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    Tool: A Hitman Romance, #2
    Tool: A Hitman Romance, #2
    Tool: A Hitman Romance, #2
    Ebook123 pages2 hours

    Tool: A Hitman Romance, #2

    By Claire St. Rose

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    About this ebook

    This is book 2 of the Tool Hitman Romance Series! Book 3 is available everywhere now!

    He's got a dangerous tool, and he knows how to use it.

    MAYA

    I thought my father hired Quinn to be my protector.

    But it turns out that he's more of a prison guard.

    It's Quinn's secret job to keep me under his watchful eye, so I don't do what I desperately want to do:

    Run away from my mob boss daddy, who's trying to marry me off to the rich, arrogant son of some other mafia creep.

    Quinn doesn't give a d*mn either way.

    He's just there to collect a paycheck and get back to a life of whiskey drinking and one-night stands.

    Until one night, we go too far and end up in the shower together.

    Now, there's no going back to the way things were.

    He says he's a loner with no room in his heart for love.

    But I know that there's a man deep down inside him who feels something for me.

    At least, I hope so.

    Because if I'm wrong, then by sundown tomorrow, I'll be married to a monster.

    Unless Quinn comes back to save me.

    QUINN

    The last thing I needed was a girl like Maya Butler.

    A spoiled, high-maintenance brat who thinks she can tell me what to do just because her daddy's footing the bill.

    But once I got a taste of her, she became an addiction that I couldn't quit.

    I took her, claimed her, and made her beg me for more.

    There's just one problem:

    Some mafia scumbag thinks that she belongs to him, and he'll start a war to take her away from me.

    But Mimi is mine. No matter who says otherwise.

    I may not have started this war.

    But I'm sure as hell going to finish it.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublishereBook Publishing World
    Release dateJul 11, 2019
    ISBN9781393561835
    Tool: A Hitman Romance, #2

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      Book preview

      Tool - Claire St. Rose

      Tool: A Hitman Romance Book 2

      By Claire St. Rose

      He’s got a dangerous tool, and he knows how to use it.

      MAYA

      I thought my father hired Quinn to be my protector.

      But it turns out that he’s more of a prison guard.

      It’s Quinn’s secret job to keep me under his watchful eye, so I don’t do what I desperately want to do:

      Run away from my mob boss daddy, who’s trying to marry me off to the rich, arrogant son of some other mafia creep.

      Quinn doesn’t give a d*mn either way.

      He’s just there to collect a paycheck and get back to a life of whiskey drinking and one-night stands.

      Until one night, we go too far and end up in the shower together.

      Now, there’s no going back to the way things were.

      He says he’s a loner with no room in his heart for love.

      But I know that there’s a man deep down inside him who feels something for me.

      At least, I hope so.

      Because if I’m wrong, then by sundown tomorrow, I’ll be married to a monster.

      Unless Quinn comes back to save me.

      QUINN

      The last thing I needed was a girl like Maya Butler.

      A spoiled, high-maintenance brat who thinks she can tell me what to do just because her daddy’s footing the bill.

      But once I got a taste of her, she became an addiction that I couldn’t quit.

      I took her, claimed her, and made her beg me for more.

      There’s just one problem:

      Some mafia scumbag thinks that she belongs to him, and he’ll start a war to take her away from me.

      But Mimi is mine. No matter who says otherwise.

      I may not have started this war.

      But I’m sure as hell going to finish it.

      Chapter 1

      Here’s the thing about Stitches and girls— when a guy tucks a loaded Item into his belt, lights a cig, and tells his piece he’s gonna be back later, she thinks there’s nothing sexier in the world. The reality is, though, if you so much as bring a loaded Item into the room, or an unloaded one, and try acting like it’s no big deal around a girl—even one you might’ve known for years—the first thing she’s gonna do is scream bloody murder. After that, there’s a whole list of shit she’s liable to do, from calling the cops to trying to bite your ear off like poor Crash, to grabbing the Item away and aiming it right back at you.

