The Hitman Who Loved Me

Book 3: McCoy's Boys

by Shady Grace

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

“Humorous and explosive . . . a thrilling and exciting tale.”
-RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars

Is that a gun in his pocket or…?
 
Jamie Fields can hardly refuse a free vacation. Jobless and broke, the struggling single gal is in need of serious stress relief. Sure, the set up is suspicious—no one gives away a trip to exotic Cuba—complete with 50,000 dollars cash—just for delivering a package. But once Jamie’s enjoying sunny beach days and exhilarating tropical nights, she’s too happy to care. Especially when she finds herself hotly pursued by a sexy stranger…
 
The McCoy empire is under siege, and Sam Hayes has been tapped to take care of the culprit. Sam knows better than to get involved with his target, but there’s something about Jamie that keeps him from simply finishing the job and moving on. Maybe the hard-bodied hitman just can’t wrap his mind around the fact that the first woman to set his soul on fire is a common criminal. The only thing Sam can do is keep her close. An easy enough task—if Sam doesn’t do something stupid. Like fall in love with the bombshell he was sent to kill….

Release date: June 20, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 150

Sample

 

Summer 1992

 

“Did you hear me, boy? I said, what brings you to my town?”

Sam Hayes grit his teeth and kept his gaze focused forward. So much for a quiet drink after a hard day. He had been sitting at the bar in a small town north of Vancouver, minding his own business, when three country hicks strolled in and decided to stand right behind him.

He sipped his tequila in silence and stared at their reflections in the mirror behind the bar. He noted they were in their mid-to-late twenties. Judging by their restless demeanor, sweaty faces, and huge pupils, they were high on something. Worse than that, all three had the greasiest mullets he’d ever seen.

Sam didn’t want to turn around, and he sure as hell didn’t want to speak to them—especially when the leader’s onion breath made him want to puke. Apparently washing hair and brushing teeth wasn’t a regular part of their hygiene.

Instinct warned that he should face them. These types would probably stab a man in the back—especially a man with darker skin than their own. But after the day he had, Sam didn’t much care what childish antics they had in mind. All he wanted was a quiet drink and the bartender seemed friendly enough. Now, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice in coming here.

Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” lilted through the smoky interior.

Two guys got up, pounded the last of their beer, and took off through a side door. A few others decided to stick it out. Sam had a feeling these boys were well known for causing trouble.

The elderly bartender wiped a tall glass, his eyes darting between Sam and the men. He was nervous. Sam noticed his hands shook as he dried that glass, and he felt sorry for the poor fellow. He felt sorry for those boys, too. They probably didn’t have much to do other than cause havoc in a town with less than a thousand people.

“I said…what brings you to my—”

“I heard you the first time.” He glanced at the bartender and gave a brief nod. Clearly eager to be of some kind of service, the old fellow refilled his shot glace. “Don’t worry. I’m just passing through,” Sam added. He wanted to reassure the old man that he had no intention of causing trouble. But as he lifted the drink to his lips, one of the boys knocked it from his hand. Tequila spattered everywhere. The bartender jerked back and hit the row of bottles behind him. Sam’s shot glass bounced over the wooden counter top and smashed onto the wooden floorboards.

The bartender turned as pale as the whitewash Sam had just finished applying to a lady’s shed. The old guy shook his head, perhaps trying to warn him that messing with these boys wasn’t a smart idea. Sam didn’t care. The bartender had no idea what shit he’d already gone through in his young life.

Sam spun around on his stool and faced the three men. Even outnumbered, he wasn’t afraid of them in the slightest. “Are you going to clean up that mess you made?”

The trio shared an amused glance before the leader tipped his head back and let out a thunderous laugh. “Hell no. Are you gonna get out of my town?”

Sam shook his head. These boys didn’t seem all that smart. “Like I said, I’m just passing through.”

The shorter, heavyset boy looked at his pals. “Then pass through quicker.” His beady brown eyes locked on Sam and narrowed. “We don’t like strangers around here.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. This is the nineties after all. Strangers travel all the time.” Sam spun back around and smiled at the bartender. “I’ll have another shot, please, then I’ll leave.”

The bartender stood frozen to the spot. His terrified glance shifted from Sam to the leader of the pack. “This young man hasn’t caused any trouble, Joseph. Just leave him alone and then he’ll be on his way.”

