The Hitman's Woman

by Devon Vaughn Archer

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

Beverly Holland lives it up with her older businessman beau, Eric Fox. He gives her everything she craves—except satisfaction between the sheets. Frustrated, she picks up sexy stranger Dante at a hotel bar, who shows her what she's been missing! But he's also about to shake up her life. Beverly has no idea that Eric is really a hitman or that Dante has a vendetta: Eric killed his brother and now he wants Eric dead. Beverly also doesn't know that while she's carrying on with her man's potential killer, her man's carrying on with her best friend, Marilyn—who will do anything to make Eric hers. . .. When the forces of lust, lies, betrayal and revenge collide, who's going to survive—and who will ultimately be the hitman's woman?

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

Six Months Later

Dante Sheldon walked into the dimly lit bar in West Hollywood, looking for the private eye he’d hired to investigate the murder of his brother, Russell. According to the police, Russell had been the victim of a simple robbery gone wrong. No one had been arrested, and as far as Dante knew, the case was not being actively pursued by the authorities, who had turned their attention elsewhere. This pissed him off. He hadn’t been in close contact with his brother in recent years, as they had drifted apart as they got older and were into different things. But that didn’t mean his love for Russell had diminished. He was determined to see that someone would pay for his brother’s premature death.

Dante made his way through the place, barely cognizant of the blues music filtering through speakers. He wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent of body odor and mildew. Where the hell was he, anyway? Then he spotted the man who was unmistakable with his blond Rastafarian locks and a black goatee with a center streak of gold. He was sitting at a back table, nursing a drink and seemingly in his element.

Dante approached the table, noticing the briefcase on it. He met the bloodshot eyes of the private investigator.

“There you are,” Floyd Artest muttered. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I ran a little late,” Dante said by way of explanation. In fact, if the man hadn’t told him he had important information, Dante had been prepared to fire his lazy ass. As it was, this had been a more expensive proposition than he’d anticipated. For the better part of five months, he’d financed the private eye’s trips to and from Detroit, assured that he could give him the answers the police had chosen to turn their backs on. But the more time went by and the bills continued to come in, the more Dante had come to believe he was being played for a fool. He had nearly given up on his pursuit of justice when Artest phoned him two hours ago. Now he was counting on not being disappointed or asked for any more money.

He sat down. “What have you got for me?”

“Can I buy you a drink?” Artest asked.

Is he stalling? “I’ll pass.” Dante peered across the table.

Artest was the first to blink. “That’s cool.” He sipped his drink. “It wasn’t easy, but I uncovered who took out your brother and why.”

“I’m listening. . . .”

Artest opened the briefcase and pulled out an envelope. He removed an eight-by-ten photograph and slid it across the table. “Your shooter.”

Dante looked at the head shot of a walnut-complexioned male in his forties with short salt-and-pepper hair, a broad nose, and slightly uneven black eyes. There was a scar on his left cheek. The mere thought that this asshole had taken his brother’s life gave Dante a chill.

“Name’s Eric Fox,” Artest said. “He’s an enforcer/ hitman in Detroit, working for this crime boss named Leon Quincy.” Artest took another photograph from the envelope and passed it to Dante. “Apart from loan-sharking and pimping, Quincy shakes down business owners on the Northwest side of the city, demanding protection money or else.”

Dante stared at the picture of a slender, bald man in his mid- to late thirties. His long face was dark, and his eyes darker.

“Looks like your brother stood up to him and paid the ultimate price.”

Dante’s brow furrowed as he studied the two photographs, zeroing in on the alleged triggerman. He looked at Artest. “Are you sure you’ve got your facts straight?”

The private detective held his gaze. “Yeah, I’m sure. I was a cop before deciding to work for myself. I wouldn’t have come to you with this if I hadn’t double-checked the accuracy. This is your man and the dude he works for.”

Dante believed him. He grabbed the envelope and put the photographs back. “Where can I find them?”

