“Are you taking me to the police station?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
The driver looks at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes are bloodshot with dark rings under them. “Something like that,” he says in a deep voice.
I look out the window and realize for the first time how fast we’re going. He’s sailing down the highway. “Where are we going?” I ask, my voice more high-pitched than normal.
An ugly smile curls up under the cop’s mustache. “You talk a lot.”
My stomach turns as he opens the glove compartment and pulls something out. “This is what we do to talkers.”
He holds up a roll of duct tape and rips off a strip.
“No,” I gasp as I try to open the door. It’s locked from the outside.
He lunges at me, covering my mouth with the tape. My hands are shaking as I see his shirt slide up his forearm and the tattoo underneath: Two crossed hammers.
They’re taking me to the Russian Bratva.
fifteen
Colton
I pull up to the curb and park the stolen car behind my Porsche. I managed to leave the parking lot and escape into the forest after seeing the cops drive off with Sara. I came out onto a road, walked a bit until I got to a warehouse parking lot and hot wired the first car that I reached.
I step out onto the street and pop the trunk of my car. I have everything that I need in here to disappear: a bag full of clothes, hair dye, loaded guns, a bag of cash and a handful of fake passports. Everything I need to start over somewhere else.
Everything I need but her.
I pick up a Holland passport and flip it open to the ID page. My face is staring back at me with Willem Janssen stenciled in block letters beside my head. I can move to Amsterdam and start over. I flip through a Canadian passport and see myself with blond hair and a bored expression. Michael Rivers.
I should pick one. There’s way too much heat on me here. I have to deal with the Russian Brotherhood, the cops, Carmen, and Ichiro, who I just let crawl away with his wretched life.
“You’re a survivor,” I remind myself.
I have enough money in the black bag in the back corner of the trunk to start a new life. Clean, dirty, whatever I want.
A survivor would leave. A survivor would never come back.
But deep down I know that I’m not going anywhere. Not without her anyway.
When Olivia was killed I thought my heart had died with her. I thought that love was out of my life forever. I filled it with cheap sex and loose women. And now after Sara, I know that I can never go back.
It hurts even more because I know that I can never have Sara. She’s too good to end up with someone like me. We had some fun, but a smart, pretty, law abiding citizen with a bright future will never end up with a low life murderer like me.
But still, I can’t let her die.
The gray duffel bag is heavy with clunking metal as I pull it out of the trunk. I take a look inside. There are enough guns and bullets to cause the local graveyard to overflow. And that’s good, because I’ll need them all.
An image of Sara tied up as the Russians draw straws to see who gets to violate her first puts a spring in my step. I grab my bag with a folded-up suit in it, change on the street, shut the trunk and jump in the driver’s seat.
I know where the Russian Bratva headquarters is located.
I know where they’re taking her.
But most importantly, I know that she is the one.
And I’m going to get her back.
sixteen
Sara
I’m tied up again with a blindfold over my head. At least this time I can breathe.
The cops, or whatever they are, blindfolded me after they covered my mouth with duct tape. I have no idea where I am.
I’m sitting on a chair in darkness trying to understand the Russian words coming out of their mouths. I only understand nyet, which doesn’t really help my case.
“Sara,” a soft voice says as fingers dig into the knot on the back of my blindfold. The cloth falls away from my eyes and I find myself in the back corner of a warehouse of some sort. There are boxes of cigarette cartons piled up to the high ceiling.
“I’m sorry for this inconvenience,” the soft voice says as the large man behind it walks around to my front. He’s dressed nicer than everyone else in a three piece suit complete with the pocket watch clipped to his vest with the thin gold chain leading into the inside pocket of his jacket. He’s wearing a purple tie and sunglasses, even though it’s already pretty dark in the place. He doesn’t look at me when he talks. “Can I get you anything?” he asks gently.
The driver of the cop car leans into the man’s ear and whispers something that makes him frown. “Are you trying to suffocate her?” he asks, pushing the cop away and shaking his head.
He brushes his sandpaper fingertips over my face and stops when he feels the duct tape over my mouth. “So rude,” he mumbles. “Please excuse me. This may sting.”
I stifle a scream as he rips the tape off my face. I glance at the tape in his hand to see if my lips are still on it. Fuck that hurt.
“Any damage?” he asks.
The cop with the bloodshot eyes leans down and examines my mouth. His coffee breath makes my stomach turn. I have an urge to spit on him but think that wouldn’t be wise. The man with the soft voice who appears to be blind seems to be nice at least.
“She’s fine boss,” the cop says pulling away.
