The Obsessed Hitman's Captive

1. Roman

ROMAN

My rifle is aimed at her window. My scope is sighted in.

You have to prepare if you want to be successful in a job like this and not end up dead or in prison for the rest of your life.

I’m a bad man. A hitman who’s killed men for hundreds of thousands of dollars or sometimes even just hundreds of dollars. Tonight, I’m being paid ten grand to kill a nineteen-year-old girl because her dad owes my boss money. Two million bucks, to be exact.

A blurry photo of her sits beside me. Annie Mercer, receptionist at an art studio. That’s all I know. Anything more would humanize her. But to me, she’s not a human. She’s just another target. Just another job.

Her dad, Chuck Mercer, burned through the money my boss leant him and then disappeared. Must be an idiot to cross Jimmy the loan shark. Surely he had to know the consequences.

“If Mercer wants to disappear, I’ll give him something to come home for.”

An hour later, I had an address and a photo, and half my fee was in my overseas account.

I didn’t ask questions. In this business, questions get you killed. I don’t ask, I don’t hesitate. I just do my job. And that’s why I’m alive today.

My breath is steady, controlled. My heart rate is low. Something else that’s absolutely necessary in this line of work is patience. You must be willing to wait for that exact moment, the precise instant where you squeeze the trigger.

From my research, I know that Annie finishes her shift at the studio at seven.

From there, she stops for a coffee and a blueberry muffin, then generally makes it home by seven-thirty.

Today, she was three minutes early. I watched her pull up in her green Camry.

She stepped out, covered by a red raincoat, and raced into her building.

But it’s been twenty minutes now, and her bedroom is still empty. Like I said, patience.

I move my eye from the glass for a second to stretch my neck, and just like that, Annie finally enters the room. It’s go time.

Target acquired. Safety off.

I bring my eye back to the scope. My index finger slides gently over the trigger, just as it has countless times. This is it. The end of her life and the rest of my money. I take a deep breath, hold…

But then, something unexpected happens.

Annie turns, and her face comes into view. Seeing her at this magnification—it’s like she’s standing right in front of me. And she’s stunning. Glowing with natural beauty and scorchingly sexy at the same time. A thousand times more beautiful than the blurry photo Jimmy provided.

She turns on her bedside lamp, giving me an even better view of her.

Wet hair from a shower, bare, slim legs, an oversized T-shirt, and a tiny pair of cream-colored panties.

I don’t care about women. I can’t afford attachments in my line of work.

But as I move my crosshair over her center mass, an unfamiliar feeling invades my mind.

Her tits are almost too big for her body, causing her shirt to hang loosely off their teardrop curves.

Her lips are perfectly plump, a nice soft pink.

She looks like a sexy, innocent angel that was sent specifically to fuck up my job.

She has no idea that there’s a brutal killer watching through her window.

Slowly, I let my breath out. I’m not here to get an eyeful of a half-naked girl. I’m here to do a job.

I track her as she moves across the room and stops beside her bed. She leans down and picks up a tablet. When she stands, I settle the crosshairs over her chest, right where her heart should be.

This is it. A perfect shot. Time to make my money.

Now squeeze, nice and gently. Don’t jerk the rifle. Don’t miss.

I repeat my mantra, just like I always do. But nothing happens.

Pulling my eye from the scope, I check the safety again. It’s off.

I examine the trigger. Nothing wrong with it. The rifle is loaded. What the hell?

“Okay,” I whisper. “Reset.”

This isn’t the time to screw up. This is the time to come through, as I always do. She’s just another job. But as I return my eye to the glass, I see Annie is now brushing her hair in the mirror.

And dancing…

Goddamn, look at that ass.

Every shake of her hips left or right and her T-shirt flaps up, showing off her spectacular figure, giving me a glimpse of even more of her soft, youthful skin. My heart rate is climbing as I watch her move, but beyond that, my dick is swelling painfully beneath me, pressing against the plywood.

Jesus, how is she doing this to me?

A small white moth flies past her and lands on her desk. If I had a brush in my hand like her, I’d just smash the thing. But she sets the brush aside and very slowly creeps forward and grabs the moth with both hands. Carefully, she carries it over to her window and lets it fly out into the night.