“You know what my father will do to you, old man, if you don’t listen to me?” Joseph said in a low, threatening voice. “Don’t make me call him.”

The old man’s face turned ashen again. That’s when Sam had enough. All he wanted was a drink and now the poor old bartender was being harassed just for providing him service. He stood, handed a bill to the kind man, and faced the boys. “You’re a poor excuse of a man to threaten him like that. He’s just trying to earn a living like everyone else.”

Joseph snorted. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“How about we go outside and find out?”

“Sure. After you,” he sneered, gesturing with his hand for Sam to go ahead first.

Sam shook his head. He knew the second he turned his back to them, all three of them would be on him. He took a step back and balled his fists, holding them high to shield his face. The fight was going to happen right here whether the bartender liked it or not.

Joseph was the first to come forward. He was slightly taller than Sam and had long arms. He balled his right fist and struck his arm out. Sam dodged back, giving Joseph’s long reach no chance to get close.

One of the other boys grabbed a pool cue from the nearest pool table and held it like a baseball bat. So this is how it’s going to be, eh? He didn’t mind the challenge. As Joseph came at him again, this time with a left hook, Sam bent low and jammed a hard uppercut of his own right into the guy’s ribs.

Joseph stumbled back with a growl of pain. His body hunched forward. Sam knew he’d bruised his ribs, and he would be out of the fray for at least another minute while he caught his breath.

The guy holding the pool cue ran at Sam, holding the skinny end of the cue, and swung the thick end right at Sam’s ear. Sam sidestepped, ripping the cue from his hand. As he spun his body around, he belted the pool stick across his back with all of his strength. The stick cracked over his back as pieces of wood splintered and scattered across the floor. Sam hurled the guy forward with a boot to his ass.

“Save the Best for Last” by Vanessa Williams hummed pleasantly through the bar as Sam yanked on the hoodie of the third man, jerking him forward, and cracked him in the nose. Blood gushed down the man’s lips and chin.

“Fuck!” the guy screamed as Vanessa’s beautiful voice carried through the dismal space like a contradiction. Sam never liked that song but the face behind the voice sure had a lovely appeal.

He jerked to the side as a liquor bottle flew past his face and smashed against a wall.

The man with the broken nose apparently gave up and sat at a nearby seat, holding his bloody face, his terrified gaze sweeping through the room. The third man lunged at Sam, spearing him in the stomach. They flew back and collided against the wall right next to a dartboard. Sam cringed as his back banged hard against the wood paneling, but as the guy yanked back to swing up at him, he ripped a dart from the board and jammed it in the guy’s shoulder.

“Ah! Mother fucker!” He yanked the dart from his flesh and threw it on the floor.

Sam grabbed his bad arm, spun him around, and yanked his arm behind his back. The sharp sound of bone snapping and the guy’s ear-splitting scream echoed through the bar as the patrons stared, wide-eyed, still drinking their beer.

Sam shoved the idiot forward and went after Joseph.

The leader of the crew stood there panting, still holding his ribs. He lifted his hand, palm up, and cried, “Please, just stop! We don’t want any more trouble.”

Sam tipped his head back and let out a rumble of laughter. “Oh, really? I was under the impression that you own this town.”

“No. No, sir,” Joseph said. “I was just joking.” He cringed and lowered his head as Sam walked right up to him, grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the bar.

“You owe this man an apology.”

“I—I’m sorry, Fra-ankie.”

The old bartender looked surprised as Joseph begged for forgiveness like a pathetic child.

“And you’re going to come back and clean up this mess, aren’t you?” Sam added.

Joseph nodded his head fast. “Yes. Yes. I promise. We will. We’ll come back.”

“Good. Now get the fuck out of here,” a sharp, dominant voice cut in. “Punks like you make me sick.”

Sam released Joseph and turned toward the commanding tone.

A man wearing a black fedora and matching three-piece suit stood inside the entryway. Two guys who looked close to Sam’s age stood on one side while a big bald guy with scars on his face stood on the other. He looked like he’d snap a neck and never blink.

But the man in the suit was the one who commanded Sam’s attention. He had a sharp stare, as if he could see all of Sam’s secrets. It made him feel as though he stood in the path of a spotlight.