“Their addresses are on the back of the pictures. Both stay in the city. Fox lives with a woman, and Quincy, well, from what I could tell, has a different companion every night of the week. He also keeps some muscle handy, so watch your back.”

“I can take care of myself.” Long before Dante had become a journalist, taking him to such hot spots around the world as Afghanistan and Yemen, he’d been battle tested. First, it was from growing up in a rough neighborhood in Oakland, in a single-parent household where he had to protect himself and his brother from gangs, drug addicts, and other low-life scum. Then there was a brief stint in law enforcement as a reserve deputy sheriff and firearms instructor before his lifelong dream to earn a living as a writer took center stage. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if the preoccupation with his life had cost him precious time that could have been spent with his brother.

Dante took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it to Artest. It was the final cash payment for his services.

Artest riffled through the hundred-dollar bills, then put the envelope away. “Nice doing business with you.”

“Everything between us stays that way,” Dante said tersely.

“Of course.”

“We won’t be meeting again.”

Artest nodded. “Understood.”

Dante stood up. “Don’t,” he said as Artest was about to do the same. “It’s best that we cut our ties right here.”

Artest looked up. “No problem.” He lifted his glass. “Good luck.”

Dante’s mouth was a straight line. “I don’t believe in luck. Not where it concerns my brother, considering he had anything but good luck. I prefer to make my own destiny, for better or worse.”

He walked away without looking back at the private investigator. As far as Dante was concerned, it was all on him now to do what needed to be done. Russell’s life would not be cut short without someone paying the piper. That began with Eric Fox and ended with Leon Quincy.

Eric Fox’s penis was only half-erect when he entered his ready-and-waiting woman, Beverly. He was on top of her, stroking her breasts, kissing her full lips—basically doing what he could to get worked up. But it just wasn’t happening. Not that he wasn’t still sexually attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? She was twenty years his junior and had a sexual appetite he couldn’t hope to match in his wildest dreams. That didn’t mean he was about to sit by and watch some other man put his dick in her vagina. She was his woman for as long as he said, regardless of whether he was able to put out on a given occasion.

Her breathing quickened as if she was about to come. False alarm, as she went quiet on him again. He tried to think about his lover on the side, figuring that would lead to an erection, along with pushing himself deeper inside Beverly. Instead, that only caused him to go limp.

“Don’t stop!” Beverly demanded, clutching his buttocks. “I haven’t come in two weeks.”

Eric thought about putting his mouth between her legs, a surefire way to give her what she wanted. But he didn’t want her to get too spoiled, especially if he wasn’t being fulfilled. He lifted off her and looked down at his flaccid penis.

“Sorry, baby,” he said in what amounted to only a half-truth. “Guess it takes me longer these days to rock and roll. We’ll give it another try later.”

“Yeah, right,” she pouted. “How often have I heard that lately?”

Too often, he conceded. But that was just the way it was. Still, he tried to remain nice about it. He kissed one of her nipples. “I’ll take you out to dinner at any restaurant you want.”

“I’m not really hungry—not for food, anyway.”

Eric kissed her other nipple. He would try another means to appease her. “Go buy yourself something pretty. There’s a thousand bucks on the dresser. It’s yours.”

Beverly wrinkled her face. “So all I am to you now is a prostitute?”

Eric knew she was just being a bitch, so he let it go. “I don’t pay for sex. On the other hand, I don’t have a problem spending money to make my woman happy. If you have a problem with that—”

“I don’t.” She did an about-face and gave him an effective smile. “I’ll see what I can find to wear just for you.”

Eric grinned. “That’s more like it.” He kissed her mouth and climbed off the bed. Then he grabbed his briefs that were tossed across a leather chair and put them on, followed by pleated khakis.

Beverly propped herself up on an elbow, giving him a nice view of her body. “Where are you going?”

“Just to take care of a little business.”

“What kind of business?” There was a touch of suspicion in her voice.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about,” he responded evasively. As far as she knew, he was in the investment business. Technically, this was true, as he invested much of the money he earned in stocks, bonds, and a little real estate, making for a comfortable life. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Whereas were she to know that he was an enforcer for a local crime boss, he just might have to kill her.

