The Hitman's Angel(20)
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.”
“Did she help lure you here?” Lenin asks, his expression darkening further. “I am sorry, angel. Nobody deserves you.”
I tear my eyes off my mother and look at him. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” His throat works. “They told you what I am?”
“Yes.” I come to my feet and go toward him. “But your past is only one part of who you are, Lenin. You showed me the rest and it’s beautiful. My heart told me to trust you and I’m so glad I listened.” I splay my fingers on his arm, soothing the tense muscles with a massage. “Let’s go find out who you’ll be in the future instead. Who we’ll be together.”
“I will be everything you need me to be, angel,” he vows.
“That should be easy.” I kiss his bicep, his shoulder, his mouth. “You already are. And you don’t need to kill anymore. You just need to love me. Starting now.”
Lenin collects the weapons in the room and with one final menacing look at the occupants, he guides me to the exit with an arm around my shoulder. I stop and mouth the word “goodbye” to my mother, but she’s staring blankly at the wall. I will still miss her, unbelievably, but it’s time to start my own life, with the man I love. I want to so badly.
“Come, angel.” Lenin picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, snuggling my face into the crook of his neck. “I’ll take you to see the horses.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Ah, Margaret. I love you, too.”
EPILOGUE
Lenin
Fourteen Months Later
This is what it’s like to be content.
I never knew this feeling until now.
My angel smiles at me through the window of our house and I send her a wink before hauling back my axe and splitting a log in half. Who knew I would grow accustomed to rural life so quickly? Our days begin bright and early, but that suits me perfectly because I love being awake. Being awake means I have eyes on Margaret. It means I’m speaking with her, touching her. Sleep is nothing more than a means to rest so I can love her harder the following day.
After we left Baltimore, I was unable to relax until there was a ring on her finger to proclaim her as mine. Once Margaret took my last name in a civil ceremony, I brought her to a horse ranch in Montana, far from the memories of our old lives. She loved the place so much, I bought it for her in cash, along with a paddock full of horses, so she could have her pick.
In between caring for our eight-month-old twin boys, she rides her favorite mare through the green pastures barefoot, her hair in a dark, whipping wave around her beautiful, smiling face. The sight steals my breath every time, though I’m tense until she dismounts safely and is once again in my arms.