Taken: A Dark Hitman Romance

by Sophia Hampton

  “No.”

  Both Anton and I respond at the exact same time, “No?”

  “No. It’s out of the question.”

  My mom quickly chimes in, her hand reaching out to touch my father’s arm, “Clay…”

  “No, Maureen. She’s not going out with Anton.”

  “Why not?” Anton asks with a voice that doesn’t break. He seems more enraged than disappointed.

  “Because you’re a company man, Anton. And I don’t let any Knight date or even see my daughter. You’re lucky you’re at this table, but it’s going to be the last of it.”

  “Dad!”

  “And you’re lucky I don’t beat you down right here, Tory. Now I’ve had enough of this. You two are not to see each other after today.”

  The table goes silent, as he pounds his fist into the lace tablecloth, sending the empty dishes levitating in the air for a millisecond. Under the table, I feel Anton’s leg press up against mine, and I wonder if he’s actually feeling let down about this.

  But I don’t get a second to think that possibility though. Before I can take another bite, I hear the front door slam, as a pair of boots storm into the dining room. Brandon appears just behind me, as he examines the table. His dark eyes lock onto Anton, as he takes two steps forward and lands a punch with his leather-gloved fist right onto Anton’s jaw.

  “What the fuck did you do to my sister, you fucking prick?” He steps back, far from where Anton can retaliate.

  Anton jumps to his feet, the rest of the table following behind him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Derek told me you took my drunk sister home last night. You repeating the same mistakes your dad did, you sick bastard?”

  “What are you talking about?!” I add, screaming over the chaos. “He didn’t bring me to his place!”

  “Like hell, you little slut!” Brandon leaps towards me, his hand raised to slap me. But before it can land, Anton pushes in front of me, catching the slap on his shoulder.

  “I’m just bringing your sister home. Nothing happened between us.” Anton turns to face me, his hands balled in thick fists by his side as he adds, “And nothing will happen either. Your dad made that clear.”

  No one moves. No one breathes. We all just stand there among my mother’s off-white dining room, as if we are mannequins in our own lives acting out a scene. My dad still is red-faced and beady-eyed—while my mother is mere seconds away from bursting out in tears. And my brother stares us down, as Anton and I share a moment that is more intimate than any of our other moments have been. He’s saying goodbye.

  The scene breaks as Anton walks past Brandon and heads out towards the door. It shuts quietly behind him, as I move towards the window to watch him drive away on the jet-black motorcycle. I should be worried about the words my brother and father are screaming at me.

  But I can’t focus on them. All I can think of is the sound of his voice as he says the words, “And nothing will happen.”

  Chapter 7: Behind the Scenes

  Why is it that my home feels empty without her in it?

  I’ve been home for a few hours now, enough to decompress after that drama at Tory’s home. And that should be enough for me to recover, to let it go, but I’m still stuck in my head. Every time I turn towards that bed with the covers still undone, I see the outline of her body nestled in the sheets, tossing and turning. And when I turn towards the door, I can hear her voice calling my name, beckoning it back.

  But I know it can’t be. What I said in that house was the truth. This is it. This is the end for Tory and Anton. Some things are just not meant to be, and we’re one of them. Luckily for me, the only thing I wanted her for was that sweet, petite body of hers and a little revenge after last night’s let down.

  However, if that’s true, why am I still feeling like this…as if I should run out that door and go back for her?

  It’s her problem. Her family is her problem and not mine. And if I tried to make it an issue, I know that I’d lose my place in the Knights so fast that I wouldn’t even be able to take off my jacket fast enough. Just the thought of going back out on the road is killing me, knowing that I am going to have to face Brandon Walsh at least once more today.

  Just a few minutes ago, he sent a text to the runners, telling them to meet him at the HQ warehouse for our shift. The new sheriff is in town, and I can tell things are going to change. After our confrontation at his family’s dinner table, I could bet that this isn’t going to end well for me in the slightest.

  Any other guy would have run. Facing the music when it comes from a guy who could get you killed with one word would send most running for the hills to safety. But I knew better. There isn’t any “safety” in California where the Walshes are concerned. And leaving would mean saying goodbye to one of the best things I have in my life. Sure, being a Desert Knight isn’t ever perfect or easy, especially in the beginning when I had to prove myself, but it was family, my only family I ever knew.

  And I wasn’t going to let that go because of Tory Walsh or her brother. I was going to have to fight for my place…just as I did fifteen years ago as a young gun with hopes. Luckily, this time, I have my boys behind me. No matter what Brandon Walsh does or says, he is never going to have the kind of brotherhood I have with the men I trained. Guys like Leo and Charter would die for me, and they’d kill for me, too. Brandon has to know that if he tries to step to me, he will have a revolt on his hands.

  With that reassurance, I grab my jacket and head back out on the road towards the headquarters. My night shift’s about to begin, and I’ve got a long road ahead of me now that Leo and I are enemy number one on the Senators’ list. I was going to have to be on the ball if I was going to make it out alive, and by the look of the parking lot as I pull up to the headquarters, I was going to need to keep my wits about me, too.

