Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  Felix looks hesitant, but nods slowly as he watches the determination burn bright in my eyes. “You must have a lot of respect for these girls.”

  “Far more than they know,” I say, looking at the ominous doors of the apartment building. “I was harsh on them. I had to be. But there’s something special about them that I want to see realized.” About Liv, I want to add especially, but every one of them has untapped passion. “But that’s not the only reason this is my battle to fight,” I say as I reach into the trunk and move a panel aside, revealing a false bottom.

  “I thought I’d put a permanent end to the Bratva’s human trafficking days.”

  Felix’s eyes widen as I pull a couple of silenced pistols out of the trunk’s false bottom, followed by a set of knives I start strapping to my legs. “I thought that part of my life was gone entirely. If I was mistaken…”

  I take out some ammunition and load up the pistols, strapping a pair of spares to my waist under my jacket as Felix looks around the empty street nervously.

  “Then things are going to get ugly,” I finish, loading my pistols. “These Russians are Bratva. They’re ruthless, they’re dedicated, and they have no qualms delving into the deepest depravities imaginable to man. If the girls are in their possession, they won’t give them up without a fight, and they’re every bit as vicious as the next mobster. These are men from my past, Felix,” I say in a low tone, looking him dead in the eye.

  “You can’t be serious, Max,” he breathes. I give him a silent look that tells him that I am every bit as serious as the weapons on my person are deadly. He swallows.

  “Take the car back to my place, Felix,” I say, “then get a cab. I’ll pay you back. You’ve done me a service today. I won’t forget this.”

  “No way,” he says, stepping forward, “Max, this is too much. Okay, so yeah, I looked up the whole story on you. The orphanage in Yakutsk, the stint in the Russian Special Forces, the covert operations you did, the retirement to the Bratva here in France, I know it all. I know you’ve been involved with these guys before.”

  “Then you know that I know my enemy,” I say calmly.

  “I know that for all you know, the guys in there are a whole different breed of killers. They’re slavers, Max, and if they’re starting up again after you shut them down last time, they’ll be expecting a visit from you. I don’t need my spreadsheets and statistics to tell me that, but you sure sound like you need to hear the statistics on your chances of survival if you’re thinking of going in there guns blazing with no plan!”

  “The men in there are the reason I divorced myself from the Bratva,” I say. “For them to start up again is a mockery of everything I did to earn my retirement... Do you think I made my career on helping white-collar criminals dodge the law?”

  I smile a cold smile that sends a visible chill down Felix’s spine. I was more than just a killer. I was a hitman. One of the most feared hitmen in all of Paris. And to let the monstrous wretches in that building live would be an insult to everything I stood for.

  Felix keeps an eye on me for some time before asking, “So there’s no convincing you. What if I don’t hear back from you?”

  “If you think that’s a possibility,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way up the steps toward the apartment front doors, “then you don’t know me very well, my friend.”

  I hear Felix starting the car behind me as I ready the pistol in my hand, put the other hand on the door handle, and push.

  11

  Liv

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here in the dark. It could have been minutes… or hours. It feels like months. I have no idea what time it is or where my grisly prison is located. In my head, without any physical distractions to stimulate my thoughts, I start to go a little crazy. My theories range from the relatively benign to the outlandishly catastrophic.

  Maybe this is all an elaborate prank! I’m just in the basement of some building on campus, not far from home. It’s just part of a hazing ritual performed by the members of the gymnastics program or something. Any minute now, one of my coaches will pop out and tell me it’s all over — I passed.

  Or then again… I don’t know how much time passed while I was knocked out. I could be halfway across the continent, in some Bulgarian holding cell. Will talked about somebody buying Maggie. What if this really is a sex trafficking ring or something? I watched a documentary once, curled up in my blankets at home in Toast. It had seemed like something that couldn’t possibly happen in my world. It was a far-away thing that happened to far-away people, not me.

  But maybe, just maybe, that nightmarish world is colliding with mine.

  And I’m caught in the intersection of two very different dimensions: the safe, cocoon-like shelter of my past, and the shadowy film noir of my imminent future. And where am I now? In limbo? The static place in between?

  At this point, the loneliness of my predicament is digging in at me, tugging at the strings of my already-strained sense of sanity. There’s not a single sound, hinting to me that I’m either so far underground that sound can’t travel down here or that my little prison is sound-proof. Either way, I’m dying for any hint of humanity out there, even if it’s sinister in nature. Although I hate him with every fiber of my being, I wish Will would return, if only to remind me that other human beings still exist out there somewhere. Because down here in the dark, it really feels like I could be all alone in the world and I would never know the difference.

  A shiver runs down my spine and I pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my calves and resting my chin on my knees. There are goosebumps prickling up and down my limbs. It’s so cold down here, especially now that I’m alone. I didn’t realize how comforting it was to have Maggie curled up with me until she was gone. Now I long for any kind of human contact to make me feel alive again. I’m so lonely and lost and afraid.

  Almost like a cruel answer to my wish, the door creaks open again and Flameface — Boris — hobbles into the room, a shaft of dull light following to cast his shadow long and tall on the concrete floor. I can’t decide whether it would be better to run back and press myself against the opposing wall, as far away from him as possible, or to go to the gate in the dim hope of obtaining some human contact.

