Her Hollywood Hitman: A Dark Romantic Suspense (4 page)

I shivered as I walked up to the house. I opened the door into the vast, empty space, watching shadows move around outside. This time of year, there was still a chill in the air, but there would probably be a heated pool and several Hollywood hopefuls skinny-dipping. I chuckled and walked out to the veranda, surprised that there weren't staff members to greet me. It seemed low-class for a Hollywood affair.
 

They did have a bartender though, set back away from the craziness of the pool party. I walked up to him, looking around and spotting some of the same people I always saw at these things. They might remember me too, from the drunken good times of summers and holidays past. The member of a boy band I’d made out with last winter waved in my direction, and I turned away.

Alcohol first. And then you can decide what to do with your evening, Gabi.

“Vodka and soda. With lime,” I said, smiling. Thank God there was an open bar.

“Hey, you're that woman's daughter, right?” The bartender looked me up and down as if trying to read the history written on my body.

I nodded and watched as he poured the top shelf vodka into a tumbler. Glass, of course. Only the most ridiculous shit for a Hollywood party. I took it and left. Normally these parties had someone wandering around with colorful drinks. It was weird that there was a bar instead, but I'd seen stranger things. The director was probably young and hadn't figured out exactly how things were done around here. I mixed my drink with the straw, slowly sipping it as I passed by the partygoers, smiling and nodding at the few people I knew. I had hoped to see some of the young actresses I was friendly with, or the male model I’d kissed last summer. Instead, I sat down at one of the spacious outdoor sofas and watched as people schmoozed and drank.

Where’d that dude even go?
I watched the crowd shuffle and move like a living thing, but there was no evidence of red-gold hair above the crowd. Maybe he’d gotten so pissed off that he left.
That’d be a pity. I’d like to see him manage me at the end of a night
.

The spark of desire lit inside my body as the alcohol took over. I shifted again, trying to escape the rise of sensation.
Red, that man. Like a Norse god. All broad muscles and cold, deep eyes. And not a bit interested in Rose’s daughter. Maybe I’m not his type.
 

I took another drink and sat back, watching for Red. I almost didn’t notice when a man came and sat down next to me, leaning in and whispering in my ear.
 

“You’re Art’s girl, aren’t you? Daughter of the Hollywood Rose?” I nodded, trying not to look over at him. This must have been the director my dad had wanted me to meet. Lovely. I usually enjoyed putting on my mask and pretending, but for some reason, the Los Angeles drama wasn’t suiting my mood.

“Yeah. My dad sent me here hoping that I might get in the business. He always does this shit. Preferable to spending time with me when I’m home, I suppose.” I took a sip of my drink and looked over at the man. He was handsome in a smarmy way, with a perfectly tailored shirt open just at the top.
 

“Clay Swift,” he said. I turned and shook his hand, still trying to keep my body angled away from him. “I could get you an audition if you want. The next production I’m working on definitely needs an up-and-coming actress, and hell, you’ve already got a familiar face.”

“No offense, Clay, but I’m just here for the drinks and people-watching.” I didn’t usually let my sarcasm come out for the Hollywood events. I’m not sure why I didn’t. Maybe I thought I was representing the best parts of my mom. Or maybe I was just there for the free drinks, or for something to do. It had been months since I’d flaunted myself for my father’s pleasure. I’d at least found a few people to talk to at the last one. Tonight, it was all just irritating. I wondered if I could apologize for removing the cigarette from Red’s mouth. Or if I
should
apologize. Or if he should.
 

“A spicy one, just like your mother,” said Clay, touching my arm. I shrugged away from him and stood up.
 

“You didn’t know my mother.” My stomach twisted in knots at the mention of my mother. People who knew me shied away from the topic, but it was clear this douchebag was interested in the gruesome story. And why wouldn’t he be? My dad had sent me here to take advantage of my history. That same thought had occurred to me before, but I could usually find something redeeming in a night out among the questionably famous.
 

