Well, almost. I’m having to put a hold on my gymnastics career, largely thanks to the child I’ll be carrying for the next eight months, but after everything that’s happened, a break is more than welcome, and Max has taken steps to ensure that as soon as I’m ready to get back out there, I’ll have a place at the university waiting for me.
Maggie, meanwhile, seems to be channeling her trauma into a kind of renewed energy in leaps and bounds — literally. Max says he sees something in her that supersedes even the potential he saw when he recruited her. She’s excelling so quickly that she’s already helping tutor some of the other students, and as a trauma survivor, getting out there and being physically active again has done wonders for her mental health. Of course, we’re around each other nearly all the time she isn’t at school — you don’t go through something like that with someone and not feel a special kind of connection.
I know it will take a lot more than just gymnastics for her to heal entirely, just like it will take a lot more than my relationship with Max to heal me, mentally and emotionally, but keeping up our friendship has been invaluable. We never thought we’d be this close when we first walked off that plane, but here we are — and I couldn’t ask for a better friend.
And she needs a friend now more than ever. When we talked before I left for this honeymoon trip, she told me her talks with her parents have been a little awkward. “It’s not like they’re upset,” she’d said reluctantly, “it’s just that what happened to me — to us — was never really part of their plan for my life, you know? So they don’t really know what to do with me.”
“Oh my god,” I’d said, shocked. “I’m so sorry, Mag. They’re your parents, I’d hope that they’d be there for you now more than ever.”
“I’m not that sorry,” she’d said unexpectedly, looking me in the eye with a small smile that was braver than I knew she was capable of. “I’ve been smothered my whole life, Liv. Maybe this is a good chance to grow into myself — healing has a lot of change involved already, right?”
She still has plenty of rough days, of course, and her parents are paying for her to have an apartment of her own, since the old dorm holds some rough associations, but it’s a step-by-step process that’s bringing her forward every day. I’m so proud of her, and Max is too.
“Well,” Max says softly into my ear, “don’t get too lost in thought. Don’t forget the last thing we have planned for this evening.”
“How could I forget?” I said, looking back at him, unable to hold back the grin on my face. Despite all of Max’s reticence in the past, he seems to be an endless stream of surprises now. Well, not that he wasn’t exactly a surprising man before. “But we’ve already made a killing at the casinos, should we need to catch the next cab out of here before security decides we won too much?”
Max laughs, kissing me on the neck. “Ah, you’ve got a taste for danger now, what am I going to do with you? But no, we’ll save that for tomorrow,” he says, rubbing my hips. “Come on, let’s get down to the docks — I hope you have an appetite.”
Half an hour later, we’re gliding across the waters on the deck of a large, spacious yacht that’s headed out of the little port and out onto the glittering water that’s painted in the sparkling white ink of the late autumn’s full moon. Lights from the other boats out and about tonight sparkle in the bay like fireflies, and there’s a small fireworks display being put on a little further out, setting the night’s sky aglow with reds and purples and greens, and as I look over to Max as he sits beside me, a plate of fine food in his lap, I see the fire reflected in his eyes, and my heart grows warmer as I snuggle in beside him.
“Not the most quiet place to enjoy escargot,” he admits, and I giggle, taking a sip of the non-alcoholic wine in front of me.
“Are you kidding? This is the smoothest ride I’ve ever had. You need to come check out the boat rides in North Carolina with me sometime.”
“Visit America? That might be something to look forward to, with you,” he says, and we lean in for a quick kiss when a crackling sound behind us catches our attention. I glance back and notice the captain adjusting his radio until the news comes in clearly for a few moments, and I hear the sound of a newscaster speaking in accented English over an international news station.
“. . . and the investigation into a major crime ring bust in Paris is underway in full swing thanks to a particularly tech-savvy anonymous source who has begun collaborating with Parisian and international authorities, identifying himself only as ‘F.’ Correspondents at INTERPOL have refused to comment on the specifics of F’s activities and relation to law enforcement, save that they have been aware of his activities for some time and look forward to discussing a permanent position for F at the agency, citing the value of such independent investigative work. This development has sparked some heated conversation among officials regarding the place of vigilante justice in law enforcement, and . . .”
The sound fades as the captain notices us paying attention, and he gives an embarrassed smile, turning the sound down quickly, but Max is quick to give a smile, letting him know it’s quite alright before he turns to me.
“Sounds like Felix has been keeping busy,” he whispers, and I smile.
“Let’s hope the attention doesn’t get to his head.”
“If it does,” Max admits reluctantly, “I think he’s earned it. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to stick around as long as he did. He’s come a long way from the simpering techie who came to me for help at the university. If he thinks he can stomach working for something with as much red tape as INTERPOL, he might just have a successful career ahead of him. I wouldn’t take a job like that,” he’s quick to add with a smile, “but that’s just me.”