Beverly Holland waited patiently until Eric left before putting her hand between her legs and giving herself the orgasm he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, these days. It was becoming clear to her that he couldn’t keep up with her in bed. At least not anymore. Maybe this was to be expected. After all, at forty-five, he was past his sexual prime, whereas the twenty-five-year-old woman in her was practically bursting with sexual desire.

Beverly wondered if their arrangement was working anymore. Yes, she loved the material comforts Eric gave her, including sharing his massive house, driving an expensive car, and having all the jewelry and clothes any woman could want. But was that enough? Especially if the man couldn’t satisfy her carnal instincts.

Would Eric allow her to leave him if she wanted to? Beverly had her serious doubts about that. He had never shown any violence toward her in the year they had been together and seemed like the legitimate businessman he claimed to be. But there was something in his character and furtive style that made her believe there might be aggressive tendencies beneath the surface.

Maybe I shouldn’t tempt fate by walking out. That didn’t mean she was prepared to be ignored sexually for the rest of her life. Not when there were other, virile men out there who could satisfy that side of her.

At the moment, Beverly was left to handle that herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and increased the speed as she ran her finger back and forth across her clitoris while she fantasized about a faceless lover. As the buildup reached its peak, her body started to quiver and her breathing sped up. Beverly gasped as the overwhelming feeling of fulfillment started to spread throughout her body.

She lay there for another minute, waiting for the sensations to subside, before her mind cleared and she had to decide how to spend the rest of her day now that she knew Eric would not be around.

Dante rented a car at the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport. He’d spent the long flight thinking about his brother and what a waste it was to have his life taken away at the young age of twenty-nine, two years younger than Dante. Russell, who had finally seemed to be getting his life back on track after going through an ugly divorce, had moved to Detroit for a new beginning. As far as Dante knew, there was no one serious in Russell’s life at the time of his death, as he had been focused on turning his store into a success before rebuilding other aspects of his life. Now he would never get that chance. And Dante would never get to truly know his brother as a man. Or as a father.

Conversely, Russell would never get to see Dante’s further evolution through life and whatever it had in store for him. That included a significant other. Though Dante had never been married, he’d known his fair share of women. None had really stood out and tugged on his heartstrings. Maybe it wasn’t in the cards for him to find love. Or maybe he just hadn’t met the woman who truly did it for him.

Either way, it was an experience he would never get to share with Russell. Dante blamed himself for not reaching out more to his brother, allowing them to bond in adulthood. It always seemed like there would be more time. If only he could do things over. But it didn’t work that way when one party was dead.

All that was left was to try to make things right. He was sure Russell would have done the same were the situation reversed and he was the one feeling empty while his brother lay in a pine box in a cemetery.

Dante drove the Cadillac Escalade down the freeway and continued his thoughts about the tragedy that brought him to Detroit for only the second time. The first was little more than two years ago, when Russell first opened his store on Seven Mile Road. On a whim, Dante had decided to drop everything and fly from Nigeria, where he was doing a story about government corruption. He only stayed for two days, but Russell seemed genuinely appreciative, even if there had been moments of strain, mostly in relation to differing points of view on how each should run his life. He wished he could take back every negative thing he said to Russell. If only he had the chance.

Dante pulled into the parking lot of the hotel on Fisher Lane. Traveling light, he carried his one bag inside, checked in, and went to his suite. He looked out the large window and took in the city. There were two men out there intimidating and terrorizing businessmen and women, forcing them to pay up or else. And apparently the authorities weren’t doing a damned thing about it. He wouldn’t be surprised at all if Leon Quincy had the cops in his hip pocket. Well, Quincy and Eric Fox would get their comeuppance. He would see to that.

Right now, though, he could use a stiff drink. Dante had noticed the lounge downstairs when he came in. He freshened up and headed there.

