Belonging to the Hitman: Men of Ruthless Corp.

By Frankie Love

Yes, I'm ruthless. I have to be. I kill for a living.
Since I began working for the man who's like a father to me, I've been able to separate myself from my job.
Then I meet Fiona O'Grady.
She's bright, beautiful, and takes my breath away.
Suddenly the gig is personal. Very f*cking personal.
This girl belongs to me, heart and soul, and the last thing I want to do is break her.
But someone has to die, and it sure as hell's not gonna be me.


This June, meet 22 heroes who are downright dangerous. These alphas do nothing half-way. They may have blood on their hands, but they have love in their hearts. Some romances were written in the stars — but these hitmen must fight heaven and earth for the women they love.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Love
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201562946

Frankie Love

Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie. Get ready to fall in love … you deserve it! **Frankie also writes under the name Charlie Hart!

Book preview

1

Flynn

As I finish my deadlifts for the day, I grunt, hell, I growl, Really? Looking around this gym puts me in a foul mood.

It's supposed to be the place where I can come and clear my head, not the place where I get distracted.

It's not my job that's weighing me down, which is crazy considering what I do for a living.

It's the fact that everywhere I look in the workout room, I see another couple. Since when are gyms the hot place for a date? I don't get it. If I had a woman, I sure as hell wouldn't be bringing her here, in a pair of tight shorts and a sports bra, letting all the other men stare.

No way. If I had a woman, I'd take her somewhere safe and private, where we could be alone. Where I could be the one to give her all of my attention.

I reach for a towel as I head to the locker room, wondering when I got so bent out of shape about dating in general. It's been a long ass time since I've gone out with anyone. But I'm going to have to find another gym if this is the new trendy hookup spot.

Turning the shower on hot as it can go, I strip down. The water runs over my biceps, my six-pack. I clean myself up wishing I had a reason to smell nice and fresh. Truth is, I don't. The only thing I have on tap today is a meeting with my boss. After this I’m headed down to the Ruthless Corporation’s warehouse to have a little conversation with Rogue. That's not exactly a reason to get all dressed up.

I shake my head. Maybe I'm getting old. At twenty-nine, I'm tired of thinking about chasing pussy. What I want is a woman, a real woman, a woman who knows who she is and what she wants. I'm sure as hell not finding that here in Los Angeles. Every woman I come across seems to be more and more plastic, spray tanned with fillers in their lips. Nothing against getting work done. Hell, you got to do what you got to do.

But I want a woman who’s comfortable in her own skin, who would be just as happy getting hamburgers and fries and hanging out as she would be dressed up at a five-star event.

I check my phone as I walk down the sidewalk toward Ruthless Corporation. I've missed a few calls and texts from other hitmen who work in the corporation. Jordan says he's going to be in town in two days’ time, just finishing up in Munich. And Tommy says he'll be flying back from the Maldives tomorrow.

Drinks? he texts.

I reply with a Hell yeah. I love the guys I work with. Sure, our work is dirty, but besides taking a shower, I have no interest in being clean. Why would I? What matters to me is family. And, since I no longer have any by blood, I figure the men who work for Rogue at the Ruthless Corporation are as close to a brotherhood as I'm ever going to get. So yeah, if they want to meet up for drinks, I'll go. They want to catch a game, I'm in.

The men of Ruthless Corporation are my family now. We're thick as thieves, and our bonds go deeper than blood.

I punch in the passcode once I get to the warehouse and take an elevator up to Rogue's floor. When his secretary tells me he's been waiting for me, I nod, give her a smile. She's a sweet thing who has no idea who she's working for.

The moment I open Rogue's mahogany door, entering his office lit with skylights and walls covered in modern art, I shake my head. This man has been like a father to me, but sometimes I feel like he's still a playboy, living it up. And why the hell shouldn't he? He's not in a relationship, he can spend his money however he damn well pleases, which is usually on some six-figure piece of art.

He asks if I want a cigar.

I'm good, I tell him, I just left the gym.

Oh yeah. Where are you working out these days? he asks me, sitting down in his leather chair.

I sit opposite him, looking at him sitting behind his desk. I'm working out down at Fitness World.

You like it? he asks.

I shake my head and tell him how it's become the local date spot.

He chuckles. Well, maybe you could meet someone there.

I roll my eyes, ignoring the comment. Hey, you should use one of your spare floors here at the warehouse and turn it into a gym. I bet the guys would like it.

That's not a half bad idea, he says. But I'm not sure I want to dirty up this place.

I laugh at that. You’re scared about getting things dirty when you run a corporation like this? I shake my head.

He runs the world's largest hitman operation. He has something like fifty guys working for him, taking jobs that they're hired to complete. Speaking of, Rogue slides a folder across the table.

What's that? I ask.

Your next hit, he says.

Who's my target? I ask, opening the file up and scanning my eyes over the paper. I know this is going to be shredded the moment I walk out of here. Later, it will be incinerated in the basement of this warehouse. No evidence. We keep our fingerprints light. Later, a brief will be emailed to an encrypted account.

His name is Cane O'Grady, Rogue tells me, lighting his cigar. He leans back, legs crossed, takes a puff.

Seems pretty simple, I say, scanning the major details. Las Vegas. Saturday afternoon.

I want to ask who hired him, who wants him dead, but I don't. That's none of my business, and one of the reasons I can separate this job