The Hitman's Property (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Book 2)

by Tia Lewis

  This was my chance...

  “Anything you want?” I said. “I’m here for the red light special.”

  “Ah!” the man shouted. “Excellent choice!” He leaned in. I hated the way that he leaned in like that as if we were friends. He acted like we were equals and both of us enjoyed this corrupt shit when he was the only one who thought that these women deserved this hell. “I’m part owner of this place, you know,” he whispered. “So you won’t mind if I ask who you are and how you discovered my lovely establishment.”

  I couldn’t exactly tell him: It was my Fixer. He knows everything about everyone, and he will share everything with anyone for a price.

  I sipped my whiskey, giving myself time to think, and then forced a smile, a smile as fake as the women that this bastard sold on a daily basis.

  “Word of mouth, man,” I said. “The streets are crazy loud about this place. I work protection for a man that I can’t name. I was on a job when I overheard two marks talking about what a good time they had here. They said that the red light special was a hell of a deal and that this was the place to get all of your desires fulfilled. One of them bragged about your establishment; he said that no matter how low down and dirty that I wanted to get with my women that I could get it here. What can I say? I’m a sick fuck. So here I am.”

  “You know,” he replied. His forehead creased, and he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t really believe you.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I readied myself for a fight, judging the distance between the man and me. I decided that I would grab him and take him as a human shield, hoping to hell that the guards knew him and cared enough about his life not to pull the trigger. Then I’ll find Tess wherever she is. Then I’ll have to go down that narrow corridor with a human shield, and then...

  Shit.

  I hadn’t made it that far in my plan yet. It’ll be hard, that’s for sure.

  But then the man slapped the bar, causing a naked bartender to flinch, and laughed like a hyena, the veins on his neck standing taut, his bloodshot eyes almost bursting from his head.

  “But do I care?” he howled. “Who gives a shit when the night is this fantastic? Yeahhh, baby!” He took out his small baggie and snorted another round of cocaine.

  “I like you,” he smiled, winking at me. “I like you a lot, friend. Do you want to know why? It’s because you came here in a leather jacket, jeans, and boots. Look at us, in our business suits, and look at you. You have balls!”

  I forced myself to nod and smile.

  The man laughed again and then drained three glasses of whiskey in a row. Rocking back and forth on the bar stool, he shouted at me: “I have an excellent selection of women! You can hire them to satisfy your needs, my friend! Or you can buy them outright!”

  I scratched my chin, like I was pondering his offer, not thinking about what the insides of his chest would look like painted on the floor.

  “By the way,” the man grinned, “I’m Steve.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I grunted in reply.

  “And your name?”

  “I prefer to remain anonymous for my own confidentiality. I’m sure that a man of your stature can understand that.” I played on his pride and egotism because I was sure that this bastard would eat it up, hook, line, and sinker.

  He didn’t disappoint. In fact, this piece of shit made it easy.

  “Absolutely, my friend!” Steve giggled again, quickly agreeing with me.

  “Look, I need to get going, but I’m looking for…”

  Suddenly, a hush fell over the room. The naked women shuffled to the sides, and the men in suits turned and faced a door that I didn’t notice before because it was built behind one of the couches. When the door opened, the couch opened with it, just as the toilet did.

  The hush fell slowly, as each man saw the woman, on heels and in a bikini, being dragged into the room. Her head had a black bag over it, and she was screaming. High-pitched, muffled cries. Peeping out beneath the black bag was blonde hair. She was short, but she was all legs.

  Tess? I thought as the woman was dragged into the center of the room, screaming like a banshee. She sounded just like Tess. This woman was a fighter, and she would never quit.

  Tess.

  My mind ringed with her name.

  I reached inside my jacket for my pistol.

  “I’ve caught a fresh one, gentleman!” the man who dragged her shouted, smiling like a fool.

  I’ll kill him first, I thought.