Beverly was bored. More than that, she was feeling horny. After having spent all of Eric’s money and then some, she was looking for a little fun, minus him. Maybe she would have a drink and then some dancing. Eric wasn’t much of a dancer with two left feet. She doubted he would be too keen on her dancing with another man. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

She spotted the hotel. Most hotels had a place to drink and dance, right? Especially the five-star ones like this. It was a good ten miles from where she lived, so there was little chance Eric or one of his friends would see her.

Parking her ruby red Lincoln MKS, Beverly checked her makeup and hair and ran a hand over her black knit dress. Not that she needed to do much to look great. Most men seemed to share that view, and women too. She still wanted to make sure it was all put together nicely, though.

She walked carefully to the hotel in her pointy-toe pumps that had yet to be fully broken in. It would just be her misfortune to fall and break her ankle.

Beverly entered an impressive lobby and wasn’t sure which way to head first. Taking a chance, she went to her left and saw the Crescent Lounge. She heard some music—easy listening. Not exactly her taste, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from at least having a drink.

Inside the lounge, Beverly immediately laid eyes on the man sitting all by his lonesome at the bar. From where she stood, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Obviously tall and muscular, he was bald-headed, caramelskinned, and oozed sexuality. She would bet that he was all that and more in the sack. The mere thought turned her on.

Maybe I shouldn’t even go there. Otherwise, I just might get myself into trouble.

She ignored the warning bells and felt compelled to talk to him. It never occurred to her that he could be with someone who had gone to the ladies’ room. Guess there was only one way to find out.

Beverly moseyed over to the bar and took a seat beside the man, barely able to keep her eyes off him. “Buy a lady a drink?”

He faced her with deep gray eyes flecked with gold. His square-jawed features, as rigid as they were refined, were a cross between Denzel Washington and LL Cool J.

“Sure,” he said in a voice heavy with masculinity. “What would you like?”

How about you? “I’ll have a Cosmo,” she told him, inhaling the powerfully enticing cologne he wore.

“Cosmo, it is.” He signaled the bartender and ordered the drink and another one of his own, a cognac cocktail. Then they checked each other out. Beverly sensed he liked what he saw, as did she.

She decided to get the formalities out of the way. “I’m Beverly.”

“Dante.”

She liked the name. “What’s a nice-looking man like you doing here drinking all alone, Dante?”

He considered the question. “Well, since I’m new in town and don’t know anyone, I didn’t really have much choice. I could ask you the same question.”

“So ask,” Beverly teased, flipping back her long dark hair.

“All right. What’s an attractive woman such as yourself doing in a hotel lounge, asking a stranger to buy her a drink?”

He does like my look. Good start. “Honestly, it was boredom,” she said. “I just needed to get out of the house. I ended up here . . . and realized I didn’t want to drink alone.”

Dante smiled seductively. “You don’t have to.”

The drinks came on cue. Beverly tasted hers and suddenly felt even more bold in coming on to this man. He struck her as the type who could handle himself if Eric were to walk in at that moment and make trouble. But she would rather forget about Eric for the time being and concentrate on Dante.

“Where are you from?” she thought to ask.

Dante pointed his enchanting eyes at her. “Originally from Oakland, but I’ve been living in L.A. for a while now.”

“Sounds nice,” Beverly said, running a finger around the rim of her glass. “I’ve never been to California, but I like everything I hear about it.”

“Seeing is believing. You’ll have to check it out for yourself sometime.”

“Maybe I will.” She would have gone before now if she’d felt she might run into someone like him. “Seems like there’s a lot to do there.”

Dante chuckled. “California can mean different things to different people.”

“What does it mean to you?” she asked directly.

“It means having a place to hang my hat, figuratively speaking, while being able to come and go as I please.”

If only life were that simple for me. “What brings you to Detroit, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The way he gazed at her, Beverly almost thought he would say she had. Instead, his simple yet firm response was: “Business.”

“Just business?”

He tasted his drink. “I’m not opposed to a little pleasure.”

