of police sirens, jolting us from our shared reverie. The cops are coming. Panic floods into my veins and I tense up. Leon takes my hand and pulls me along behind him. “We’ve got to go!”