I smile, biting my lip, and Max raises an eyebrow at me, knowing I’m holding something back. “What’s that smile for?” he asks, leaning forward and touching my chin lightly.
“Well, you’ve been going all out with the surprises for me on this trip,” I say, looking over to the captain and nodding at him. He nods back understandingly, saying something quietly into his collar microphone with a smile. “Felix has been busier than you thought — I convinced him to help me with one more thing: track down someone who’s a hell of a lot harder to find than you’d think. A little surprise for you that I think you’ll appreciate.”
Max blinks, not understanding until the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs to the deck turns his attention, and his eyes widen as a large man with a stony face and a small smile makes his way onto the deck.
“Andrei!” exclaims Max, standing up and crossing the deck.
“Maksim,” the man greets in return, and I get a little choked up at the look on Max’s face as the two old friends embrace in a tight, powerful hug. “Look at you,” Andrei says, stepping back and looking Max up and down with a warm smile. “France has been good to you, tovarishch.”
“And what has America done to you?” Max says back, beaming. “You’ve got a light in your gaze I didn’t think those dark eyes could harbor.”
“Well, that’s a long story,” says Andrei with a smile, “one that I’d like to have in our mother tongue.”
Before anything else, Max looks over to me and says, “I suppose this was your co-conspirator? Andrei, meet the love of my life, Olivia.”
“A pleasure to meet you formally,” Andrei says to me, and I give a little wave back, wondering if all the men in Russia are mountains of muscle. Max makes his way over to me, sweeping me up as I giggle, and we meet in a passionate, deep kiss. When it finally breaks, he holds my face, looking into my eyes.
“Liv,” he says, “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. How much all of this means to me.”
“I want to tell you all about how much everything you’ve done means to me,” I breathe back, “but we’ll have all the time in the world for that now. I love you, Max.”
“I love you, Olivia,” he says. And after one final kiss, I watch Max head off to the other s
ide of the deck with Andrei to recount old stories and new as our little yacht carries us around the Monaco bay, around whatever new dreams and new life me and Max will be able to build with each other. Free at last.
Glossary
FRENCH
excusez-moi : excuse me
en ce moment : right now
bonjour : good day
À bientôt : see you soon
je suis désolé : I’m sorry
pas de quoi : it’s nothing
merci beaucoup, bonne nuit : thank you very much, good night
que recommandez-vous : what do you recommend
je m’appelle Will, ça va : my name is Will, what’s up
d’accord : okay
oui : yes
deuxièmement : secondly
bien sûr : (colloquial) that’s for sure / of course
petite fille : little girl
merde : shit
famille d’accueil : foster care
Dieu merci : thank god
le fric : cash
pas moyen : no way
absolument : absolutely
saint-merde : (colloquial) holy crap
saperlotte : good heavens
ma chérie : my darling
mon chou : (colloquial) sweetie
RUSSIAN
ozornoy devushki : naughty girls
nakazaniye : punishment
malyutka : little one
uchitel : teacher
malyshka : little girl
suka : bitch
da: yes
nachalnik : boss
izmennik : traitor
dorogoy : slut
stoimost : pay/value
vy znayete : you know
tishina : silence
klyanus : I swear
iskra : spark
khoroshaya devochka : good girl
est' shto est' : it is what it is
mudak : bastard
ruskie svin’ya : Russian pig
lyubov moya : my love
tovarishch : comrade
Captive of the Hitman
1
Mikhail
My cock throbs in my hand as I stare at the page in a glossy magazine. It’s not like I need it. It’s not about her, the sexy woman sprawled along the centerfold. Even jerking off is all business.
My veins pulse as my grip tightens, and I lick my lips as I start to stroke myself. It’s a slow, rhythmic thing, letting the tension gather in my shoulders. I need to feel tense now so that later, I can find the perfect calm I need.
Not too fast. Slow. Teasing. My thumb gathers the precum at the tip, running it along my swollen head, adding a hint of lubrication. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman, by my own choice. I don’t have room in my life for a girl, not even a fling. My job is too dangerous to drag someone into, even if I wanted that.
So instead, I stroke myself to a skin mag and groan as the stress keeps building in my gut. I have a big job tonight. Something important, and nothing can distract me, especially not this damn urge to fuck. To go to a club, find some hot piece of ass, and take her. Meaningless, useless, unfulfilling sex, but it’d be something.
I grip myself harder as I lean back on the couch, the tension travelling from my shoulders down to my back and into my belly. I force it lower, so that when I start jerking myself faster, I can rid myself of this fucking stress.
Gritting my teeth, my breathing speeds up, and I close my eyes. The centerfold doesn’t do much for me. Most women don’t.
So instead, I just focus on the feel of my hard cock, pulsing like mad in my hand. This is what life should be made of. Pleasure exploding in my brain as I get closer and closer to the edge.
And when finally I burst, my entire body empties. It’s not just my balls as they tighten and spurt their cream over my abs. It’s not just my mind that clears of its fog.