Okay, so she’s a nice girl. Why should I care?

I’m sure plenty of the people I’ve killed were nice. It’s not my job to determine who lives and who dies. I’m just the middleman. An instrument—an instrument of death.

But my heart rate is still climbing. I do care. My stomach is tense. I’m clenching my teeth hard against each other, searching for some pain to bring me back to the reality of my assignment.

I level my crosshairs on her again.

She’s your job, not your business.

She’s going to die because of her father’s actions. That’s not my problem. She’s stunningly gorgeous. That’s not my problem either.

Even if I wanted her, it’s not like I could have her. That would be impossible.

She’s standing at the window now, looking out. The shot is even easier than it was before. Nice and clean. No chance of missing at this range. I pin my crosshairs on her chest and take a deep breath.

Now squeeze, nice and gently.

Again I try, and again, the trigger doesn’t move. Neither does my finger.

“Fuck!”

My pulse is racing now. My eyes are locked on to Annie’s flawless curves, and my cock is hard as steel. My balls ache more with every move she makes. Something is stopping me from shooting her, and it isn’t the safety of my rifle or a malfunctioning trigger.

It’s her.

This can’t happen. Roman Graves does not miss. Roman Graves does not hesitate. And Roman Graves definitely does not suddenly develop a conscience at thirty-nine years old.

But this angel has wrecked me. I’m gasping for breath, my heart is hammering against my ribs, and my blood is rushing to my center.

A growl rolls up from my chest as she leans in and closes the curtains. I’m gonna miss my shot.

But she doesn’t close them completely. There’s still a tiny slit where they don’t touch, and with the angle of my scope, I can see right in.

But I’m not tracing her body for the place to put my bullet. My eyes are glued to her tight little ass as she walks over to her bed and lies down. Her legs fall open, giving me a straight-on view of her cute little camel toe.

I shift my weight against the plywood to make room for my erection. I’m so hard it hurts. And goddamn, I’m leaking precum.

She picks up her tablet and swipes, opening something—a book, maybe. Her beautiful blue eyes scan the screen, and a few seconds later, her other hand slides down between her thighs.

I’m a hitman. A killer. But for some reason, in this moment, a voice inside my head tells me to look away.

I can’t. Just like I tried and failed to pull the trigger before, I try and fail to turn my head. It’s like she has me under a trance.

Seeing her half-naked shouldn’t affect me. I’ve seen people fully nude before on jobs. It should be meaningless. But with this girl, it’s like being hypnotized by beauty. Primal instincts swell within me.

I grind my teeth harder as I watch her middle finger press against her panties, moving in a circular motion.

A damp spot appears against the cotton. Her big tits rise and fall as her breaths deepen.

Jesus, this girl’s either reading a filthy romance novel or watching porn. She’s pleasuring herself. Fantasizing.

Yeah, but about who?

My muscles go tense.

I shouldn’t give a shit. This girl is my target.

I’ve been sent here to kill her. But fuck me if a wave of jealousy doesn’t come over me as images of her with some college-aged boy instantly fill my mind.

The thought of some skinny little punk with his hands all over her body who has no clue how to please her sends my heart-rate skyrocketing.

I’m fuming with rage. Starting to sweat.

I shouldn’t even be having thoughts like this. Fine, maybe there’s something so hot about her that she got my dick hard. I am a man. But that’s not all that’s going through me.

I’m feeling possessive. And that is something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager.

Since my mom was alive.

I was thirteen, and Mom had brought back another new boyfriend. They were shouting at each other in the kitchen and being so loud I could hear them from my room.

“Don’t talk back to me, bitch! I’ll kill you!”

When I heard that, something inside me snapped.

I got up, grabbed a metal pipe from out back, and marched down the hall. Mom’s eyes went wide when she saw me. I still remember the sound of her voice.

“Roman, no!”

The new guy went down in a heap. I was shocked at how calm I felt afterward. How easy it was to be violent. What shocked me more was that you could get paid for it.

But eventually, it became less about the money and more because I was good at it.

