Pozhaluysta - Please
Smelaya devushka - Daring girl
Sestra - Sister
Spasibo - Thank you
Da svidaniya - Goodbye
Fsyevo harosheva - Safe travels
Pizdoon - Fucking liar
Bozhe moi - My God!
Piz’da - Cunt
Govnjúk - Bastard / Shithead
Spetsnaz - Russian Special Forces
Nyet - No
Da - Yes
Ruthless
This copy of Captive of the Hitman includes a free bonus book, Ruthless! I hope you enjoy this one just as much :)
1
The last person in the world I ever expected to hear from again is my wicked witch of a step-mother.
Yet here I am, sitting in her fancy office’s reception area, flipping through a magazine as I keep eyeing the receptionist who promised me for the tenth time that Rebecca will be right with me.
My legs are covered with goosebumps; the summer heat outside is sticky and damp, so I dressed light in a skirt and a tank-top, but now that I’m in her office building, I feel like I’m stuck in an icebox. My nipples press against my bra uncomfortably, and I’m trying not to shiver.
I have to appear strong, Confident. All the things I’m not.
I don’t even know why I agreed to meet her.
Curiosity, I guess. My dad always said that’d be my downfall, that I can’t ever let anything go no matter how much I should.
No, I know the real reason. Because she’s my link to Dimitri.
My step-brother.
The man who I looked up to most in the world, and who ditched me just as fast as his mother.
He broke my heart, and now Rebecca’s opened the wounds again. I tried to ignore her message on my phone, but every time I came close, I thought of Dimitri’s dark eyes filled with devilish glee.
I remember that last night we spent together before my life came crumbling down around me.
The magazine in my hands is filled with glossy pages of fashion and people who don’t look like themselves. I don’t understand that. Why bother hiring a famous celebrity for a photoshoot if they’re just going to manipulate the lighting and the makeup to the point she doesn’t look like herself?
It’s the type of things that bored women pay to do, to live as someone else for a little while. Not celebrities being paid to do it.
I roll my eyes and glance up at the receptionist again who gives me a smile tighter than her bun. I feel kind of bad for her, honestly. If Rebecca is a boss like she was a mother? Then she’s colder than ice, and crueler than Cruella.
How long have I been waiting?
I glance at my watch, and my lip twitches. She’s kept me here for over fifty minutes after insisting I come. I throw the magazine to the side with a huff and fold my arms beneath my chest. She hasn’t changed at all. Not even a little, since she kicked me out with nowhere to go and not a cent to my name.
From a mansion to the street in one night. I know, poor little rich girl, right?
Well I’m not rich anymore, and I don’t want pity. For the past two years, I’ve been building up a life for myself. Something I’m proud of.
Something she can’t take from me.
The clicking on the floor of stiletto heels draws me back from my stupor.
“Sarah, darling!” Rebecca exclaims with that mild, Russian accent, as if there were nothing wrong between us.
I glance up at her, and my expression goes sour. She looks even better than I remember. I suppose good plastic surgery isn't so much a luxury of the rich as a necessity, and her blonde hair is pulled back to reveal her sharp cheeks and button nose. She looks younger than her forty-five years by at least a decade, and I'm instantly jealous.
My platinum hair tickles my cheeks, and I lift my thrift-store purse to my shoulder as I move to her, coolly.
Don't let her rattle you, I plead with myself, trying to exude casual calm that I certainly don't feel inside. Inside, I'm terrified. This woman is a viper, and she'll chew me up and spit me out with no more thought than most people give to what they eat for breakfast.
She puts her hand on my shoulder and I can feel her glancing there, noticing the wings between my shoulder blades, the black ink a bit faded over the years. I was only seventeen when I got it, but I don't regret it, and I won't let her make me regret it.
I won't let her control me. I just came as a courtesy to my father. It's what he would've wanted, and regardless of the path he went down when he was alive, I owe it to his memory to try to be a better person.
Her office, though, makes me want to be anything but a better person. It's bigger than the entire building I work out of, which barely makes sense. Who needs a penthouse suite as an office? There's a bar over on the far end, a meeting table and couches and chairs littering the room, but she leads me to her desk and an uncomfortable chair that I have to wonder if it was brought in just for me to sit on.
I take a seat across from her as she smiles at me placidly. It's a strange look to her face, like resentment barely hidden by a veil of civility and good manners.
She simply stares at me in silence and I'm forced to speak.
"You're looking well," I say, my tone flat and displeased.
She calls me all the way to Manhattan to make me squirm? Well I'm not going to squirm. I might not have had an easy time of it the past two years, but I worked hard for everything I have and I won't let her take my pride away.
"Thank you," she says cordially, not returning the compliment as she smiles.
And then, it's like she remembers herself. Remembers the fact that she asked me to meet with her, and that she had something she clearly wanted of me. What that something is, I haven't the foggiest idea, but it seems to wipe the resentment from her expression and she looks nearly desperate.
"Sarah, darling, I won't waste any more of your time than I have to. You remember my son, Dimitri?"