  The woman continued to scream and pull away from the man. Then the man casually took out a pistol and whipped her across the face with it. He was tall and stocky, and his head was bald and covered in tribal tattoos. He wore a white tank top that, displayed his big arms and was splattered with blood. Big arms won’t help him one bit when I end him, right here.

  The woman went limp after she was hit with the weapon and the man had to drag her across the room. Her feet scraped along the ground, lifeless and hopeless. She had given up because she did not know that I was here to save her.

  The man brought the woman to Steve and sat her beside me.

  “Another one for your consideration,” he said, smiling.

  I couldn’t stop staring at the blonde hair poking out from under the hood. I couldn’t stop staring at her long legs. And couldn’t those screams have easily been British? I felt hope swell in my chest.

  My mind began to formulate a plan, a way to get us out of this disgusting and corrupt place and keep us both alive. I would put a bullet in the bald, tattooed man’s head, and then take Steve as a shield and keep Tess behind me. Hopefully, she would have recovered from her blow by then.

  “Oh, fantastic!” Steve wailed. “Absolutely fantastic!”

  The bald man eyed me up.

  “Oh, he’s just a friend! A new customer,” Steve chuckled.

  “Right,” the bald man muttered, staring at the hand that was inside of my pocket.

  Blonde hair, long legs, fiery attitude…Please let it be Tess!

  “Well don’t just stand there and stare at us, my good fellow! What do you think this is, some kind of viewing club?” Steve laughed like a child and then waved a hand at the woman, who was slowly waking up. “Take off her hood!”

  Time to save her, I thought, my fingers brushing the grip of my pistol.

  Time to go to work.

  13

  I was ready to kill every last person in this fucking sick place—barring the victims. I was ready to spray blood across the walls and carry my woman out of here. I was ready to put a bullet in the head of every sick fuck has ever purchased a woman like she’s just another commodity. I watched as the black hood was lifted, slowly, as though they knew that I was waiting for it to be done and wanted to fuck with me. The hood raised, showing more blonde hair, and then lifted more and more, revealing a bloody face, smeared with streaks of makeup, bruised eyes and a bleeding cut on her forehead.

  The woman gasped in the air of the room, and I took my hand from inside my jacket. Without realizing it, I had stood up. I was sure that it was Tess. I was on my feet, and adrenaline pumped through me. My body was willing me to grab my pistol, start shooting and go into beast mode and slaughter these fucking assholes to get my woman back.

  “Is something wrong?” Steve laughed. “Do you like the look of this one? I’m sure that I can be persuaded to sell her.”

  I ignored him and stared at the woman, at her battered face, at the way that her lips are twisted into a scowl of pain. With the makeup and blood smeared across her face, I could almost trick myself into believing that it was Tess. But I knew Tess’ face too well now. I could glance at her and recognize her immediately, and so when I glanced at this terrified woman, I knew that it was not Tess. It was just another broken, lost woman. Another stolen woman. Another woman who will be tied up or bullied into serving men naked violated or put on display and locked in a cage.

  “Helloo?” Steve snickered. “I think you’re making Meathead h
ere uncomfortable, my friend.”

  My arms were by my sides, my muscles tense, bulging through my leather jacket. My fists were clenched, and I was ready to fight, willing to bleed, ready to kill. Letting out a quick breath, I dropped back down on the bar stool.

  “Sorry, fellas,” I muttered. “One too many drinks will do that to a man.”

  Baldy stared at me grimly like he didn’t believe me. But Steve had taken a strange liking to me, and I was determined to use that to my advantage. He was coked out of his mind but he was in charge, and that was all that mattered to me. So when Steve patted me on the back and laughed like a hysterical hyena, Baldy had no choice but to smile and step away.

  “Take her to the back,” Steve instructed. “I’m sure that someone will be along soon to break her in.”

  At those words, the assaulted, broken woman began to scream madly. She shrieked and cried as Baldy dragged her away from the bar, toward the same hallway where women were being raped and abused. I knew that she could hear their cries and that probably added to her agitation. She knew what was in store for her.