“Hey, princess, calm down,” he said, smiling and running his fingers through his perfectly coifed hair. “I get it. You don’t want to be compared to your mom, and you probably don’t like talking about her. But why do you come? I know you run these circuits from time to time.”

“It’s better than sitting in a big lonely house with my dad.”

“I get you,” said Clay, touching my arm again. I shivered slightly, sipping at my vodka, and sank into the warmth of the alcohol, my body loosening. I glanced around. “You want to come up to my room so we can chat? Get to know each other better?”

“And just why would I do that?” I gulped. I looked at the director, glancing over him. Thick chestnut hair, green eyes that seemed kind but probably weren’t, broad, thick chest that made me wonder what was underneath.
 

Bad idea. Just like everything tonight.

I was a big girl, and I could do what I wanted. But did I want this? Did I want to slip into my Hollywood persona? Did I really need to quell that ache within, or could I sit with it for a moment, just dulling it with alcohol?

Clay laughed, his shiny white teeth glinting in the soft light. “I’ve got some more party supplies on hand.”

“You mean… like pills?” I gulped another sip of my drink. Being blissed out of my mind would feel pretty amazing right now. “I shouldn’t.”

Is it stupid to trust this guy? Absolutely, Gabriella. You shouldn’t fucking go upstairs with him, not in a million years.
I took another sip, making my logic to go silent. This guy was cute in a Hollywood sort of way, and no one would give a shit what I did while I was here. Certainly not Red.
 

“You totally should. Look, I’m a nice guy.” He smiled. A thrill ran through me. “I’ve got molly, and ain’t nothing too serious about molly. I promise, I don’t have any indecent aspirations.”
 

“Maybe it’s alright if you do,” I said.
 

“Don’t be too loud or someone might follow us, like that gaggle of models over there by the bar.” I looked over to the bar and saw several very young, very tall women ordering drinks. I laughed. I looked around for Red one last time and then let Clay take my arm.

He led me into the house and up the stairs to his private rooms.
 

I could enjoy myself and still be responsible… couldn’t I?

Red

I didn't go to these damn things. And Art hadn't asked me to before. I sat on the front steps, wondering why a Hollywood director would buy a creepy old mansion. It looked like Dracula lived here. I smoked my cigarette, and anger rolled over me in waves. I didn't precisely know what I was angry at. The cigarette usually calmed me, but it wasn’t working this time.

But the girl. I was here to watch the girl, and I couldn't bring myself to. It didn't seem like anything was imminently dangerous about this place. It was just a little weird, a little dim and dark... and the people here weren't anyone I recognized. I smoked the cancer stick down to its dirty little filter and put it out on the ground next to me and tossed it in the grass.
 

It didn't matter. The guy would have some maid out here to pick it up in the morning. Los Angeles ran on the backs of illegal immigrants. We were all guilty of doing disgusting things. Some of us were just more honest about it than others.
 

I thought of Gabi again. And not for the first time since I'd taken my perch outside. I'd watched her for a little while, talking to that young director. He was probably up to his ass in debt after buying this ridiculous place, but he still had the starlets falling all over him. And it looked like Gabriella was taking a shine to him.

None of your business, Red.

What did I care? She was just another girl... and one I certainly couldn't have. She was Art's daughter, probably damaged as all hell. Not even aware of the worst things her father did. The tragic child of the Hollywood Rose. She seemed too far above this smoggy cloud of L.A. bullshit for a man like me. It was sad to see her getting sucked into it against her will.
 

I was a piece of shit from way back. And if she wasn't above it all, she might have inherited Art's genes. That would make her someone I didn't want to deal with.
 

I chuckled at the thought that she could be anything like Art. Maybe she was with that sharp tongue of hers. The not-giving-a-shit about what I thought. Women weren't like that with me. They either saw a big strong protector or a rich man who could provide them with their paycheck. If Gabi got to know me, she’d probably see straight through all of my shit. I thought of her plucking the cigarette right out of my lips and slammed my fist hard on the pavement next to me. The pain brought me back to my senses, and I stood.
 