  Instead, I simply stay put, curled up in my little ball.

  “Feeling lonely, malyshka?” Boris sneers, his voice dripping with faux sympathy.

  I don’t respond, not even moving. He strolls to the gate and pokes his fat fingers through the links again, staring down at me with a hungry gaze. At this point, I hardly care what he says or does to me. I feel so empty and exhausted. It doesn’t matter anymore.

  “Oh, come. Don’t be impolite. I know you’ve got to be dying for a friend by now. Isn’t that right, suka?” he goes on, tapping his fingertips on the metal gate. I begrudgingly tilt my head ever so slightly upward to look at him and he grins.

  “You know… I could be your friend,” he growls lecherously. “We still have time before the team arrives to stand guard here. I could make you feel things you’ve never even imagined. The man who buys you won’t know the difference if I punch the card first. And besides, if Will won’t use up his finder’s fee… I won’t let it go to waste. They don’t pay me enough. What’s a man to do? Got to get my fair stoimost somehow — whether in money or flesh.”

  “Leave me alone,” I murmur weakly, but at this point I hardly care anymore. Some man is going to buy me and run me into the ground. I get it now. This is exactly like the documentary I watched. Only I’m no longer the detached spectator; I’m the victim.

  Boris chuckles and starts to pick up the combination lock to undo it. “No? I like when they fight, anyway. Adds just the right amount of spice, vy znayete.”

  “Please,” I mumble, trying to scoot back away. But my body is so tired from trembling and sitting still in the cold. It’s as though the despair my mind is feeling has transferred to my body and now it’s given up on me. Boris
pops the combination lock open and reaches to pull the gate, but before he can finish, there is the sound of several sets of heavy footsteps approaching. He swears under his breath and quickly shuts and locks the gate again.

  “Another time, then,” he hisses to me as he turns around to stand up straight and face the team of burly men walking in. They all wear identical grave, empty expressions and plain black clothing. There are four of them, all staring straight ahead. One of them steps forward and nods to Boris.

  “Egor, Bogdan, go up to guard the entrance,” he barks in a heavy Russian accent. “Boris and Josef, you will stay in this room with me. Nachalnik has concerns over this one.”

  It takes me a second to realize I’m the “one” he’s talking about.

  “Special plans, da,” Boris agrees, and there’s a gruff indignation in his tone.

  The speaker of the guard team nods and commands, “Assume positions.”

  Two of the men, presumably Bogdan and Egor, walk out and march up the stairs. Boris and Josef station themselves directly in front of the gate to my enclosure and the guard leader stands by the door.

  “Svet,” he says gruffly. Boris reaches up and pulls the light cord and the leader shuts the door, leaving the four of us in the dim cell.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” I can’t help but ask.

  Boris chuckles and the other two don’t respond in any way.

  “Please, just tell me,” I beg, feeling the tears threatening to break free.

  “Tishina,” the leader hisses.

  “Good things come to those who wait,” laughs Boris darkly.

  “What did I do wrong? Why is this happening to me? Where is Maggie?” I ask, all my questions bubbling forth in a fount of uncontrollable emotion. It’s hitting me just how desperate my situation is. This isn’t a hazing ritual. This isn’t a joke. These guys are serious, and I can’t take it quietly anymore. I’m unraveling.

  “Bud spokoyen!” shouts the leader. “I have no patience for the buzzing of little flies in my ear. Now is not the time for questions.”

  “Please, just let me go. I’m sorry,” I mumble, tears spilling down my cheeks.

  “She is not very obedient,” remarks Josef.

  “I offered to break her in,” Boris replies, shrugging.

  “The suka could definitely use some discipline,” Josef continues, turning to glare at me over his broad shoulder. “Maybe a team effort would suffice.”

  Boris straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest in a show of indignation. “Chert, Josef, I am not a team player. I prefer solo acts.”

  “Everyone, shut up!” the leader growls, and the other two fall into sullen silence.

  For a while, I sit there just quietly crying, and none of them even give me so much as a glance. I wonder how many times they’ve done this: imprisoned a girl and held her captive underground in this wretched cell. How many tears have stained this cold, filthy floor? And where are they now? What is the life expectancy of a girl in my predicament? Something tells me it’s not a very long sentence to carry out. And in a very dark, morbid way, I think that might be a godsend.

  Distantly, we hear a soft thud and all three of my guards tense up. They exchange mildly concerned expressions. I strain my ears to listen for more signs of activity elsewhere, outside of this dank little box. I don’t know whether to anticipate something better or worse approaching, but either way, none of the guards seem particularly concerned.

  But then suddenly the door bursts open with a loud bang — as though it were kicked down. I scream and bolt to the back of my enclosure, cowering against the back wall in terror. The guards all jump into action, running toward the door. At first, there’s so much harried movement and shouting in the low light that I can’t even begin to make heads or tails of what’s happening out there. Then I see him — a stranger.

  No… not a stranger.

  A face I vaguely recognize.

