Witness Protection Page 2

  Hawk peered in the bedroom, then slipped inside. Everything had to revolve around Sophia now. She’d always been her father’s number one priority; now she had to be his. He sat on a chair near the side of the bed, staring at her in the dim lighting as she slept.

  She was fucking stunning.

  A sleeping angel.

  And he was a sick bastard to even think it.

  Her long, blonde hair spilled over her shoulder and pooled on the mattress as she cuddled up on her side. The gentle rise and fall of her chest calmed him. After the most stressful days, a visit with her always soothed his beast. He’d been her bodyguard for as long as he could remember. Once she turned eighteen, Vasily insisted she be watched twenty-four, seven. He became obsessed that his daughter would humiliate him, become some kind of raging whore. But Hawk knew Sophia. She wasn’t anything like her mother, or her father. But the older she became, the more he saw the life in her eyes ebbing away. The sadness was there even when she smiled, but it wasn’t his place to question anything. The last thing he needed was for her father to become suspicious of him, too.

  It was better to keep his thoughts and desires locked away. Now that her father was dead, she’d probably hate him. He wasn’t sure he could ever prepare himself for that, but he deserved it nonetheless.

  He stood to leave, but Sophia reached out her arm. “Don’t go.”

  Hawk sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  She rolled to her back and looked up at him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  He brushed the stray hairs from her face. Her lips were slightly swollen, but there were no tears in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Two

  Cayden tugged off his hoodie and tossed it in the bathtub. He leaned over the white pedestal sink in the bathroom to examine the damage to his face in the mirror.

  “Motherfucker!” The bullet had grazed his cheek, leaving a burning gash that would leave a nasty scar. He poured alcohol on a facecloth and blotted the wound, gritting his teeth from the jolt of pain.

  Everything about today was fucked up.

  His jobs weren’t usually so damn sloppy, but this one had been personal. He should have ended that piece of shit quick and easy, but he drew out Morenov’s suffering, and it cost him big time. Not only did he nearly get his head blown off, but he’d left a witness behind.

  He’d just made his kill, and then that fucking girl had to throw a huge wrench in his plans. His only target had been the kingpin; the others were just collateral damage. They should have stayed out of his way. Cayden had nothing personal against the girl either, but he couldn’t leave a witness alive, an unspoken rule in his line of work. He had a reputation to uphold—every hit had to be clean.

  The blonde had been curled up in the bottom of a closet, her big, dark eyes staring straight at him like a deer in the headlights. He had no doubt she’d be able to pick him out of a line-up. It pissed him off that he had to leave her breathing, but he’d find her if it was the last thing he did. Cayden had ways of finding out information.

  He tossed the rag into the tub with his hoodie and cracked his neck to each side as he left the bathroom. Cayden dropped down on the sofa, resting his legs on the coffee table. He leaned his head back, draping his forearm over his eyes.

  He’d done what he set out to do. Shouldn’t he feel better than this?

  Cayden had cameras set up around Morenov’s house. He’d been doing recon for over a week before he made his move. Once he’d finished the job, the first thing they did was whisk his witness away. They’d only hide the girl from him if she was important.

  He’d replayed the security videos over and over since arriving home. He sat up and hit play again, zooming in on her face. It took him a while to realize it was Morenov’s only daughter. He’d never seen her come or go and could only pull up a few old pics online. Vasily’s right-hand man had taken her. Cayden had placed trackers on all the cars, so he couldn’t hide her from him for long.

  His plan slowly took shape.

  He’d wait them out, give them a few days to think he’d moved on. Then he’d wait for them to make a mistake, striking when they least expected it. He’d break her neck or put a bullet in her brain. It didn’t really matter how it was done.

  The cushion next to him jostled as his cat jumped up to join him. He ran his hand over her back. He’d taken her in as a stray over four years ago. “Hey, Rosie. How was your day? Better than mine, I hope.”

  Talking to a fucking cat.

  This was what his life had come to.

  He chuckled to himself, not willing to focus on how shitty things turned out for him. He was good at what he did, and the work paid well, but he was thirty-five now. Blowing his money on bitches and partying no longer held the same appeal. Then again, with Frank Almeida and his family gone, he had nothing left to hold onto, no reason to behave.

  He leaned over the coffee table and began disassembling his handguns. Cleaning his weapons kept him focused. And right now, his mind was a mess. A drip of blood landed on his hand, then another. Cayden got up and slapped a few bandages over the wound on his cheek. It would have to do. He didn’t visit hospitals, and he needed to restock his medicine cabinet. After the bloodbath last month, he was fresh out of everything.

  Cayden needed something to eat, and some noise to clear his head. He pulled on his jacket and put a full clip in his handgun before tucking it into the back of his jeans. After locking the door, he jogged up the concrete stairs from his basement apartment. A siren sounded in the distance, cats shrieking nearby. The stench of the sewer greeted him when he got to the sidewalk, only the scant streetlights illuminating the neighborhood. He lived in the ghetto, one of the seediest shitholes in the city.

  That’s the way he liked it.