  “No! No! Please let me go! You can’t do this to me! Help me! Please!” she cried. “Let go of me! You’re fucking monsters, every single one of you!”

  The woman’s face was a mess, but her blue eyes were remarkably bright and stared straight at me. She just screamed, wordless and terrified. But I imagined that there were words in her screams. “Why aren’t you helping me? Why are you just sitting there? Do something? Help us! Help us! Help us!”

  I haven’t felt so helpless since Kevin died. When Tess was taken, I felt like even more of a scumbag, yet I was still responsible for her fate. The woman didn’t kick or struggle; she just screamed and kept her eyes trained on me. My chest felt heavy with guilt and weakness. I’m a fucking coward, I thought bitterly, as the woman was pulled out of view, her screams echoing toward the bar. I’m a fucking coward, and that’s the goddamn truth. Only a fucking coward would let a woman be taken like that. Only a fucking pussy!

  Then Steve smiled at me, his Harvard good-boy smile, and I was forced to smile back.

  Tess, my mind calls out. Just focus on Tess.

  With an effort, I shut off the noise from the screams and concentrated on the man before me.

  “I’m looking for a very particular kind of woman,” I told him.

  “Ah, a connoisseur,” Steve said, sprinkling more coke on the back of his hand. “It’s so good to find someone who really knows what he wants. Let me tell you something, my friend. I’ve been in this business for many years.”

  I wanted to interrupt him, but I feared that if I did, he might close up on me. And as much as I hated to admit it, I needed this piece of shit and any information that would lead me to my woman. I bit down my words and nodded as this scum fuck rambled on and on.

  He snorted twice, and the cocaine was gone.

  Steve wiped his nose. The powder had crusted, forming a film on his upper lip.

  “So you see, while I am not the most experienced man in this type of business, I have a good deal of expertise on it. And so often the buyers are like excited little children. They are husbands, bankers, executives, and they live in five-bedroom houses with their families and now...” He raised his eyebrows and lowered them quickly. He was high out of his fucking mind. “And now, look at what they can have! They go wild, cease to be men, and become creatures in the pursuit of pussy instead. They cease to think or feel and just go crazy with their desire to fuck. They are literally ‘Mad Men,' panting dogs, with no taste, just infinite lust.”

  “I’m not following,” I replied.

  “My point is this,” he explained. He looked at me like he was about to take me to school, giving me a heads up that I needed to anticipate the morsel of knowledge that he was about to share with me. “Tell me what you would like, and I will do my best to give it to you. For the right price, of course. I want to help you fulfill your desires, my friend, but business is business.”

  I told him what I wanted because time was of the essence. “Look, I want a foreign woman. Preferably from England. She must be blonde, short, and petite but she’s got to have long legs, nice tits, and a firm ass. If she had an accent, that would be an added bonus.”

  “Hmm.” Steve closed his eyes for a few moments and then opened them again. “Hmm,” he repeats. He meets my eyes, laughed like we’re good friends, and then sighed “I’m high as fuck, ha-ha-ha-ha!” He tipped his head back, eyes rolling back into his sockets, and he laughed for about two minutes. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. On it were scribbled dozens of names in black ink. “This is much safer than computers,” he explained, glancing through the list. “Paper can be burnt, and at least this method does not leave an electronic trail.”

  I waited, my boots tapping against the bar stool as Steve went through the list. Finally, he looked up at me, and for a moment he seems genuinely sorry. “There are no English women on my list. There are plenty of short blonde women with beautiful long legs, however…”

  “She has to be English,” I said. I ran a hand through my hair which was damp with sweat. Was it from the heat in this place or anxiety from the fear of losing Tess? I didn’t know. Perhaps both. “Wait,” I snapped, thumping the bar in urgency. Steve giggled and brought his hands to his face in pretend fear. “Are you the only man who does this type of business?” I asked.