“Mister McCoy,” the bartender said in a shaky voice. “I had no idea you’d be in town today. Let me get you your favorite drink.”

“That’s okay, Frankie. I’m not staying long. We were walking by and heard the commotion. I was beginning to think I’d have to send Benjamin in to finish the job.” McCoy turned his attention back to Sam and smiled. “Where did you learn to fight like that, son?”

Sam cleared his throat, embarrassed to admit it, but he didn’t want to lie to this man. He dipped his head slightly and looked at the floor. “My aunt.”

“Really?” McCoy chuckled. When Sam looked up again, the guys beside McCoy blinked as if in surprise, and the bald guy had yet to have an expression on his ugly face. McCoy ruffled the hair of one of the teenagers. “These are my boys, Terry and Gabriel. We could use a good man like you. How old are you?”

Sam glanced at the bartender and made an apologetic face. It wasn’t the old guy’s fault that Sam looked like an adult, and it wasn’t Sam’s fault the guy didn’t ask for ID. “Seventeen, sir.”

Something gleamed in McCoy’s eyes. “And you can fight like that. I’m impressed. Do you know who I am, son?”

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked the man over more thoroughly. He didn’t look familiar at all. “No, sir.”

“That’s all right.” The man stepped forward and lifted his hand. Sam noticed every finger had a gold ring on it. “I could offer you the world if you come with me. What do you say?”

Auntie Rose needed money and someone to care for her. The doctor said she needed meds to keep her head clear. Without her love and guidance, Sam knew he’d either be dead or in jail, or maybe wasting his life on drugs. It didn’t take much for him to make up his mind.

He looked McCoy straight in the eyes, and shook his hand.

 

 

 

Sam’s eye twitched as another shrieking cry assaulted his nerves. He watched the scene unfold, thinking there wasn’t much difference in the hysterical tone from someone knowing their life is about to end, and someone whose life is just beginning.

Screaming babies made him feel funny. Maybe he should do something to stop the deranged hollering, but he wouldn’t know what to do other than gently rub a small rosy cheek and hope it didn’t break.

Terry McCoy, his brother and best friend, had just become a father for the second time, and his little person was wailing like a demon in the hospital nursery, surrounded by other mini people.

Kids were a whole other language for Sam. He couldn’t even remember ever holding one. Even though he thought they were cute and all, he had to admit he was afraid of them. He had been an only child, sent off to be raised by his estranged aunt so Mommy and Daddy could live life like rock stars in the south of France. He knew they loved him in their own way, but responsibility didn’t flow willingly in their veins. They needed their freedom, and to some degree he understood that. With age, his resentment dwindled somewhat, yet he still felt awkward when they did decide to pay a visit once or twice a year, instead of the usual birthday and Christmas cards filled with cash.

He didn’t want or need their money. All he ever wanted as a kid was to spend time with them, not read the pathetic note on the card about how much they missed him and how they enjoyed traveling.

Auntie Rose did her best to raise him right, though ultimately he became a bit of an oddball like her. She had a perfectly teased afro right out of the seventies and wore thick, green-rimmed glasses. She loved real-life crime books and hairless cats. She put icing sugar in her coffee, and crocheted on the steps of her little trailer while Otis Redding blared through the open windows.

Although Sam thrived on those crime books, he hated cats, and he kept his tight curls neatly trimmed. It was hard enough growing up with light brown skin—he didn’t want a crazy afro to go with it. But he couldn’t control everything. Three weeks after his fourteenth birthday he smashed up his pedal bike and broke a front tooth. Auntie Rose thought it would be a great idea to replace the missing tooth with a gold one. “It looks cool, my boy.” Even though he had been teased most of his life about that tooth and told that he might as well become a rapper, he still kept it…for her.

And while he kept his coffee black, he absolutely loved Otis Redding, and sometimes had the notion to sing out loud—as long as he was alone. He’d never win a gig, but he could belt out a few decent notes in the shower.

The little one wiggling in that plastic box sure had a set of lungs on her. She was beautiful and perfect, as every baby should be. He smiled as he watched her wrinkly red face scrunch up for another scream. She had just become a part of a family that would love her to pieces and always protect her. Mary would spoil the girl rotten as she did with their firstborn son. She also had uncles that would kill for her. How he envied everything good she would get in life.