Annie moves her finger faster, rubbing a circle where I know her clit is.

Her panties are nearly soaked through, and her T-shirt strains against her big tits as her breaths come faster and faster.

Her mouth opens, her eyes close, and her whole body tenses up.

I nearly come in my pants as I watch her orgasm wrack her, causing her delicate little body to twitch with pleasure.

My cock is throbbing with desire. My whole body is screaming at me to just take her. Ditch the job and take her. Make her mine.

I should be the one pleasuring you, angel.

These thoughts are insane. I’m jealous. I’m jealous of whatever man she’s watching—whatever man she’s reading about. I’m so fucking jealous that a realization comes to my mind. A realization that should be impossible for a man like me.

I cannot kill this girl.

This is new. I’m actually scared. I don’t believe in destiny. I don’t believe in love. Those things are for suckers. All I believe in are bullets and money.

And yet…

I cannot kill this girl.

A final tremor rolls through Annie. She squeezes her thighs together and rolls to the side, unmoving. You couldn’t ask for a better shot. An unmoving target, a perfect angle. I should be squeezing the trigger right now. Ending this charade.

My phone vibrates. A text from Jimmy.

Finished?

I glance at the message, then back at Annie, and another realization hits me. If I don’t kill her now, he’ll just send someone else for her. Another man with another rifle trained on her.

Another man’s eyes on her…

No. Absolutely fucking not.

I have no choice now. I know what I have to do.

Done, I text back.

For the first time, I’ve lied to my employer.

But a simple lie won’t do. He’ll want confirmation, and if Annie’s death doesn’t show up on the news, he’ll send someone to check her body. And when he sees she’s not dead, that I’ve lied to him—well, we’ll both be fucked.

I watch her lying there. Soaked panties, soft, silky thighs, plump tits. Her body rises and falls with each heavy breath she takes. I’ve fucked women over the years. No reason to live my life as a priest when I’m the furthest thing from it.

But when I think about sex with Annie, possessive thoughts begin to consume me. This girl is more than just a sleeve for my cock. I’d treat her differently. I’d please her. I’d pleasure her. I’d give it to her so hard and so good that she’d never forget me.

But that can’t happen. I’m a bad man. A killer. An innocent like her has no place in my life…

…The least I can do is warn her.

That’s it. That’s all I’m gonna do. Warn her, then get out of here.

Eyes on her, I strip my rifle down and pack it into my gray duffle bag. Annie is still lying there on her bed, her back arched, pussy dripping as if begging for my cock. Temptation rises within me. My mind goes back to the idea that she might be fantasizing about another man, and I fly into a rage.

“Fuck!” I snap, hoisting my bag over my shoulder. I take the stairs and exit out the front, cross the street, and stare up at her window. From this angle, I can’t see in. I can’t see her. And it’s like I’ve lost something. Like a hole has formed in my chest.

I quickly scale the fire escape of her building. As my hands grip the steel bars, the irony is not lost on me. Twenty minutes ago, I was ready to kill this woman. Now I’m breaking into her apartment because I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting her.

That’s it. I’ve lost my mind.

When I reach her window, everything slows down. There she is. Only a few feet away. And not seen through my scope. She twists slightly on her bed, and I start salivating.

I’m just gonna warn her. That’s it.

I slide the window open carefully. She’s already going to freak out when she sees me. No need to terrify her.

As I slide into her room, the sweetest of scents hits my nose. A mixture of everything girly: perfume, shampoo, soap, scented candles. And beneath all that, the pheromones that light my primal instincts on fire. Her pussy.

The floor creaks beneath me, and Annie turns. This close, her beauty is even more devastating. For a second, I forget why I’m here. But when she sees me, her eyes go wide, and she rockets to her feet like she’s going to run.

I leap in front of her, blocking the door.

“Wait,” I say. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her face is tight, and her eyes are wide, but as she looks me over, something changes. Her lips part, and a soft red floods her cheeks. Is she blushing? Her gaze moves over my shoulders, lingers on my chest, then drifts down to my hands. And that’s when the realization hits me.

It can’t be…she wants me too.

Oh, fuck.