  “I wish,” Steve murmured, sipping his whiskey. “No, there are many others. Do not forget, my friend, that it is an incredibly lucrative business.” He leered, his lips spreading thinly over his face. “These whores can be trained in any task,” he breathed, tongue lolling from his mouth like an over-excited dog. “Why buy a maid when you can buy a sexy whore who can clean, cook, and fuck like a real slut? Why buy someone who can only clean or cook when you can have it all? I have one who eats shit!” He licked his lips, his eyes glassy. “She actually eats it. Can you believe that? Munches it down. I don’t know, it really turns me on, you know? Seeing her do that. Seeing how little she cares about herself.”

  “Spare me the details.”

  “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. “ Steve giggled. “To answer your question, ‘yes’ of course, there are others who are in this business…”

  “Who?” I urged him. Now I was finally getting somewhere. The sooner I got information, the sooner that I could get the fuck out of here. “Who else would have access to an English… whore?” It pained me to say the last word.

  Steve’s cell phone rang.

  “Shhh! Don’t say a word.” Steve took the phone from his pocket clumsily, almost dropping it, but when he looked at the screen, a transformation came over him. He became sober, and the manic behavior retreated from his eyes. He answered the phone and held it to his ear.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady. He was no longer the sick, depraved dealer of flesh. The change shocked me, angered me and terrified me all at once. “Yes, I’m sorry for missing dinner, but I’m working late. I’ll be home soon. Oh, yes, put Jr. on the phone.” He rolled his eyes at me and mouthed “sorry, it’s the wife.” Then he went into baby-talk mode: “Oh, my little baby! Daddy loves you very very much! Daddy loves his little baby! Yes, he does! Yes, he does!”

  Finally, the phone call ended. Steve took out his bag of cocaine and snorted a vast mound of it into his nostrils. He returned to his previous state of glee as he ascended into his high, and I found myself wondering which one was the performance, or if he even knew the difference between reality and his drug induced state of oblivion. But whatever, if he doesn’t give me some damn information I’ll crack his skull and get the hell out of here. I’m wasting time as it is.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” he said. “Family stuff. I’m sure you know how that goes. Anyway, I was going to tell you about this Russian man who has a penchant for English girls.”

  “Russian?” I inquired. My voice was breaking, and anger pounded in my chest. Rage ruled me a
nd fueled a fire inside of me that I could barely contain. Russian with a penchant for English girls? Not exactly a damn puzzle, is it? My mind went to Zharkov, with his hands on Tess, grunting over her, powerless beneath his massive body as he slid in and out of her, taking what she was unwilling to freely give him.

  “Where can I find this Russian? I’m late for a meeting, and I need to know now.” I growled, unable to hide my temper. Luckily, Steve was so blasted with cocaine that he didn’t notice my impatience and fury.

  “Oh, Zharkov?” Steve asked, and there was anger in his voice, too. “Zharkov.” He shook his head and poured a fresh glass of whiskey. Just in the time we have been sitting here, he had emptied one-third of the bottle. He licked his lips, downed the drink, and then sneered. “I hate that fucking bastard. The fat, Russian piece of shit! He’s stolen women from me, you know. Lots and lots of them. Too many for me to allow without repercussions, but he will eventually get what is coming to him. You see, my friend, maybe I look like a calm man. Yes, a calm family man, but when I get angry, I get very angry. And right now, I am about to explode, and bring this whole damn place down with me.”

  “Where is Zharkov?” I asked, a tremor in my voice. “Where the hell is he?”

  “I’m out for his fucking head,” Steve said through gritted teeth, ignoring me. “Yes, out for blood. Out for blood. These Russians have no goddamn respect. That’s what you learn in my line of business. An American, you can deal with. An American, he won’t make a fool of himself. But Russians...” He shook his head sadly. “Russians, they don’t know when to quit while they are ahead. They go past the point of reason, fly straight past it. They push and push—until I have no choice but to act. I’m out for his fucking head, big time. I mean big time.”

  “Look, Steve. Tell me where he is,” I said, my chest rumbling. All I wanted to do is smash his face into the bar, watch his teeth dance in the lamplight and scatter all over the floor.