  The entire lot is full of bikes I don’t recognize. They’re the show bikes, the ones ridden by the slow riders. These are the guys who don’t put in the long hauls for the club. I walk past one of the bikes still hot from just parking, and I instantly know what I’m dealing with. These bikes aren’t just owned by slow riders. These bikes are owned by enforcers, and for the last ten years, the enforcers have been strictly under the control of Brandon Walsh himself.

  I walk through the backdoor around the side and down the patio into the main meeting room. A few faces I recognize almost immediately. They are the regular guys, some I’ve even trained, but they’re not my boys, my partners, my team. And as I make my way into the damp, dingy room with the overhead lights that flicker, I get no more than a cold stare.

  Brandon’s already up at the front of the room, talking loudly about his orders being the rule of the land. As I step forward towards my usual place at the front, he stops preaching just in the middle of a sentence. His stringy little eyes lock on to me with his mouth narrowing. He’s been waiting for this. I can already tell.

  He points a finger at me as he exclaims, “Who the fuck told you that you could come into my meeting late?”

  “Late?” I look down at my phone. It’s only six o’clock. I’m nearly a half hour early according to my text. And my shift doesn’t actually begin until an hour later. I hold up my lit up phone to him as I offer, “I was texted six thirty for this meeting. I’m here early.”

  One of his henchmen, a clinger I always see following him around like a sick puppy, steps in front of Brandon to say, “No you’re not, brother. The text said five thirty.”

  “I can show you the message I got. Unless I got the wrong one, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that I’m here early for my route and this meeting.”

  Brandon pushes forward and walks straight toward me until he gets directly in front of me. I feel his hot breath, as he pushes a finger on my forehead, just tempting me to take him, one-on-one. “You think you can come into my meeting and call me a liar?”

  “I’m not calling you anything. But I certainly didn’t imagine this text message.�
�� I hold up my phone once more only to have him slap it out of my hand, causing it to fall on the floor. He steps on it as he comes even closer to me.

  I tower over him, taller by at least six inches, but he still manages to puff out that boxy chest of his and suck in his gut, as he huffs and puffs loudly. “My daddy was way too lenient with you. He let you run this ship, but now it’s my turn. And I’m not going to have you stand in my way, do you hear me, bastard?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t answer. I’m not about to be disrespected like that. Instead, I cross my arms in front of my chest and step backwards towards the wall, my new place in this group. Brandon goes back towards the podium and points towards a chalkboard with about twenty names written in a child-like handwriting.

  My name’s at the bottom, connected to a man I’ve never heard of. My stomach turns as he explains the new pairings. “This shit show had some real fucking stupid teams. It allowed you assholes to get away with far too much. Now I’m putting each runner with one of my enforcers.” Brandon turns back to me as he adds, “Any of you so much as ride an inch outside the routes I planned during your shift, these boys have orders to take you down and ask questions later.”

  I see Leo in the crowd stand cautiously, his hand raised slightly over his head, “Brandon, err, I mean, Captain. I’m not on that list.” I look back over the board and scan for confirmation. He’s right. He’s not even on the list of alternates or trainers. He’s been completely left off.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Brandon sneers.

  “Leo McBriar. I’ve been running with Anton for a long time now. I’ve been on the road since I was seventeen… sir.” I’ve never see Leo so fearful in my entire life, but whatever Brandon’s been selling has got him spooked. He can’t even ask a question without his voice quivering slightly.

  Brandon scuffles through a stack of paper in a manila-colored folder until he comes to a small post-it. He holds it up as says, “Ah yes, Leo. You and Anton managed to get yourself into some shit yesterday, didn’t you?”

  I mumble loudly so that those around me can hear, “You calling us shit when we managed to steal nearly ten grand from the Senators along with a whole stash of pure coke?”

  “You bet your sweet ass,” Brandon says, turning back to me. “I’m calling it shit. You managed to kill two guys in broad daylight, get chased through midday traffic, and crash both of your bikes outside our territory lines. Do you know what my daddy had to deal with last night to come to your rescue?”

  “He made a call and cleaned it up. We were under orders to do what we did because your daddy seemed to think that we were the best runners you had on the team. I didn’t see him ask you or any of these soft boys to go do his dirty work for him, did I?”

  Brandon smiled, his sharp, pointy teeth showing through his dry, cracked lips, “If that were true, you’d be here, wouldn’t it? The old man didn’t think you were man enough to handle the captain position, did he?”

  The crowd of men both old and new started shifting in their chairs awkwardly. I can hear the whispers of disbelief. Sure, there’d been arguments and back-talking before, especially when there was a yellow rider with a big attitude getting trained, but no one ever challenged me like this. Everyone knew that I backed up my words. And tonight wasn’t going to be any exception.