She showed her teeth. Neither am I. Not with you. “What type of business are you in?” Judging by his casual clothing and easy demeanor, she imagined he might be a college recruiter. Or an insurance salesman. Maybe even an ex-jock now working as a pitchman for some products.

“I’m a journalist.”

That one surprised her, but somehow seemed to fit. “You’re here for a story?”

“Something like that.” Dante touched her hand, sending sparks flying throughout Beverly’s body. “What’s your story?”

I knew this was coming. Can’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know. “Not much to tell. Just a woman out for a good time,” Beverly said casually.

“And also a woman of mystery.”

“I thought men were attracted to mysterious women.”

His mouth curved upward. “Yeah, that’s true. Especially ones as sexy as you.”

Beverly’s libido rose a few notches. “Do you have a room?” she asked boldly.

“Yes,” he said with anticipation.

Her curly lashes batted. “So . . . what are we waiting for?”

“Not a damned thing,” he declared.

Dante gazed with appreciation as Beverly stripped naked in his suite. She was like every sexy woman he’d ever dreamed about wrapped into one. With her gorgeous high-cheeked and full-lipped Beyoncé-meets-Alicia-Keys-type looks cloaked in a butterscotch complexion and tall, slender body with ample high breasts and just the right amount of curves, Dante experienced the type of sexual desire he hadn’t felt in some time. It was enough to temporarily distract him from his mission.

Dante sensed that Beverly was in a relationship, probably married, and looking for a one-night stand of escapism. Who was he to deny her what she obviously wanted and needed, especially when his wants and needs were every bit as powerful? He had to have this lady who had chosen him to seduce. He’d make sure she wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Removing his own clothes, Dante wasted little time getting to it. He gripped Beverly’s slender waist and lifted her onto the bed. Climbing atop it, he spread her legs and went down on her. He inhaled her scent, turning him on like crazy. She was wet. Very wet. He dragged his tongue across her clitoris and felt Beverly tremble. He licked her several more times while she moaned.

“That feels so good,” she uttered. “Don’t make me come until you’re inside me.”

Dante resisted the desire to give her an oral orgasm, enjoying seeing a woman climax from his mouth and tongue. His own libido threatened to overpower him. As such, he was more than ready to accommodate her wishes.

He came up, gazing into her desperate eyes. “I’m going to make love to you now!”

“Please do!”

After hurriedly sliding on a condom, he sandwiched himself between her moist thighs and propelled his erection deep inside her. She immediately clamped hard around his penis, wrapping her legs up high across his back. He used the bed to support his hands and, in rapid-fire motion, thrust himself in and nearly out of her and back again. She met him halfway, slamming herself against his body.

Dante kissed her lips hard and winced as she bit into the side of his mouth. His tongue ran across her teeth and went into her mouth, tasting her. He grabbed hold of one of her breasts, squeezing the hard nipple between two fingers. Beverly’s breathing quickened, and she ran long fingernails across his back, causing him to jump.

She cried out as his penis plunged as far as it could go inside her and remained there while he climaxed. Her body went into spasms at the same time, and Dante held Beverly tightly while they rode the wave together. It took a minute or longer before things settled down.

He rolled off her and onto the bed, trying to catch his breath. “Wow!” was all Dante could think to say.

Beverly sighed with a chuckle. “It was pretty wow at that!”

“We can always see if we can top that,” he said, finding himself wanting to extend this sexual tryst a bit longer.

“Sounds like fun, but I have to go.” On that note, she climbed off the bed. He admired her nice ass and then the rest of her.

“That’s cool.” He wouldn’t try to talk her out of it, not knowing her situation, but assumed it involved another man she was with. “Will I see you again?”

Beverly hurriedly put on her clothes. “That all depends. How long will you be in town?”

Dante considered how long it would take him to kill a man. Then another. But not until he had sized up his adversaries and found out their weaknesses.

“Not sure,” he told her candidly. “Depends on how long it takes me to complete the assignment. And maybe if I’ll get another chance to see you.”

She took her cell phone out of her purse. “What’s your cell number?”