  Being under the radar, nobody to bother him, was how he chose to live. The reputation of the area didn’t scare him—he was worse than the bogeyman.

  He walked down the street to Bruno’s Pizzeria, the bells chiming against the glass as he entered. The entire neighborhood consisted of Mom-and-Pop shops struggling to survive. There were more and more stores boarded up over the past couple years. Small businesses couldn’t afford to pay the extortion payments.

  The scent of pizza made his stomach rumble. The lights, the voices, the laughter—it all brought back bittersweet memories of what he’d lost.

  “Cayden, what can I get you?” asked Bruno.

  He sat down at one of the small two-person tables and pulled out his smokes. He tapped the pack, then lit up, taking a deep drag. “Usual.”

  “You got it.”

  The numerous conversations were a comforting backdrop as he watched the cars drive by from the front store windows.

  He knew Amelia approached before she spoke. “Hi, Cayden. I’m sorry to hear about—”

  “It’s fine, Amelia. I don’t need to hear about it.” He sure as fuck didn’t need to rehash this over and over. A month may have passed, but the pain and anger still brewed inside him like it was yesterday. He’d become more reclusive, bitter, and pissed off with the world. Morenov’s death helped, but nothing could fix what was broken inside him.

  “Sorry. Can I do anything to help?” She sat down on the free chair. She wore purple sweats, her hair up in a messy bun.

  “Drop it.” He took another drag and leaned his head back, exhaling above him. Holy shit, he was just hanging on by a thread.

  “We could go to a movie or something. You know, get your mind off everything,” she suggested.

  He clenched his teeth together. Cayden wasn’t sure what the fuck it was about him, but the bitches wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d made it clear he wasn’t available, but that didn’t stop them. They weren’t after his money, because as far as anyone knew, he was dirt broke.

  He valued his privacy.

  “We’ve been through this,” he said.

  She reached for his face. “What happened?” He g
rabbed her wrist before she could touch him.

  “No touching,” he said, shaking his head once in warning. “I nicked myself shaving.”

  “Order’s ready, Cayden!” Bruno shouted from behind the counter. He was busy making pizza with his wife and teen son. The delivery drivers frequently came and went with orders. It was nice to see their place doing well.

  He stood up and approached the counter, snuffing out his cigarette in one of the ashtrays. “Smells good,” he said. Cayden set a twenty on the counter.

  “You okay?” Bruno pointed to his cheek, his hands covered in flour. His son came and took the money, leaving his take-out box in its place. Cayden always took his food to go.

  “Nothing serious,” he said. “How’s business been?”

  “It’s good. I can’t complain, right?”

  He grabbed his box and forced a smile. “I’ll see you soon. Take care.”

  Amelia ambushed him just outside the doors. She was cute or could have been. The girl was messed up on crack and turned tricks on the side to support her habit. You couldn’t pay him to go near her. “Why you avoiding me, Cayden? Are you seeing someone?”

  “No, and I have no plans on changing that.” He walked around her. “Trust me, you don’t want a man like me. Be smart and worry about getting your own shit together.”

  Cayden had come from the bottom, just like Amelia, just like a lot of people living in the area. One difference set them apart—he wasn’t addicted to any of that shit they were on. It was Frank Almeida who’d made sure he kept on the straight and narrow, and even though he was gone, Cayden was old enough to know better. The only escape he needed was some booze, cigarettes, and killing.

  His cellphone rang during his walk back home. “Yeah.”

  “There’s only one left in the house.” It was Randy. They’d been friends since they were kids. Cayden used him for information once in a while. He always needed cash. “No cops.”

  “Good. I’ll have to pay our friend a visit.”

  “You need me to tail the girl?”

  “No. She’ll be easy to find. You did good, Randy. We’ll have a drink soon, eh?”

  “Sure.” Randy hung up. Cayden had been avoiding everyone lately. His mind was focused on revenge, and he wouldn’t be himself until the job was done.

  His witness had to die.

  ****

  Sophia sat up in the bed.

  She was alone.

  It took a few moments for reality to suffocate her. It hit her like a blow to the chest, stealing her air and making her nauseous.

  Why couldn’t she stay in blissful ignorance forever?

  The visual of her father’s blood flashed in her head again, in perfect detail, and she tried to shake the image away. She bolted up to her feet, rushing to the window to pull back the drapes with both hands. The morning light stung her eyes. She exhaled, thankful for the morning, the new day, but she was still completely lost.

  Hawk had brought her here, whisked her away in the night. Had he saved her from the same fate as her father? She wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Life as Vasily Morenov’s daughter was a lonely one. But without her father, she had no identity, and wasn’t sure where she fit in. She’d been segregated from the world—tutors, private lessons, no socialization. It had been done for her safety, but she knew it all boiled down to her father’s need for control.

  Now she only had Hawk.

  Why did he even care about her now that his boss was dead? She’d expected him to run, to leave her to fend for herself. Had he really cared about her all these years or was he just doing his job? Sophia was terrible at reading people.