  I step towards my spot, as I say boldly in my loudest voice, “I’d be up there if I was your daddy’s butt boy. But I don’t suck his dick enough, do I?”

  A few brave souls actually laugh out loud, as Brandon’s pale and pasty face seems to drain of all its color. His few henchmen surround him as he points a hand toward me. I don’t have time to react before one of his crew comes out from behind me and grabs me from around my shoulders. His surprise force brings me down to the ground quicker than my arms can fight against him. My knees smash into the concrete floor in a loud, dim thud. I look up just in time to see Brandon standing above me. He swings his arm back behind his head in a wind up before slamming it directly into the side of my skull.

  The searing pain of his fist is only made worse by the ringing in my ear. Through it, I can just make out the crowd shouting in a muffled roar. Brandon talks over them, screaming madly, his veins popping from the side of his chubby neck. “And this is for my sister, you punk ass.”

  There’s another direct hit, as I finally am able to pull my arms out from around the man holding me. I manage to catch myself with my hands before I fall forward. A small trickle of blood drips from the top of my temple, leaving a trail of my punishment.

  As the room goes still and silent, everyone waiting for me to strike back, I take that deep breath in. It’s the one that keeps me from doing anything stupid. It’s the one that makes me think back on Tory and her arm around my waist. It brings me back to her pleading with me to go anywhere, anywhere but home.

  I understood now. I understood more than I could before. The Desert Knights had a leader so blinded by his son he couldn’t see the hell he was about to get. These men in this room may not know me. They may only be a part of Brandon’s reign. But if there was one thing that I was good at, it was rallying my own troops and keeping loyal to the ones that were true to me.

  And that troop was going to include Tory Walsh. I know that I made my promise to Tory to never see her again. I know that I promised myself that this was the end. But I was going to get Tory after all, and I was going to enjoy each and every moment of her.

  Brandon leans back over me as he gets in his last words, “You think about coming after me or my family, especially Tory, again, and I’ll personally kill you.”

  I know I should be afraid. I should be enraged. But instead, something inside of me was growing even stronger…revenge.

  Chapter 8: The Code Writer

  The house is finally silent. Finally.

  After Anton left, it was as if hell broke loose in the Walsh den. I had never heard my dad scream so loud or so intensely at me. And for what? Bringing home a guy that he himself had given his seal of approval to by letting him into his club? I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t want to understand it.

  All I want is Anton.

  I’m not sure why I am feeling the way I am, to be honest. It’s not as if we had any connection other than a night where I bandaged his hands and stared deeply into the puddles of his eyes. But he was different from anyone I had ever met in my entire life. He was a gentleman, a protector…unlike my father.

  Hours pass, dinner goes by, and my father is still ranting away at my mom and me. It’s non-stop, as if we could have prevented the scene between Anton and Brandon. We were to blame. We were the weak ones who let the snake in the door.

  My mom takes the brunt of it for me. Even hours later, and I can still hear him laying into her. And not just with words. As I lie awake in bed, I can hear her body crash up against the wall with a terrible, muted sound that echoes against my wall. I would give anything to run in there and stop him, but I know it would do neither of us any good. This was how my dad calmed himself—by hurting my poor mom into submission.

  I roll over, as I try not to listen to their argument, a pillow wrapped around my head as I try to shut off the sound around me. I have to will myself to a happier place just to take my mind off of it. And to my dismay, it’s back in that bed with him. It’s that kiss, the first one with its urgency and wonderment. It’s how I was the one who made the first move, how he took off my shoes with the roughness of his worker’s hands, how I could hear his voice joking with me as if I was enough for him.

  Sleep takes over the scene, as I find myself back there under that hunter green comforter. We’re back to where we left off, him pinning me into place against the sheets as he pushes his hips into mine. I wrap my arms around him, begging him to come down to me, but he shakes his head no. He’s had enough of kissing.

  The warm, rough skin pulls at the edges of my black blouse. I feel the jagged edge of his nails, as he slowly lifts the fabric over my prickled skin. It lifts over my belly button and
up past the outline of my ribcage till it gets to wire of the black, strapless bra. He stops, admiring the canvas he’s opened up. His mouth plants a soft kiss right between the bones of my chest, and a trail up to where he has let my shirt fall, where he can just make out the full underside of my breasts.

  An arm wraps underneath me and pulls me towards to him, and before I can stop him or at least pretend to resist, my shirt is over my head. The arm that is still holding me up unhooks the bra, freeing my breasts like a spring. I’ve never been this exposed to anyone in my life, but I want more of this freedom and flesh.

  I place a hand around his waist and tug at the black t-shirt he has tucked messily into his jeans. It’s not as easy or as fluid for me to yank the shirt off a giant, so I get on my knees before him so that I am level with him, and in one solid pull it’s done, and we are both left to stare at one another—up close for the first time. His steely blue eyes remain on my breasts, but my hands reach out to trace the lines of his tattoos, all colorful and bold. They told a story that I want to know.