He gave it to her, not bothering to ask for hers, figuring he would get it if and when she called him.

“I’ll call you if I can see you again,” she said.

“All right,” Dante replied. “Hope my phone rings and you’re on the other end.”

He stood up, moved over to her, and planted a deep kiss on her mouth.

She pulled away, touching her lips. “You made your point. Now I really have to go.”

I think you’d rather stay. Maybe next time we can make it an all-nighter. “Nice meeting you.”

Beverly smiled warmly. “You too.”

As she drove home, Beverly could scarcely believe she had just had sex with a total stranger. Never before had she done such a thing. And she had never been unfaithful to Eric since they had been together. So why now? She had no idea other than that Dante was sexy as hell and it felt right and dangerously appealing to drop her inhibitions and fulfill her sexual desires of the moment.

Dante did not disappoint. In just minutes, which seemed like hours, he had managed to do what Eric hadn’t in months: give her an orgasm that she was still reeling from. But it was over now, and she had to remember she was Eric’s woman, even if he seemed to see her as just a trophy instead of a woman who needed the type of sexual attention he could not give her. She couldn’t ignore the comfortable life he provided for her. She doubted Dante could offer the same or would even want to. For all she knew, he had someone of his own waiting back in California to do what they did tonight. Only more thoroughly, with no need to leave afterward.

Can I really go without ever seeing him again? Or would I only be asking for trouble if I fell prey to temptation and his rock-hard body that turns me on as much as the man’s sexual skills?

When Beverly got back to the house, a large Victorian that sat on a hill and was the envy of everyone in the neighborhood, she saw Eric’s silver Cadillac CTS-V coupe in the driveway. Usually when he was out on business, he didn’t come home until after midnight. Yet here he was. She checked her clothing and smoothed her hair, trying to keep her appearance as unsuspecting as possible. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was cheating on him. As it was, her tryst with Dante was only a one-time thing. Wasn’t it?

Stepping inside, her heels clicked on the tile foyer and then on the hardwood floor of the Great Room. There she found Eric sitting on the brown leather sectional, legs sprawled, talking on the phone.

“Yeah, man,” he said. “I took care of our little problem.” He listened. “There was no resistance or further excuses. Just another day on the job.”

Beverly noted that he seemed to be guarded in his words as he looked at her, as if he had something to hide. Or was that only her imagination? Or maybe even guilt about her own little secret?

She gave him a tiny wave and carried her bags up the circular staircase to the master suite. It was huge with an antique king bed and a sitting area with white colonial furnishings. She kicked off her shoes and put the bags on a square glass table. What she needed now after a long day and steamy night was a hot bath.

Beverly was startled when she heard Eric’s voice from behind. “Where you been?”

Keep your cool. Otherwise he’ll know something happened. She turned around. “Where do you think—shopping. Or have you forgotten that’s what you wanted when the sex fizzled?”

He scowled, and then glanced over her shoulder at the bags. “I didn’t forget.” He peered at her. “Go anywhere else?”

She thought of saying she went for a drink. But even that would likely lead to more questions, and she might end up giving the wrong answers. “I stopped by Marilyn’s,” she said of her best friend, Marilyn Ramsey. Beverly made a mental note to cover this with her, in case he tried to verify it. “Didn’t know I needed to account for my every move.”

Eric grinned apologetically. “You don’t.” He put his arms around her waist. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Since when? Seems to me your work occupies more of your thoughts than I do.” Not that she had too much of a problem with this, as it gave her more freedom. But he didn’t have to know that.

“Now, don’t be like that, baby. Yeah, my work is what keeps us in this house and you spending my money. You’re my number-one priority, though. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Beverly told him, and meant it for the most part. She might be happier if the person she came home to every day and made love to was Dante. “Are you?”

Eric smiled. “Yeah, especially when I’ve got the finest woman in the city to keep me feeling young and energetic.”

Beverly wanted to laugh at the energetic part. If he displayed even half the energy in bed that Dante did, then she would never have needed to . . .