Stolen By The Hitman: A Men Of Ruthless Corp Book

by Cole, Jagger

  We slip out the backdoor of Terrance’s mansion. He hauls me through the darkened back patios and gardens. I know there are guards close. But I can’t bring myself to scream.

  Near the back, I notice the security cameras on the wall pointed askew, meaning we’re in a blind spot. There’s a hole that looks like it’s been cut with a welding tool or something in the metal privacy fence. The man holding me grunts and squats as he steps through it, me still in his clutches.

  It’s dark out. My heart thuds as he glances left and right and then jogs down to a side-street alley that runs behind Terrance’s mansion. He runs up to a dark black old-school muscle car—a Mustang. He opens the passenger door. But when he shoves me, I finally do scream.

  Instantly, his huge hand clamps over my mouth.

  “Not a word,” he growls. His eyes slide to my neck, then its lower. I blush. I can feel the heat of his eyes as they drag over me. I know I should be appalled, or terrified. And maybe I am scared. But I shamefully like the way his gaze feels on me. It’s not even like he’s mentally undressing me. It’s like he’s seeing me—the real me, like no one else ever has.

  With a quiet snarl, he pulls away and slams the door shut. I watch him storm around to the driver’s side, slide in, and start the engine. Then he turns to me.

  “What are you?” he snaps.

  I tremble. “Excuse me?”

  The man—my captor—frowns. He eyes me with a gaze that pierces through me. “I meant who are you?”

  “Leah,” I whisper. “Leah Hartley.”

  “And what are you to Terry?”

  “His personal assistant?”

  The man’s eyes narrow. “How old are you exactly?”

  “Nineteen.”

  His brow cocks. “And you’re the PA to one of the most powerful, richest men in San Francisco? How the hell did you swing that?”

  My mouth thins. “I think it’s more how he wanted me to swing that.”

  A shadow crosses his face.

  “I… I didn’t,” I blurt. “I mean, he tried to…” I look down. “Tonight, actually. Right before you walked in.”

  My captor is silent. When I look up, his mouth is tight.

  “I’m sorry, Leah,” he growls quietly.

  I smile weakly. God, he’s so hot. Distractingly and disarmingly so. He’s huge, and powerful looking. He’s got tattoos running down his muscled arms, and more visible at the neck of his black t-shirt.

  “Was he telling the truth about the key?” He mutters, glancing at me.

  I nod. “Laura has it. It’s a thing between them.”

  The man frowns and turns to me again in the dark car. “Between them?”

  “Yeah, like a family disagreement thing.”

  His brow arches strictly. “Family?”

  I frown curiously as I turn to him. “Well, yeah.”

  “You mean like a business family.”

  I shake my head. “No I mean like how Laura is his daughter.”

  The man stares at me blankly, looking stunned.

  “Wait, did you not know that?”

  “It’s not my job to ask questions like that.”

  “What is your job,” I whisper softly.

  “You know,” he growls.

  I swallow again. “You… you kill people, don’t you?”

  His eyes hold min. “Yes.”

  I swallow thickly.

  “Are you going to…” my lip sucks between my teeth. “I mean, for the necklace,” I whisper.

  “No,” he growls. “No, I’m not. I don’t kill innocents.”

  “This necklace is worth a lot.” I cringe. Why the fuck did I just say that? Gee Mr. Killer, are you sure you don’t want to murder me?

  But he just turns to me and smirks thinly. “You trying to pitch me on killing you for the necklace?”

  I pale. “No, I just—”

  “I know how much it’s worth, Leah. I’m still not going to kill you for it. You can relax.”

  I smile weakly. I start to let my shoulders relax. That is, until there’s a knock on his window. I gasp, almost jumping out of my skin.

  The man keeps his eyes on me for one more second before he turns and cranks the window down. An older woman with silver hair pulled back and a stern look on her face leans down to rest her arms on the window frame.

  “Just wanted to check in before I head up there to babysit.,” she drawls in a southern-tinged accent.