I stare at her as if she's just said the stupidest thing, and honestly, she has. He's been my step-brother for seven years, and I lived with him for four. After my father passed away, he was the only real man I had in my life, and even though he's three years older than me, we were close as siblings.
Until she stole him away from me.
My eye twitches as I nod my head.
"Good, good!" she exclaims, her smile so phony I want to smack it off her face.
"Are you two still in contact?"
Again, another stupid question.
"No. Not since you ensured I’d be getting a dose of homelessness for my eighteenth birthday," I reply with a sneer, and her eyes narrow at me.
Whatever it is she has me here for, though, must be important. I've seen her lose her cool over much less than that, and I can tell from the way she's tightening her fists that she's pissed at me. But she doesn't say anything, just staring at me with that angry expression.
"Well, good," she says coldly before trying to soften the blow with a smile, "because I have a task for you and it's better if you remain... unattached."
"A task?" I can't help the curiosity eking into my voice. What’s she want from me, and what does Dimitri have to do with any of it?
Her smile broadens at my interest and she nods.
"Mmm, yes. I've heard from my sources that you work at Upstream Co. as a... receptionist or some sort?"
What the hell? Has she been stalking me? How does she know where I work? Since she kicked me out, I haven't heard from her or thought of her since. The only reason she was even able to get ahold of me is that I didn't get rid of my old cell phone. It has a voice mail my dad left me and I didn't want to lose that. Surprise, surprise when I found a new call from her, though.
"How did you know that?"
She sweeps off my concerns with a bat of her hand and a venomous smile.
"Oh, don't worry about that."
"Well your sources are wrong. I'm a bookkeeper."
She rolls her eyes at that too, though part of me gets the feeling that
she knew that and was just testing my reaction.
"Regardless of what it is you do there, I have something more important for you, and something I'm willing to pay for. Lord knows if this wasn't dire you wouldn't be here today," she says with another sneer marring her puffed up lips.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and with it I stand to leave.
"I'm not going to sit here and be condescended to when you need a favor. I'm not a little girl anymore, Rebecca. And I made it just fine without your handouts this far. I only came to see if you realized that kicking an eighteen year old girl out with no support was a bad idea, but apparently, you're fine with your choices."
"Well of course I am," she says, standing as well and looming over me. "You said it yourself. You've done fine without my handouts. You're intrepid. Determined. And that's why I'm willing to pay you an exorbitant fee just to keep doing what you're doing, except instead of working for Upstream, you'll do it for Marala Corp."
Dimitri’s company. She’d bought it out a year before she kicked me out, and gave it to Dimitri as a birthday present. It was all over the news.
"You don't have to reply to me now, but it will put your skills to the test. You'll be able to use your photography, your bookkeeping skills, and in the end, I'm willing to part with half a million dollars for six months of work."
My lips part.
I want to protest, to tell her that she can't intimidate and control me with money, but it's like my mind and my mouth are disconnected. After struggling for so long, it would be so nice to just have a nest egg. To not have to worry where rent is coming from, or how I'm going to pay my grocery bill.
And I'd be lying if I said a little part of me isn’t curious about what this has to do with Dimitri. Just the memory of him brings back such scandalous thoughts that I have to push away. It was easier to ignore them when I'd cut them all off. Hell, he doesn't even have a Facebook account — I checked.
"So here's what I need you to do," Rebecca says, taking my silence as agreement, and I don't have time to interrupt her. "I need you to approach Dimitri. Tell him that you've missed him, whatever," she says, brushing off emotional displays as if they are nothing more than an annoyance. "You're curious about his work, and would love to help him manage his books. And then you'll look at those books, you'll bring me photocopies of those books, and you will be well compensated."
She makes it sound so easy, but I know there's something she's not telling me. A lot of somethings, likely.
"What would I be looking for?" I ask, careful not to make it sound like I'm agreeing with her.
"That's nothing you need to concern yourself with. Just make me the photocopies. And don't let him trick you into thinking there's only one set of books. There's not, and you need to get access to it all. If you don't, well, you can wave your payday bye-bye. I will however," she adds with a roll of her eyes, "pay you a pittance slightly above Upstream's hourly rate, regardless of whether you prove yourself useful or not."
I bristle at her words, wanting to fight back and argue, but she has me right where she wants me, though not just for the reasons she expects.
The money, the freedom that would afford me? No one could rationally turn that down.
But Dimitri? I've never been able to say no to him.
“Wonderful,” Rebecca smiles fondly at me, handing me a stack of documents. “I just need you to sign these, and we’ll be all done.”
2
It's been two years, but when I see him he still manages to make me feel like a girl again.
I called, asked him meet to meet me for coffee. I figured it was the easiest way to start to get to know him again, but honestly, the thought of going through his books as a spy for Rebecca still makes me feel queasy.
Sure, I want the money.
But looking at him as he sits in the back table, staring out at the streets, I want him more.
It's not good. This mass of butterflies in my stomach, tormenting me, acting like it's totally cool for me to feel like this for him.