“Good,” he says, nodding. “I have plans for those lips later.”
Maybe not.
My stomach curls and I realize how vulnerable I really am right now. I’ve always been surrounded by killers and thugs my whole life. I’ve been around the toughest of the tough but I’ve never been afraid. My father was the boss of them all and I knew none of them would touch me. I saw, that day in the pool, what happens to the people who cross my dad. His savage brutality kept me safe. But that is no help here.
For the first time in my life, I’m on my own.
“I’m Fedor,” the man says as he reaches out. I hold my breath and close my eyes as his rough, calloused hands brush down my face. His fingers linger on my lips and I feel revulsion at the taste of metal on them.
“You’re beautiful Sara,” he says, running his fingers through my hair like slithering snakes. He leans in and smells a handful of my curls.
I close my eyes and think of Colton. I try to ignore Fedor’s harsh cigar breath assaulting my nose, his unwelcome hands groping my hair. I focus on the tiny lines on the side of Colton’s mouth when he laughs, the soft way that he would look at me with smiling eyes and the peaceful look on his gorgeous face when he slept.
Fedor releases me and I open my eyes, keeping them low on his shiny shoes.
The cop with the mustache places a folding chair behind him and guides him down.
I don’t want to be here. My head is pounding and my mouth is dry. I’m nauseous and this man’s presence in front of me is making it worse.
“Look at me child,” he says as he takes his sunglasses off and tucks them into the little pocket on the front of his jacket.
I slowly lift my head and jerk my head back in surprise when I see what was hiding under his glasses. Long, vicious scars are seared across his eyes. His eyelids are sealed shut, fused together forever by the acid that must have burned them.
Fedor smiles. “Do you like your father’s handiwork?” he asks.
My shoulders drop. I knew my father murdered people and ruined lives but I never thought that he’d be capable of this. Capable of torture.
“It’s been over ten years since I had my last view of this world,” he says. “I wish I could say that it was of a naked lady but it was of your dad. He was holding up a pot of boiling battery acid.”
I try to claw at the rope tying my hands together but it’s too tight. I’m not going anywhere.
“I’ve been waiting a decade to get back at my old friend Carmen.” He reaches up and stroke
s his finger over my eyelids and a shiver slithers down my back. “I wonder what I can do?”
I yank my head away from his vile fingers. I wish my dad had finished off the job with this guy. Maybe I’m more like him than I thought.
“My dad is going to kill you if you touch me,” I yell, trying to sound braver than I feel. “You guys are the worst.”
He shakes his head. “We’re no different than your dad. Most would say that he is worse.”
I remember Colton’s story. How this man gave the order to kill his pregnant fiancee.
“You guys kill kids,” I say.
“Of our enemies, sure,” he says like it’s no big deal. “Your dad kills the wife and children of the men under his command.”
I open my mouth to answer but nothing comes out.
“Oh you didn’t know?” he asks with a chuckle. “About five years ago Carmen had a hitman under his employment. He was one of the best, if not the best, killer in the state. Maybe even the whole country. I hated that guy. He took out some of my best men.”
My stomach turns at what I hope isn’t coming next.
“This hitman,” he continues, “fell in love with a girl and knocked her up. He started to get sloppy. He was spending all of his time with her and he started to get…less motivated. And the boss didn’t like it. That’s when your daddy poached my best hitman, the famous Ninja Assassin, and brought him over to his organization. His first job was to kill the pregnant wife of the hitman under his employ.”
My heartbeat slows as he says the words that I know are true. The hitman was Colton. And my dad killed the only person he loved.
I have no reason to believe this psychopath holding me hostage but I do. Deep down I know that he’s telling the truth. As much as I don’t want to believe it, I know that my father is capable of this. I wouldn’t put anything past him. He was always such a piece of shit.
If I ever see him again I’ll put a bullet in his chest myself.
“That’s enough story hour,” Fedor says, standing up. The cop hands him his cane. “I’ll see you again after dinner.” He walks past me to the door, leaving me tied up to the chair.
“Nobody touches her,” he says to the two cops who brought me in. I sigh in relief.
“I’m going to be the first one,” he says. “I’m going to have princess for desert.”
seventeen
Colton
My hand is steady as the phone rings through my ear piece. That’s one thing about me. My hand is always steady. With all the messes that I get myself into I should be a nervous wreck but my hand never shakes.
The ringing of the phone cuts short and raspy breathing scratches my ear. “I’ve never been called by a dead man before,” Carmen says after a moment of silence.