  My captor nods. “We’re good, Mags.”

  She nods in response and glances past him to me. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “This your new friend?”

  “Looks that way.”

  She arches a brow. “Nice jewels, honey.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I mumble.

  She eyes me again and then turns her attention to him. “So what’s next?”

  “Call Laura and get a meet. She’s got the key, and it’s only worth half without it.”

  “It’s worth nothing locked around her neck,” she mutters. “But we could do with half.”

  Fear grips me. But the man growls and shoots the older woman a hard look.

  “Mags,” he says warningly.

  She shrugs. “Hey, I’m just sayin’.” She nods at me. “No offense, honey.”

  “Uh…”

  “Alright, I’m going up there. He’s still got his office flagged through the security system as do not disturb to his guards.”

  “Good.” The man frowns. “Oh, one more thing.” He glances at me. “What you said before, about Laura and Terry. That really true?”

  I nod.

  “Shit.” He glances back to the older woman. “Here’s a fun twist. Laura is Terry’s daughter.”

  The woman’s brows raise. “Oh? Well that’s a can of worms I wasn’t looking to get into.”

  “No shit. See what you can dig up on that angle though, yeah?”

  “Yeah, can do. You should skedaddle, though.” She glances past me as he starts the car with a rumble. “Don’t get lost now, honey,” she drawls. “You’re worth a goddamn fortune with that thing on your neck.”

  3

  Rourke

  She’s silent as we drive. I can admire that. It might be out of fear, but she’s not screaming her head off. She could be, and maybe she should be. But she’s just looking straight ahead.

  My thoughts swirl, drifting back to what she was saying about what almost happened in that office before I barged in. I think about that greasy prick Terry cornering her, trying to… how did she put it… how he wanted her to “earn her job.”

  The thought of it makes my blood boil. Instantly, I’m furious. And I suddenly wish I had put a bullet through his fucking teeth. Or maybe just through his balls.

  The idea of that asshole trying to force her into anything is fucked up and disgusting, yes. But I know it’s bigger than that for me. Any man who would do that deserves to have his dick cut off and shoved down his throat. But the idea of someone trying that with her specifically has my teeth grinding.

  I turn, a growl rumbling in my chest as I drink her in. My eyes slide over her. My pulse thuds. My cock thickens.

  Fuck. No one has done this to me in… well, a very long time. A decade or more. I was wild when I was young. Then the Navy swallowed me up and spit out a cold-blooded machine. It had to, and I had to be that. I fought for my country across the entire world. I killed from the shadows. I was a wraith; an angel of death. And I played that part for years, until machine gun fire almost cut me in half.

  My mind flashes back to the warlord’s compound in Libya—the last room down the hall from the main gates that wasn’t cleared properly. I twitch as I remember the man who jumped out pumping lead into us until my best friend Jason cut him down.

  We lost four men that night. Jason and I were airlifted back to base in fucking pieces. I remember him looking at me in that chopper, mouthing “take care of her.” And when we landed, Jason was gone.

  Over the next year, I learned to do everything again—walk, talk, all of
it. Then they shipped my ass back stateside, gave me a classified Purple Heart and Navy Cross, and honorably discharged me.

  At first, I was lost. I was still trying to kick the painkiller addiction and taking odd jobs, trying to get into a gig with a private contractor. But I was too dark to find that kind of work. Every single thing I’d done was a highly classified, off-the-books mission. I didn’t exist in the military, which made it pretty damn impossible to get military contractor jobs. So I took bar bouncer gigs. I fell in with some real shitheads down in Dallas—muscle for some two-bit crime lord. I knew I was wasting my talents, but it was all I had.

  That’s when Rogue found me. The motherfucker was watching me pummel some dealers for cash they owned my boss. He walked right up to me, didn’t blink when I pulled a gun on him, and asked what the fuck I was doing with my life. When I didn’t have answer, he gave me one: come work for him.