It actually surprised Sam how good of a father Terry had turned out to be, considering his father forced him into a life of crime and made Terry into something he despised. Sam knew that Terry would encourage his kids to be what they wanted to be—not directed around like an employee as Terry had often been treated. Colton McCoy loved his son, but he just didn’t see how the life he’d chosen for his family was only what he wanted for himself.

Many years ago, Sam decided that a true blue family was just a label for other people. He knew it the minute he watched Auntie Rose pull out a rifle on those front steps and shoot a groundhog for their dinner that night. She went right back to her crocheting and told Sam to go fetch the furry beast and toss it on her cutting board.

While he was shocked and appalled that she could be so cruel and kill his secret pet, he was more amazed at her precise shot at such a long distance. It didn’t take long before Auntie Rose taught him a few things about the darker side of life, and the fact that her glasses were cheaters. She could see just fine.

He learned quickly that he wasn’t born to love. He was designed to kill people.

Fate took a turn for him in that bar on a balmy night many years ago. Those degenerates didn’t expect to get their asses handed to them by a seventeen-year-old kid. Maybe they didn’t like his quiet nature, or the fact that a black man had the nerve to drink in their bar. To their chagrin and broken bones, he’d taken all three of them within three minutes. Fighting came as a second nature to Sam. Not a single person in this world scared him. Well, only one person could command his fear, and that was Colton McCoy, when he was alive. One bad move and Colton could simply nod his head and Sam would’ve disappeared like all the others. Now that Colton was gone, Sam had nobody to fill that void. Sometimes he wondered if that made him less than human. Most of the time, he didn’t much care.

He remembered like it was yesterday how the older fella looked like a teamster. Colton McCoy had taken Sam under his wing and treated him like a son—as he had done with Gabe. Ben, the brawny man with the scars, had become Sam’s mentor. He taught Sam everything he knew. When age and too many broken bones over the years caught up to Ben and he wasn’t able to take on as many tasks, Sam became the gunman for the empire. It came as a bitter surprise to them all when, out of jealousy, Ben tried to kill Terry in the mountains. Apparently Ben hated becoming Colton’s right hand at home, even though he could’ve chosen to walk away with his chin held high, not forced to wait on Colton like a butler. In some ways Sam understood Ben’s resentment, but Terry didn’t deserve the bullet from Ben’s gun. Terry was just the son of a crime boss and never wanted that life anyway. Targeting Terry had been a huge mistake. Ben may have been Sam’s mentor, but Terry was Sam’s brother in all the ways that mattered.

In a short matter of time, Gabe and Terry had become Sam’s best friends, and now that Colton was gone, things had changed. Terry never wanted what Colton created for him, and Sam thought his adopted brother made the right choice giving it all up. He never could’ve left the business while his father was still alive. Colton needed his son by his side, especially after losing his first wife—Terry’s mother.

Terry looked happier now and Sam envied the change in his brother’s life. They all knew it would end one day, and luckily it ended well for Terry and Gabe. Sam didn’t hold that much confidence for his final chapter of life.

His brothers had it all, and Sam envied their happiness. He didn’t mind being left behind, because somebody had to toe the line.

Sam wouldn’t change his past for anything for the world, because he wouldn’t be the man he was today without all of it—even the bad shit.

His uncommitted glance wandered to the sexy little nurse on the other side of the glass. She made her way to each little plastic basket to check on the little devils. They didn’t seem to care for her attention. They waved their little fists in the air, wanting nothing else but a tit to suck on. Hell, so did he.

Sam released a deep breath and fogged the glass in front of his face. As the little ginger nurse glanced up, he drew a smiley face with his fingertip. Instead of a pretty grin he had hoped to see, the nurse glared, shook her head, and turned her back to him.

Huh. He raised a brow. Since when did people have to be so serious in a hospital? People were dying all over the place and this nurse, surrounded by new life, couldn’t even smile at his smiley face.

He checked his watch. In about ten minutes he’d have a tidy seventy-five grand wired to his account in the same small town where he’d first met Colton McCoy and his boys. Sam needed the money badly from all the bills he’d accumulated with his aunt’s medication and her overall well-being. She thought the money deposited into her account twice a month was from the government, or sometimes from lottery tickets she never bought, and that suited him just fin. . .