  She’d had a secret crush on her father’s hired babysitter but didn’t think much of it since he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. He was eight years older, and he’d been around since she could remember. It had only been the past five years or so that he’d become a regular fixture in her life. Her father trusted him, but Hawk was nothing like Vasily.

  He wasn’t a monster.

  A few months ago, Hawk had agreed to be the subject for one of her paintings. It had taken almost a year of begging. He sat on a stool near her window, so the lighting was just right, looking too big and out of place in her feminine bedroom. She’d called the painting Dark Angel, but she never told him that. He was a mix of light and darkness, good and evil intertwined. His eyes were the color of caramel, his dark hair lightly brushed off his face. As she painted, she memorized the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, and the conflict in his eyes.

  She was twenty-four.

  A woman.

  Sophia’s body reacted to the spicy scent of his cologne, and she couldn’t help but notice how his shirts pulled tight around his biceps. He worked out in the basement gym almost every day of the week, and his dedication showed. His shoulders were corded with muscle, his arms hard and toned. Sometimes she’d catch him coming up the stairs in just his gym shorts, and she’d pretend not to see. She noticed everything, and she still remembered.

  Hawk was always strapped, and for some reason it made her hot. Sophia hated guns … or tired of them. Weapons and Hawk did crazy things to her libido. Her father would never entertain her having a relationship with any man, never mind one of his staff. He expected her to die a virgin, an old spinster who’d never known love.

  Now she had no rules to follow … only her own.

  Sophia left the bedroom and found Hawk lost in thought, sitting in a reclining chair facing the floor to ceiling windows. He stared off into space, still like a statue.

  They were high up, higher than she’d ever been. She tentatively walked closer to the glass, a mix of fear and awe. From her vantage point, the city looked like a piece of art, the architecture and blue of the sky tempting her to capture it on canvas.

  He must have heard her, turning his head in her direction. “You’re up.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Someplace safe.” The chair swiveled, and he faced her. “Are you hungry?”

  She shrugged.

  “There’re bagels and muffins on the counter. Picked them up this morning. I know you hate coffee, but there’s tea.”

  Sophia wandered around the room, not sure what to think or feel. “Why am I here, Hawk?”

  He narrowed his eyes, his head tilting to the side. “I’m keeping you safe.”

  “From what?”

  “You said that guy saw you. That means you’re a witness. It’s not safe to be home.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He stood up, the leather chair creaking. Hawk approached her, holding her arm so she paid attention to him. “What do you mean?”

  She scoffed. “You’re out of a job, aren’t you? I mean, your boss is dead. You don’t have to babysit me anymore.”

  “You think this is just a job? Vasily was like a father to me. He saved me. I owe him everything.”

  Her father didn’t deserve to be a martyr. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “You’re his daughter. The last thing he told me was to protect you. That’s exactly what I plan to do, Sophia.”

  “So I’m a prisoner here, just like I was at home?”

  “I’m not following.”

  She turned away from him, heading to the kitchen. “Never mind.”

  It pissed her off that he was still loyal to her father. And she was even angrier that he still showed no interest in her besides duty. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d watched her father killed before her eyes.

  She held her stomach as she recalled the blood.

  An ocean of blood.

  How should I feel?

  She felt like a ticking time bomb. The little girl inside her cried out, desperate and empty, craving her father’s affection. She needed more time to prove herself worthy of his love, but the sands in the hourglass were empty. The woman was angry, angry for the years of control, the growing resentment, and the constant comparisons to the mother she’d never known. Vasily Morenov hadn’t
died yesterday, not for her. He died years ago, as soon as she stopped being a child. Her father made her associate being a woman with something dirty, something that made her unlovable.

  Any chance to earn his love ended with that one bullet. Had the man with the hard, blue eyes stolen her father’s chance at redemption or given her a gift?

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “There’s nothing to say,” she said.

  “Pretending nothing happened isn’t going to make it go away. What you saw … no one should have to see that. Especially you.”

  “Especially me? Why is that, Hawk?”

  Did he think she was weak? A delicate flower? Her bitterness seeped to the surface. This wasn’t her, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Because you’re special.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes for the first time. She turned away so he wouldn’t see. Why couldn’t her father love her? What the fuck would it take to make him proud?

  “Sophia?”

  She shook her head. “Leave me alone. Please.”

  Of course, Hawk refused to listen. He tugged her shoulder, spinning her to face him. “Let it out. Your father just died. You’re allowed to grieve.”

  “You don’t understand. I feel nothing. How can I grieve for a man who hated me?”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s the truth!”

  “He loved you, Sophia. You were all that mattered to him.”

  Her sinuses burned as she fought back her emotions. “Bullshit! He cared about money. About control. He had to be the best at everything.”

  “You were his printsessa,” he whispered the words.

  She shook her head, hot tears running down her cheeks. If he said one more thing, she’d lose it completely. Sophia knew the cold, hard truth, and it hurt more than anything. Her father had been cruel, distant, and made her life miserable.

  She wished things had been different, but part of her was happy he was dead.

  And that fact broke her heart.