  Turns out, he’d been watching me. Like he watched all the potential recruits to his company. We sat down, he told me what I could do and what I could be, and I didn’t look back. After that, I was a member of Ruthless Corp, Rogue’s gun-for-hire company.

  “Who was that?”

  I blink turning to the girl—Leah.

  “What?”

  “That woman back there.”

  I smirk. “That would be Mags. Maggie.”

  “She’s like your partner or something?”

  I grin. I like that she’s full of questions, even with the craziness she’s been thrown into.

  “Yeah, sort of.” Definitely sort of.

  When I settled in at Ruthless Corp, and when Rogue got me clean, I could finally fulfill my promise to Jason. I knew who he’d meant when he said to “take care of her” in that hellish helicopter ride. He means his mama, back in Kentucky—Maggie, or Mags.

  She’s who Jason got his no-shit attitude from. She’s probably who he learned to shoot from, too. Mags might be in her sixties, but she’s a tough bird. So tough that she’s been my backup on more than one occasion. She’s not walking around guns blazing, but she’ll be my eyes and ears when I’m walking into someplace hostile.

  Mags and I’s relationship is hard to explain. She’s sort of a mom figure, but not really. More like a crazy, gun-toting aunt. Mags is backwoods Kentucky through and through—one part gunpowder, one part moonshine, two parts attitude. She’s arguably a better shot than me, and could almost definitely drink my ass under the table.

  “Thank you, by the way,” Leah says softly.

  I turn to her. “I’m not sure you want to thank me just yet.”

  “Yes ,I do.” She trembles, hugging herself. “He… Terrance… he could have, I mean back there before you—”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I growl. “That’s not ever going to happen.”

  The savagery in my voice surprises me. The instant possessive protectiveness I feel for her is almost overwhelming.

  “I should have just quit, I just…”

  “You don’t need to have an excuse, darlin’,” I growl. “You didn’t do shit to deserve whatever bullshit he tried to put you through.”

  She turns and smiles at me, biting her lip. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Our eyes lock before mine slip back to the road.

  After the SEALs, I closed up. I didn’t let anyone in, least of all women. I shut myself down and away from all of that. But her? I groan. She’s bringing up desires and lust in me I’ve ignored for a decade. And it’s threatening to explode.

  But I can’t think of that. I can’t sit here lusting after this fucking nineteen year old girl no matter how fucking hard she makes me. I need to figure this shit out. I need to know what the hell is going on with this situation, so I can finish the job I was hired to do.

  “I’m going to make a phone call. But I need you to not say anything,” I say gently.

  She nods. “Okay.”

  I turn to glance at her again, the road lights drifting over her pretty face as she looks out the window.

  “You okay?”

  She nods. But she’s not. Not really. I mean a guy who looks like me—a monster—just basically kidnapped her. But she’s a part of this, like it or not.

  And I don’t.

  I thumb down to Laura’s number in my phone and hit call. The dial tone comes through on my car speakers.

  “Mr. Jenner.” Laura’s—my client’s— voice comes through with the haughty, snobby-rich tone I’m used to from her. “I take it this call means our business has been concluded—”

  “You lied to me,” I snarl.

  Anger bubbles inside of me. Not just because I got fucked. Not just because this was supposed to be easy. But because this was supposed to be the last job.

  I’m forever thankful to Rogue for what he did for me. He found me when I was up to my eyeballs in shit, and he saw the potential inside. He’s given me a new life through Ruthless. But all stories must end. And my days of killing for cash are over. They have to be. Mags is getting older, and I’m just getting sick of the life.

  When Laura contracted this job, she told Rogue she wanted to discuss payment with me in person. Ruthless is getting its usual cut, from her direct. But when I met with her, she told me about the Heiress diamonds. She obviously never told me the target was her goddamn father. But she did say the Claimed Heiress was an old family heirloom that has caused a lot of trouble.

  With the job, she’d kill two birds with one stone—Terry dead and the necklace gone. Because it was to be my payment for the job—my hefty, hefty payment.