  The man slashes through the doorway and thrusts a large knife into the guard leader’s throat, blood spurting in a grisly, almost surreal scarlet spray. I immediately feel lightheaded at the sight of so much blood, my mind swimming faintly. Boris and Josef go barreling at the attacker just as he turns to run toward the gate to my cell. He’s definitely here for me — but whether his intentions are noble or dark I cannot tell. Maybe he’s my savior. Or maybe he’s my murderer.

  “You!” howls Josef as he lunges for the strange man. But in one swift movement, the guy takes out something small and glinting in the light: a gun. He jabs the barrel into Josef’s gut and pulls the trigger, a deafening crack splitting the air. Another spray of bright red blood splashed against the wall behind Josef and he sinks to the ground in a convulsing heap.

  A panicked, horrified shriek escapes my lips and I have to hold back the urge to vomit. The strange man with the familiar face looks up and locks eyes with me.

  I know him now.

  It’s Maksim Pavlenko.

  12

  Max

  Old reserves of adrenaline that have long lain dormant are pumping through my body as I watch the life eek out from the two men I’ve just dropped. My vision is focused on the men who could end my life just as quickly if I make a single wrong move.

  The well-to-do visage of the apartment building outside had been a front. I had made my way inside, expecting to find armed men ready to take me on the moment I stepped through the doors, but there was no such welcoming party. In every way, the place had looked as honest as an actual apartment complex, and if I didn’t know better, that’s precisely what I might have assumed.

  But the lack of security just told me they weren’t expecting me. So I made my way to the one place I know they wouldn’t care to tidy up for public appearances — the door to the old superintendent's residence. And that’s where I found the filth lying just below the surface. I had burst through the door, this time finding not an old and grouchy French super, but a room with a couple of Chechens smoking and watching television. Their hands went to their weapons the moment they’d seen me, and that was when I started to leave a trail of corpses.

  I had been wrong. These weren’t the same men who I’d slain all those years ago in this very building. The Chechen mafia was a different breed altogether I realize as I now lay eyes on the burned man in the room, whose eyes are wide at the familiar sight of me.

  My gaze falls momentarily on Olivia, and my heart skips a beat at the sight of her unharmed and alive. We exchange a look of recognition, and I can see every bit as much relief in her eyes as there is in mine, mingled with terror from the firefight around her.

  The scarred Russian in the room draws his gun and points it at me just as I whip around to train mine on him. I know the man, and I know he’s smarter than the rest of him, and twice as vile.

  “Max,” the man, Boris, coos tauntingly, grinning a toothy grin as we hold our weapons to each other, muscles tense. “Can’t you see you’ve come at a bad time? I was just trying to get to know this young lady a little better.”

  “What have you done to her?” I growl back in the Russian he speaks, about ready to pull the trigger despite the danger looking me in the eye down the barrel of a gun.

  He tsks, narrowing his eyes. “Suddenly so sensitive, Max. That’s not the man I remember barging into a penthouse and giving me this little makeover. It’s a lot harder to get some action like this, you know,” he adds with a grimace. Neither one of us is willing to move a muscle, and my heart is pounding — we won’t be alone forever, and one of us will be forced to act. “But don’t worry, I don’t let that stop me. Those French girls you think you rescued? I caught up with them, after you thought you’d killed me.” He licks his lips. “So many things they say about French women is true, you know,” he croaks.

  Before I have the chance to respond, the door is kicked open behind me, and I take the briefest flash of a distraction to dive out of the way just before Boris’s gun fires, catching one of the two men bursting in in the leg as I hit the
ground and roll.

  Still on the ground as shouts in Russian and gunfire goes off all around me, I aim my pistol at the wounded man and put two bullets in his head, blood splattering on the man behind him as I roll out of the way and get to my feet.

  I let the weapon fall out of my hand. It’s out of bullets.

  Before Boris can ready his pistol at me again, I rise to my feet and dive for him, drawing a knife from my side as I hear Liv’s shriek of alarm from my right. My body collides with his full-force, but I’ve caught him off-guard, and the two of us fall to the ground, struggling to grapple with each other.

  Boris is strong, but I am stronger. I may have been out of the killing business these past years, but I never let myself grow weak. And nothing lets a man like me forget his killer instinct. His hands struggle to get a firm hold on my wrist as my knife wrenches around him, trying to find a suitable opening to sink into. I feel him wrapping his arm around my neck as he works his way behind me, and instinctively, I raise my knife defensively and slice his forearm.

  I hear a scream of pain from him, and as we thrash, I catch a glimpse of the other mobster in the room, training his gun on us, trying to get in a good shot at me. My heart jumps in fear, not for myself, but out of fear that he might think to turn the weapon on Liv.

  I know they won’t do that without damn good reason. But I haven’t given them cause to think I value her, and while these monsters might not see her as a living, thinking human being, they do see her as a walking paycheck, and they aren’t willing to risk that without a damn good reason.

  Boris’s grip slackens after I slice him, but I don’t let him get away from me. The moment I leave myself exposed is the moment I sign my own death warrant. Instead, I twist with him on the ground, and I feel the cold metal of his gun brush against my arm. It’s still in his hand.