      The thing is, it’s not just the Item. It’s the fact that if you’re a Stitch, nine times out of ten your girl doesn’t know you’ve got it. Simple truth is making hits is sexy only if you’re James Bond. Meaning if any of us ever gets any actual feelings for a tail, first things he’s gonna do is put as much distance between her and his work as he can, up to and including bailing out of town or dropping the whole business altogether. You’ve got your exceptions, sure thing. My boy Palmert’s got a Stitchette he met at a bar and pulled out right under her boyfriend’s nose after he saw the guy slapping her around. Told her that night what he did and where he kept his Item and who he’d killed and she said that’s all cool with her long as he wasn’t into dope.

      But that’s so rare it’s almost unmentionable. Crash. Nail. Bolt. Kirill. All my guys have had girls get out of the scene soon as they smelt the powder.

      Which is why, long story short, this whole situation is so fucking bizarre and amazing and unsettling. It’s like one of those modern art things Maya pointed out to me when we were back in the gallery. She’d read the plaque sure enough. Some guy had gone through Brazil or Peru or somewhere or another where there’s a bunch of this garbage and collected every foil wrapper he could find. Candy wrapper or sandwich wrapper or just leftover bits of junk. The guy spent three years hiking the country looking for his bits and pieces of junk. He finds a couple million and takes them back to his studio and spends another three years going through each and every one with a bunch of photo processing chemicals until they’re all nice and shiny and good enough you could straight eat off of them. He sinks another year into it gluing these wrappers up on a giant wooden block and carves it into this incredible portrait twenty feet by thirty. It’s of the president of Brazil or Peru picking his giant, shiny nose with a giant, shiny finger, which is supposed to be sort of funny but unsettling at the same time.

      You’re comparing us to that giant sculpture of the guy picking his nose? Maya says when I tell her what I’ve been thinking. That’s the best you can do?

      I’m just trying to explain what it’s like. I don’t know if it’s accurate. It’s just a shot in the dark.

      "You honestly think the incredibly good-looking, incredibly loving girl you’re being paid to watch over, who’s sucked you off in the shower and told you how much she worships you, really wants to hear herself compared to a bunch of trash some guy spent six years turning into even bigger trash?"

      You’re making me sound like an idiot.

      After a whole morning spent thinking about other possible comparisons you might have made, the way you choose to flatter me—your incredibly adorable, incredibly sensitive princess—is to compare me to some guy worming around in his nose-hole looking for gold?

      Maya puts an arm around my shoulder and starts to rub my back. The master flatterer, she coos. The bard with the long dong. The wooer with the long hooter. The cunning—

      At least give me a chance, I say, to shut my mouth and never say anything again.

      Oh, no, sweetheart. I couldn’t let you do that. How would you lick me off, then?

      Her hand curls around me, and she’s got me suddenly tangled up in one of those long kisses again. It’s all tongue and lip and impossible to escape from because her mouth is keeping you interested at every point. And even if you could find a way to get yourself out, everything else in you is telling you not to.

      Sweetheart, Maya breaks off, breathless. Can I give you a blowjob?

      Right here? I look around, a little started with her. It’s not even eleven in the morning, and we’re sitting in the Mercedes in the somewhat crowded parking lot of Ricky’s Diner. There are people coming out.

      Let them come out. They’re not going to see anything.

      You want to do this right here?

      I’d do it anywhere. This is just where we happen to be now.

      Her hand is already unzipping my jeans. I lean the seat back and keep the engine running. Maya’s hands trail my shirt, back and forth like a cat massaging a lap, and then dive under to ride up past my abs.

      I can’t believe your body, she says. I just don’t. No one’s that stupid-jacked.

      She crawls over onto my seat and straddles my chest, kicking off her heels. She tosses her head to the side and throws her blonde hair over one shoulder, then eases up with her thighs and gives herself some room to wiggle my jeans down. My cock pops out, straight and rigid.

      I swear I see her lick her lips. She dips in and kisses me fully on the mouth and then makes a path with her kisses downwards until her chin is touching my cock. She touches it playfully with the fingers of one hand. They’re cool. They’re always cool. I flinch and tighten my core. Maya’s sitting up straight again, and she fits her fingers in her mouth one by one to moisten them.

      She starts by kissing the tip, lightly and gently, before she moves her hand over my thicker shaft. Her hand clasps over my root, and she starts to move back and forth, rocking horse gently, while the little pecks she’s giving deepen into real kisses.

      "I

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