  Mags doesn’t know all details yet, but this was my big cash out. With the two-point-four mil from this thing, I was going to buy a big-ass house back in Kentucky for the both of us to just spend our days drinking sweet tea on the front porch.

  Now that dream is fading.

  Laura chuckles. “Did I?”

  “You don’t think it was prudent for me to know that the target was in fact your own father?”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “When I asked you for the details on this job, that would be the time to tell the truth about the full details. Not lie about them.”

  “Well, Mr. Jenner, it seems to me that I just didn’t tell you the full story, which I don’t have to. You’re a hitman, not a Congressional hearing.”

  “Do not make the mistake of imagining that since you’re paying me—or promised to pay me—that you can speak down to me,” I grunt. “And what you did was give me the wrong intel for a mission. Which could have gotten me killed.”

  “You seem okay to me.”

  I grit my teeth. “Very funny.”

  “Is the job done or not, Mr. Jenner. It’s a simple—”

  “We need to meet.”

  She pauses. “Mr. Jenner, is he dead or not?”

  “Let’s just meet.”

  “So that’s a no,” she says dryly.

  “I have half of what I was promised, Laura.”

  She laughs coldly. “Ahh, so you want the key.”

  I hate being fucked with. And I definitely hate when people think they can make me dance like a goddamn puppet.

  “What I want is to stop playing games, Laura. And if you have the key, then yes. I want it, as per our agreement.”

  “Hmm…” she muses.

  “Do you have it or not?” I snap.

  “Perhaps I do.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well then perhaps I don’t kill your father.”

  I can hear her bristling through the phone. “Do you have him?”

  I glance at Leah. She looks terrified to even be present for this conversation. And I don’t blame her. She’s what, a college student? A personal assistant to some rich douchebag? And now she’s a stolen captive in stranger’s car, privy to a conversation about an assassination.

  “He’s safe. I have people on him,” I growl. “But I’m not a charity, Laura. Nor am I an idiot. So here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll meet, I get what I want, then I’ll take care of your father. That’s how th
is transaction works. It’s simple like that.”

  She pauses again. “I need to think about it.”

  “You have an hour.” I hang up before she can answer.

  I know Laura’s type. She thinks money makes her powerful. In truth, it means she just has so much more to lose. Deep down, she knows that. She’ll call. In the meantime, I need to lay low.

  I turn to my captive—my temptation. The reason my cock is rock fucking hard in my jeans. I look at the necklace. It’s mine—that’s my retirement, right there. But then my eyes drift to her lips. And her eyes. And over her curves.

  The necklace is my retirement. She is what I want, though. More than anything I’ve wanted in a long damn time. But I need to check that. I need to get my shit in line.

  “What happens now?” Leah whispers quietly.

  Now, I take you. I rip that pencil skirt off of you, wrap your legs around my waist, and sink my cock balls-deep in that hot little pussy. I make you mine, until your moans are all I know.

  I clear my throat, shaking the fantasy away. “Now, we wait.”

  We wait, and we see how long my self-control can last.

  4

  Leah

  The fire—as in what happens out of the proverbial frying pan—isn’t so bad. Or at least, it’s not as scary as I thought it was at first. He’s not as scary as I thought he was. It’s not that he doesn’t frighten me—he does. But when I look at him, it’s not really fear that courses through me. It’s something else; something hotter.

  My eyes keep sliding back to him as we drive around the city. I keep letting my gaze slip over his muscled arms and broad chest. Passing streetlights glint over the tattoos and scars on his skin.

  He turns to catch me staring, and I blush. I quickly turn back to stare out the window at the Presidio, feeling my core tighten.

  He’s… hot. I groan to myself. He’s very hot, actually. He’s much, much older than me, and dangerous looking. But maybe that’s the attraction. Or at least, the attraction I haven’t been finding anywhere else.

  When you’re on your own at seventeen, it’s hard to find any time at all for being attracted to anyone. I frown, my eyes drifting over the passing buildings. My dad was gone before I hit kindergarten. But from what my mom always told me, it’s best that my memories of him are faded and few.