I could leave now and still salvage the night. Gabi could take care of herself. But I had to find her first.

I walked into the old mansion, the floors creaking underneath me. A few of the actresses and actors had begun to file in as the evening cooled off. There was still a spring chill in the air. If you could call spring a season here... which in my opinion you couldn't. It wasn't like New York, where the seasons followed a predictable pattern. Here, there were just times of year when everything was either slightly cooler or really fucking hot.
 

Gabi wasn't inside, and she wasn't at the bar on the poor excuse for a porch, either. I felt an edge of panic creeping into my consciousness, but this was probably nothing. There wasn't a reason for me to worry about someone like Gabi. She was used to this kind of shit, but still. There were bad people in the world. People worse than I was.
 

I walked outside and scanned the palatial back yard, noting that many of the guests seemed to have departed. Or maybe they'd gone somewhere else. That tiny bit of panic began to expand.

She could be in trouble. Not that I would care. But her dad would fire me. Or worse.
 

I moved back into the house. Few people noticed me. Even though I was tall and considered myself menacing, I had a way of becoming invisible in a crowd. I’d perfected it years ago. In my line of business, it was essential not to make eye contact. Not to make an impression. I flicked my eyes over the living room again, noting the worn down antique couches and the animal print rugs. Probably from real endangered species. This guy was really out to make an impression.
 

Still, no Gabi.
 

I walked back over to the stairs, noticing a sign I hadn’t seen before.
 

“No guests allowed upstairs.” I must have been off my game if I hadn’t seen it. And perhaps it had been because Gabi had made my emotions flare, when I normally kept myself so tightly controlled. The sign was laminated, making it look like a prop for a third grade classroom. This fucking guy. I knew I didn’t like him.
 

I crouched, steadying my breathing, listening for signs of movement upstairs. There was a faint moan, almost beyond the reach of my hearing. I stood still, my stomach twisting in knots. Slowly, I put my hand on the railing and put my foot on the first stair. There was nothing to indicate that something untoward was going on. I could leave now and make it back home in no time. Or better yet, to the bars, where I was an anonymous rich guy in search of tail. That seemed far more comfortable right now than figuring out what was going on.
 

I listened again. Silence, and then a small thud. My muscles tensed, and I clutched the railing. I had an image of Gabi alone with that sleazy man she’d been talking to before. The fucking director. I leapt up the stairs without another thought, taking in the strange environment with my senses. I scanned the dark hallway, looking for a door that was cracked open, or one that had light coming from beneath the frame. Nothing. Fuck.
 

I stood still, tuning my ears for the cadence of the moan I’d heard before. I couldn’t go around opening doors, not in an old-ass place like this. If Gabi was in danger, and that was a big if, I couldn’t risk making noise. I knew this type of Hollywood scum. And they weren’t necessarily kind to young women. I closed my eyes, listening in the still darkness. There was another moan, followed by laughter. A male voice. And it was coming from the doorway right at the end of the hall.
 

Carefully, I stepped to the back of the hallway, thinking of that fucking dick bag’s face. I paused right at the door and saw a dim trace of light flickering under it. It didn’t sound like there was a big party up here. Maybe whatever was happening was something Gabi wanted, but there was something in me that didn’t want to chance that. I opened the door and saw something very fucking displeasing.

The slimy director was sitting in one of his tattered Victorian armchairs, and Gabriella was straddling him as he kissed her neck and ran his fingers over the line of her collarbone. Her perfect collarbone, its lines smooth and inviting. I stayed quiet. The director turned to me, his eyes bright and vacant, and he barely seemed to notice me. He sloppily held his phone up with one hand, trying to record their little tryst. A little tryst that Gabi might not have wanted any part of if she were sober. Her head fell to the side as the bastard tried to move his hand up to her strap to pull it down and away from her body.
 

“Red,” she sighed, tracking her gaze over to my face. There was a smile plastered on her face. She was completely out of it and was probably about two inches away from passing out on the director’s lap.