Well, it's not.
I try to steel myself again, but in the meantime, my eyes roam over him. He's filled out a lot in the past two years, and bulked up. Even beneath his shirt I can see the outline of his pecs, his arms huge and undoubtedly covered in a myriad of tattoos.
His hair is shorter than I remember, brushed back away from his face and revealing his strong jawline, just the hint of stubble noticeable from across the room.
I order my drink at the counter and wonder what I'm going to say. I've gone over it in my head a thousand times in the week since my meeting with Rebecca, but I still haven't a clue how this should go.
It's not like I can go in, all fists and fury for him ditching me, though that's what I want to do. He was a coward for hiding from me for so long.
But I need him on my good side.
I lick my lips as the barista hands me my coffee, and I walk towards my step-brother.
My former crush.
I'm in a skirt that hugs my curves, and the nicest tank-top I have. Red lace skirts my cleavage, my back tattoo on proud display as I sidle into the seat across from him.
He smells divine.
I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes in pleasure, instead delivering him a hard stare that slowly breaks into a smile. With him, I can't help it. I've never been able to help it. No matter how pissed he makes me, I always feel soft the second I'm with him. No matter how hard the world makes me, he tears down my defenses.
"Well hey," he practically growls as he leans in towards me.
And his voice...
It does things to me. Things I'm not proud of. Things that the quirk of his mouth makes me remember that he knows all too well.
I sit back in my chair, begging myself not to flush. Not to let those butterflies get the best of me.
It's harder than I expected.
It's one thing to try to be cool with him, be professional. To push down all the rage and anger and hatred I've felt for him over the past two years, how abandoned he made me feel. That was just the first battle.
But the second I see that smirk on his lips, all I can remember is the way his mouth tasted against mine.
I bite in on my lower lip, and he has me right where he wants me.
"Well, hey yourself," I finally say back, trying to hide my blush behind my coffee.
We stare at one another, his dark brown eyes trailing over my face, scrutinizing me, and suddenly I feel so self-conscious. He's seen me so vulnerable, so exposed, and now I just want to forget it all. For two years, I've struggled to block him from my mind, and now, here he is, looking better than ever.
"You look damn fine," he says, his grin turning lascivious, and there's no use hiding my blush.
Two years, and so many tears later, and I'm still wrapped around his fucking finger. My skirt suddenly feels too tight, my tank-top too warm, and a full body flush overtakes me.
His large hand reaches beneath the table, clamping on my knee, his fingers touching along my inner thigh, and that heat only grows.
I pull away after a moment, though. I can't let myself give into this again.
I can't give in to him again.
He raises a brow at me, but his smile tells me all I need to know. I've gone from a guarantee to a challenge, and he likes it.
It makes me sick, but I can't deny the thrill it gives me.
"This isn't about that," I say, hoping I sound curt more than turned on, but I'm way closer to the latter right now.
His grin broadens and he sits back in his chair, hands folded beneath his chin like a scolded child.
"Then what's it about, little sister?"
His reminding me of our relation tears me in two and I try to hide that down along with all my other genuine emotions.
"I just... I don't like the way things ended with us."
"I did," he growls, and that heat travels my body once more.
Just the once I’d given in to him. Just that one night, b
efore I never heard from him again.
"You could've fooled me. You never answered any of my texts."
He shrugs as if it's no big deal.
"I had a lot going on."
"Asshole," I growl before taking a sip of my coffee. Dimitri gets under my skin like no one else could ever dream of.
And he just revels in it. That’s what kills me, because I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I react, he gloats. If I don’t? He just pushes me further and further until I hit that tipping point.
“You love it,” he says, his grin almost feral. “And besides, you had your own thing. Meeting new people, making new friends...”
“Being homeless for three days?”
“Right, that too.”
I stare at him, aghast at just how easily he let that go.
“You could’ve fucking helped,” I spit out, unable to hold it back any longer.
He lived a pampered life, an easy life, all because his mom had problems with me. I don’t even know what I did. Sometimes I wonder if it was just a Snow White complex where she saw too much of my mother in me, but I doubt I’d ever get an answer.
“I could have,” he agrees. “But I didn’t. And now look at you. Banging, and let me guess, a bit more rebellious than you used to be.”
He leans in, and I can smell the mintiness of his breath wash over me.
“Isn’t that why you called? Finally decided you wanted me to stick it to you? Get back at mommy dearest?”
His hand finds my leg again and his fingers snake up along the inner seam of my thighs, and I’d have to be a saint not to feel anything. I beg my body not to give in to that sensation of pleasure, that cruel teasing to his voice, but I can’t resist it totally. Despite my anger and humiliation, he knows exactly what to say to turn me to butter.
“Fuck off,” I say, but my voice is breathy and light, and he doesn’t stop. We’re in the middle of a crowded coffee shop in the middle of the day and he’s groping me under the table.
And the worst part is how much I like it.
More accurately, how much my body likes it.
Captive of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel Page 16