Accidentally Kidnapping the Hitman

1. Dean

One

Dean

T his place is crowded. Anonymous. The perfect place for me to hunker down and sink a whiskey or two. I shoulder up to the scratched wooden bar and snag a stool with my boot, shooting the guy next to me a bland look when he starts to complain.

He shuts the hell up.

I sit.

No words are exchanged—but then, there don’t need to be. Not once his animal instincts kick in. The guy’s eyes widen fractionally, his pupils shrinking as they take me in, his hind brain desperately trying to figure out why his nerves are screaming for him to run. After all, I look like a normal guy. At first glance, I blend in with this crowd.

But something’s off about me, and my neighbor here senses it. He snatches up his drink and plunges into the tangle of people, elbowing his way toward the door.

Good.

Don’t want any Nosy Rosies watching me drink. I just wanna… forget. That’s all. I sigh and nod at the bartender.

But even as I sit and nurse my whiskey ten minutes later, I can’t fully relax. This place is themed, with a bull skull over the bar and country tunes thrumming from the speakers, even though we’re miles and miles from the nearest farm. Everyone’s decked out in denim and flannel, but most of these folks have only ever met a cow between a burger bun. It smells like spilled liquor and polished wood in here, and every loud burst of laughter makes me stiffen on my stool.

It’s not the bar’s fault. Not really.

I haven’t relaxed properly in years.

Not since her.

My grip tightens on my glass, and I swig a burning mouthful of whiskey. No point spending yet another night brooding about Annie Lowell and her shiny blonde hair. We may have grown up next door to each other, may have gone to the same washed up high school, but these days we live in completely different worlds. I may as well wonder about a movie character. She probably doesn’t even remember that I exist.

But…

What is Annie doing these days? Where does she live? Is she still close with my twin brother? Has she settled down with a guy, maybe popped out some kids?

My knuckles ache where I grip my glass, old scars glowing white against my tan skin. Don’t like thinking about Annie Lowell pairing off with some schmuck. Didn’t like it back then, and I don’t like it now.

I toss another mouthful back, but the truth is: there’s not enough liquor in the world. Better not go down that road.

My hand slaps down on the bar and my boots hit the ground. Time to get out of here; maybe try my luck in another dive. Who knows? Maybe the right drink, the right room, the right music will let me forget Annie Lowell and the hole in my chest for a few blissful minutes.

Can’t let myself get too fuzzy—not in my line of work. Not unless I have a death wish.

But I can eek this night out a little longer before heading back to my dark, silent apartment and planning my next contract kill.

I start to stand, my gaze flicking to the mirror behind the bar, scanning the room behind me for threats. A flash of blonde hair catches my eye, and I freeze.

“There you are,” Annie Lowell says, squeezing in beside me at the bar and stunning me with a wide, happy smile. She might as well have hit me over the head with a crowbar, it makes me that dizzy. Is this real? “I thought I’d never find you in here.”

My brain is so slow as it dredges its way through her words, because this is really Annie. It’s her. In the flesh. And… she was looking for me? Did I summon her somehow, pining after her like a prick? Am I dreaming?

She’s got the same shiny blonde hair that I remember, tumbling over her slender shoulders, and the same creamy skin with freckles dusting her nose. The same big green eyes, too—the color of summer sunshine spearing through a tree’s leafy canopy.

She’s a little older than I saw her last, obviously, with the puppy fat gone from her cheeks and a slight strain behind her eyes which says every day in the interim has not been easy-breezy. But still, it’s Annie. As I stare at her, mouth dry, my gut swoops like I’m on a roller coaster.

She came here for me?

How the hell did she find me?

And why ?

It’s the whiskey. Gotta be. I’ve only had one drink, but my tolerance must have dropped overnight somehow. Even though I feel as steady as ever, my body tensed and on alert, I’m hallucinating Annie Lowell by my side. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Still sitting rigid on my stool, I reach out and prod Annie’s shoulder, expecting my finger to go through her like smoke. Instead, it meets soft, smooth skin.

Annie’s eyes narrow, but she’s smiling too. “Wyatt?” she says. “You feeling okay?”

Wyatt.

Right. Shit.

That makes sense.

Annie’s not a hallucination. She’s here for my identical twin brother.

It was always him she spent time with at school, always him she came knocking on our door for, and I guess they’re still close after all. The realization sours my gut, eating at my insides like acid.

Jealous. I was always so jealous.

The feeling is so familiar, it’s like I’m thrown back to being a teenager again, staring out of my bedroom window and watching my twin and the girl of my dreams lying out on the lawn together, sunbathing in the summer rays. Wishing more than anything that I could go out there and join them, but knowing it was already too late for me.

“I’m good,” I rasp out. Annie glances at the dregs in my glass and raises both eyebrows.

“Since when do you drink whiskey?”

“Since tonight, I guess.”

Who knows? Maybe Wyatt and I have more in common these days. Maybe we’d get along better. Maybe I could walk away from the path I’m on, give up being a hit man for hire, and slot back into my perfect, upstanding family like nothing ever happened.

Yeah, right.

Annie hums, scanning me properly from head to toe. I swear to god—I feel her gaze stroking over me, and my skin prickles with nervous energy beneath my clothes. Is it hot in this bar? Fuck, I’m sweating.

“You’re trying the whole bad boy thing, huh?” Annie grins fondly as she reaches out, plucking at the sleeve of my worn gray t-shirt. Her fingertips drift to the tattoos wrapping around my arm, and she squints at my bicep in the low light. “Are these temporary?”

My head bobs robotically, because of course goody two shoes Wyatt would never get permanently inked. That would make him too reckless, too impulsive, too much like me. “Uh-huh.”

“Wow.” Annie keeps tracing the ink on my arm, completely oblivious that she’s torturing me with her barely-there touch. My gut is clenched tight. I haven’t breathed since her fingertips made contact, and my whole body is screaming out for more, more, more. “Temporary tattoos have really come a long way. They used to be so lame.”

“Yeah.”

“They suit you, though.” Annie scans me again and laughs, delighted. “Seriously, you’ve never looked hotter. What a glow up! Brent is a lucky guy.”

Who?

“Anyway,” Annie says, holding up a cloth bag and waggling her eyebrows. “Ready for the bachelor night of the century?”

Wait, what?

My stool scrapes back and I open my mouth to speak, but Annie lunges forward and darkness descends. It’s musty and hot inside the bag, and panic spikes.

My fists clench by my sides. The knife in my boot is solid against my ankle… but I don’t reach for it. Not this time.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve killed plenty of times before. Doesn’t matter that if any other person tried to put a bag on my head, I’d snap their neck without a second thought. This is Annie. She can do whatever the hell she likes to me, and she always could—even kidnap me from this bar.

So I guess that tonight, I’m Wyatt. Wyatt on his bachelor night.

Sounds kinda fun. I always did wonder what it would be like if we switched lives.

And what the hell? It’s not like I’ll ever have a bachelor party of my own. Maybe my twin will hate me even worse once he realizes I’ve slipped in and stolen his thunder, but hey. We all know I’m trash. Might as well enjoy my stolen night with Annie Lowell, because chances are I’ll never see her again.

“You comfy in there?” Annie drapes something light and ticklish around my neck to rest on my shoulders—something that feels suspiciously like a feather boa. “Wyatt? Can you breathe okay?”

“Yeah.” My pulse leaps when Annie takes my hand and tugs me up to stand. I tower over her, but I’m gentle as I squeeze her fingers. “Go ahead and abduct me, Annie. Let’s get this show on the road.”