My entire body feels lighter for that perfect, pure moment of orgasm, and I’m ready to do my job tonight. There’s no room for error. There’s no fucking this up.
Tonight, I’m a killer.
The group of revelers spills out of the limousine. All but one are men, dressed in expensive tailored suits, ties mostly loosened. They look like they just came from Wall Street, pretentious and full of themselves and whatever perceived victory they’d just been celebrating.
Some of them hold bottles of ridiculously expensive booze, but it’s clear that a few of them are on something much harder, looking wired. But it’s the sole woman in the group that catches my attention once the others are tallied.
I hate excess casualties in my line of work. It’s an increased risk, and one I don’t care to take. The other men are all on my list, but this woman? A young blonde, in high heels and a red dress? She’s stumbling a bit but somehow managing to make it look gracefully natural. She’s had more intoxicants than she’s realized, I can tell. I’ve seen that vaguely confused look before.
By my reckoning, one of those shit heads has slipped her something extra into her drink before they head up to the penthouse for the real party.
All targets accounted for, and one extra person isn’t too much for me to handle, not even close. But there’s something about her, that bright smile upon her face, the twinkle in her eyes. She doesn’t strike me as the usual sort of drugged-up bimbo these sorts of guys haul back for their debauchery. There’s a spark to her.
I push her from my mind though. I have to, there’s no other option. Civilian casualties are sometimes an unavoidable thing. I’ve seen that firsthand more often than I care to remember.
It isn’t long before the group has all vanished into the posh hotel, their security detail trailing behind. They do a good job looking like part of the group, for what it’s worth, but there’s no way for them to match the drunken, drugged-up gait while doing their job effectively, so it’s easy to tell how many I have to deal with.
Six armed guards. I was expecting eight, but it seems two remain with the vehicle.
Now it’s my turn.
There’s no rush. My movements are casual. The last thing I ever want to do is stand out on a mission like this, so while I have plenty of time, I don’t hurry. I make my way around back, down into the subterranean parking lot.
I sight the two guards at the vehicle; one’s smoking, the other’s talking on a phone. They look casual too, but it’s a ruse. They’re alert and dangerous, like me. I stay far enough away that I never draw their eyes. My target is the door leading up.
Through the stairwell, I make my way to an employee’s only hall. The key card lock is easy enough to bypass, and I just move on through. It winds through a laundry room, but nobody pays me any mind. The hotel is far too bustling for me to stand out, dressed in a black sweater and pants. I look like just another employee coming on or off the job before getting into uniform.
I swipe an access card from some manager, too busy berating an employee to notice its loss. This is something I could’ve done earlier in preparation, but that would have ran the risk of it being noticed. And while I doubt it’d have affected the mission, you never know with people.
But me? I know I’d have no issue getting what I need when I need it.
A service elevator takes me up, the stolen key card granting me easy access to the penthouse suites on top.
The doors open, and I walk along a narrow service hallway before peering out into the elite foyer. There, I see two more of the guards outside a door. Not that I needed to know that—it was easy to figure out which room they’d be staying at ahead of time.
I grasp a cleaning cart and roll it out into the hall to one of the rooms. It’s unoccupied, and the two security men pay me little heed as I disappear inside. I suppose I look like a janitor in their eyes, harmless. Someone weak and easy to ignore, with my head and shoulders hunched, ID card dangling from my belt.
It takes me a while to meander my way on up, but still I have ample time.
I pull a knife from beneath my pant leg and slide it into m
y belt. I give the gun in my pocket a final check. It’s small, but it’ll do the job. The silencer from my other pocket screws on, and I slide my mask on down over my face. Then that’s it. No time like the present.
But it’s not the door I go for. That’d leave two corpses in the hallway while I do the rest, and I’m a professional. Leaving dead bodies in plain sight is too risky, especially with the risk of those security cameras actually being monitored.
I head to the window, sliding it open to go onto the posh balcony, and the ledge I’m counting on is right there to the left. The wind up here is cold, and I let it bite into me. Distract me from the ridiculously long plunge below. One unexpected gust, and I’m a splatter on the street. I don’t feel afraid, though. I never feel afraid.
I can’t see the windows and balcony to the party's suite from here, I have to round the corner. But to get that far, I have about three dozen feet of clinging to the side of a skyscraper.
The key is to not think about it. As in all things, I let myself run on practiced instinct. Skills and methods honed through repetition.
The ledge holds as I creep my way along to that corner and peer around the edge.
It’s all clear. And I carry on, winding about the corner of the building towards the first window. The curtains are shut still, thankfully, so that makes my job easier. Even assassins have to be grateful for small favors.
But then the doors to the balcony open, about a dozen feet away. So much for luck.
One of the security guards steps out, and I go still as a dead mouse. He looks around the cityscape and lingers a while, so my hand creeps down into my pocket, slowly—so slowly!—pulling the gun out, keeping it at the ready, aimed for him.
Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 22