Page 4 of A Killer's Heart

Wanting to, I concentrate, but I’m not sure if I do or it’s just simply my pulse. Either way, just the thought of it is a miracle, the concept of creating a life blows me away. Not that anyone knows that about me. “How you doing?” She tells me she’s fine at the moment. Regrettably, I remove my touch from her, feeling the loss immediately, and tell her she’ll be better once we land.

"Is it smart to be so close to Max and his family? Italy and France aren’t that far apart."

“We will be under Enzo’z protection, you can trust him.” That eases her worry a bit, causing her to lay her head on my shoulder. She’s so tiny, as is her baby bump. These facts, along with other things where she’s concerned, have me feeling possessive of both of them. When I realize she’s fallen asleep, I softly set my hand once more on her belly. It’s as innocent as she is, and I’ll protect them with my life.

* * *

"This is amazing,"Poppy declares as she spins around the penthouse of the luxury hotel. I don't usually go big like this, needing to keep a low-profile at all times, but she deserves this and so much more. I do, however, remind her it’s only until Enzo has a secure location for us to move to. When she walks toward the balcony, I stop her as her hand touches the knob to open them.

"It's not safe, Poppy." Our mouths are inches apart when she turns her head to look at me, giving me the almost overwhelming urge to kiss her. Instead, I fight it, not wanting to risk taking advantage of the situation, though I swear she seems disappointed when I don’t follow through on it. Playing it off, I grab the menu from the table and pass it to her, telling her to order whatever she wants.

"That's a dangerous thing to say to a pregnant woman," she teases with an infectious smile. She’s like this bright light to the darkness that’s always surrounded me.

Stepping out to call Enzo, he answers right away, stating, “Smith. I assume you’ve landed.” I appreciate that he gets straight to business.

"Not too long ago,” I inform him. “How's the safe house coming? I'm eager to get Poppy there."

"It’ll be ready tomorrow,” he vows. “I have to ask,” he begins a few minutes later, “but this feels different. Personal."

"Because it fucking I," I snap. It wasn’t when I’d initially taken the job, but it became so much more after that. "She's mine."

He’s laughing as she wants to know, "Gone just like all your American gangster friends?" I don’t deny it, I can’t. He’s right. Getting back on topic, I ask where we’re meeting. “I’ll text you the address.” I thank him, then hang up, taking a deep breath to sort through everything. My heart and head are at odds. Figuring cold water might help, I empty my pockets, remove my jacket, shirt, and belt, then undo the top button on my jeans. There’s a light knock followed by Poppy poking her head in the bedroom.

I have the urge to cover my body, not wanting her to see all the scars, but it’s too late. “Smith? What happened to you? Is this all because of your job?” When her eyes meet mine, they’re filled with tears as she takes in the burns, bullet and stab wounds, and so on.

"Most are,” I admit. “The others are due to the life I’ve had." Her fingers roam my chest and arm, the tips inspecting each mark. I barely contain the groan it causes and will my cock to settle down, but I’ve never been touched like this.

"I'm so sorry," she says softly before pressing a kiss to a spot near my heart. Gripping her shoulder, I push her back, hating the hurt on her face from it yet knowing it I didn’t stop her, I’d fuck her here and now. I gruffly demand she order her food while I take a shower. After stomping toward the bathroom, knowing full well I’m acting like a child, I slam the door shut. I’m so pissed at myself. What the hell is wrong with me? A better question is, How will I survive having her so close without losing my mind?

Chapter 5

Poppy

Since meeting Smith, I feel like I’ve entered a whole new world. Traveling first class, luxury hotels, and now we’re staying in a beautiful historical villa. I can’t believe this is the place that’s acting as a safe house courtesy of Enzo, a tall Italian man that seems happy to help Smith. It may be considered small as it only has two bedrooms, but the view it provides is stunning. Turning back to Smith, I watch as he and Enzo shake hands, and sends me a nod my way before leaving. My companion secures the heavy wooden door behind him, then rests his hand on it as he stands there. He’s been distant since the hotel, and I wonder if the intimacy of our situation is bothering him. I know it’s impacting me. I never expected to feel this way about anyone, let alone an assassin that kidnapped and didn’t kill me. I could try and blame it on the hormones running through me, but I know it’s more than that.

Wanting to get off my feet, I take a seat on the couch and prop them up on the table. "What now?" I mutter, latching on to any reason to get him to talk to me. The forced isolation and his cold behaviour are getting to me.

Surprisingly, he sits next to me, “Enzo was able to arrange an appointment for later today with a private doctor.”

“Thank you” I’m touched by his thoughtfulness and that he followed through on doing what he’d said. Resting my hand on my belly, I think back on the last few months. Without planning, a question that’s been on my mind since discovering I was pregnant pops out of me, though I don’t regret it. "Do you think the father can define a child?" I lean against him, feeling him take a deep breath as he instantly wraps his arm around me.

"No," he answers confidently. "At least, not always,” then he shrugs, admitting, “I've never met either of my parents."

"Never? Not even when you were little?"

He's silent for a long moment before he responds. "Sometimes I have dreams of a faceless woman holding marigolds, but that's it. I assume it’s my mother." Finding that incredibly sad, my heart hurts for him when I want to know what happened to him then. “I was raised in a group home for boys. We were all orphans. The leaders didn’t raise us, though. We were trained to be soldiers for some off-branch military program.”

"Did any of them act as a parental figure?”

"Not at all,” he says softly. “Not wanting to be a part of it, and fed up with the many levels of abuse heaped on us, I escaped. Found shelter with a few low-level gangs, some crime families. I did what I had to in order to stay alive. So, here I am.” I’m on the verge of tears after hearing what he endured when he looks at me.

"Is this what you wanted to do?"

"I never wanted to be a monster."

"You’re not one," I tell him as I kiss his cheek, I feel the warmth under my lips. "You saved my life, didn't you?" Grabbing his hand, I place his palm on my stomach and remind him, “And this one too. And I’m sure we aren’t the only people you’ve helped.” Not wanting to push any harder after such a personal conversation, I change the subject and we go on about our day. I spend it reading and making lunch while Smith is glued to his laptop, keeping an eye on the black sites, as he called them, for my name to appear as a hit.

A few hours later, we leave to head to my appointment, and I can’t help but feel sorry for myself during the ride. There’s no doubt I’m in a bad situation, yet what troubles me most, what I’m ashamed of, is my lack of excitement for the baby. I should be thrilled, eager to meet him or her and start this new journey, but i’m not. The thought brings me to tears.

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