“The police took Sara,” I say, cutting straight to the point. I have to get her back. Even if that means working with the man who’s put a hit on my head. “That means the Bratva have her.”
“Fuck!” he yells, away from the receiver as he smashes something loud. “Did you call to gloat?” He sounds out of breath. Carmen always sounds out of breath.
I squeeze the phone as I pull my car to the side of the road and kill the engine. “I’m going to save her.”
“Ichiro is on it,” Carmen barks. “Come back here now and we’ll work something out.”
Yeah like a bullet in the back of my head. How stupid does he think I am?
“I’m going,” I say. “I don’t care if you want me dead after but I’m going.”
I can hear his teeth grinding on the other line.
“Are you in love with her?” he asks in a hiss.
“I’m going Carmen and that’s final.”
I don’t know what these feelings are. I never thought that I could love another woman after Olivia died but Sara has definitely gotten under my skin. I know that she’s better off without me, and I’m willing to let her go, but first I have to see her safe.
“Listen to me you cocksucker,” Carmen screams. I yank my cell a good twelve inches away from my ear so my ear drum doesn’t burst. “I’d rather her be dead than end up with a man like you. She’s a Price! She’s going to grow up respected and admired. And I’ll die before I let her image be tainted by a killer for hire like you.”
“As you wish Carmen.”
“Is that a threat?” he asks. He smashes something else into pieces.
“I’ll bring her home,” I promise. “Just stay the fuck out of my way.”
“You don’t give me orders you coc-”
I hang up, imagining what he’s smashing now. I toss the phone in my glove compartment and pull out my key from the ignition. The Bratva headquarters is a couple of blocks away. I’ll go the rest of the way on foot.
As much as I hate for Carmen to succeed, he’ll get his wish. Sara is too good for me. She deserves better than a hitman. Better than a killer. I don’t want to ruin her life like I did Olivia’s. I’ll bring her home and then I’ll disappear.
Forever.
The warehouse is crawling with security. I rub my thumb over the tiny bumps on the handle of my gun and count. At least seven outside and by the number of luxury cars in the parking lot there must be at least two more dozen inside.
Thirty against one. It’s not a fair fight.
They don’t stand a chance.
I walk through the back alley to hook around and climb through a hole I spotted in the fence of the parking lot. I have no shortage of guns: A Beretta with a silencer screwed into the barrel in each hand, a Glock tucked into my pants behind my back and a Ruger strapped to my thigh.
My adrenaline spikes as I turn the corner and head to the fence. My senses heighten as I approach the warehouse. The feel of cold metal on my lower back, the sound of four guards laughing at the punchline of a joke, the smell of cigarettes and exhaust, all get my pulse racing. A wide grin spreads across my face at being so close to a kill.
I’ve never had so many targets in one night. It’s the ultimate test for the ultimate prize. And I’m definitely up for the challenge.
I duck through the hole in the fence and sprint from car to car, careful to keep out of sight of the guards who are fucking around and not paying attention. Carmen would pistol whip his men himself if they acted as undisciplined as these clowns.
The skinny one starts a new joke and the others turn in to listen. I run on the balls of my feet to the building, hitting the wall around the corner from them. I pause and listen for a break in conversation. He keeps telling the joke. They didn’t hear me.
“So the girl shows her tits and he says…” the guy says, way too loud. I could do this with my eyes closed. I check the two Berettas in my hand one last time as I wait for the punchline. When it comes I’m turning the corner and shooting. I hope it’s a funny one.
“And then the bartender says…” He pauses to build anticipation for the punchline. “We only have Boobwiser.”
Nothing but crickets.
Oh well. I turn the corner with my guns pointed forward.
“Come on guys,” the skinny one says to the confused faces. “Boobwiser.”
Their lives have been nothing but a joke. And I have the punchline right here.
I pull the triggers and bullets rip past the silencers on the end of my Glocks and fly through bone, blood and muscle and out the other side, taking the criminal’s pathetic lives with them.
The four bodies drop like stones. I don’t even bother to check their pulses. When I’m in the zone like this I don’t miss. Four shots. Four kills.
I spin and turn back around the corner, duck and aim my gun at the end of the wall on the opposite side. A guard walks around the building and I shoot him right in the chest. He crumples in on himself and collapses to the pavement. I aim the gun at his head in case there’s a sliver of him still alive that wants to make a sound.
There isn’t.
That’s five. Two more outside and who knows how many inside…
I hurry towards the dead body,
keeping a two feet distance from the wall. Movie stars always hug the wall when they’re walking through a hot zone but the real deals walk in the middle of a hallway. Stray bullets can ricochet off walls turning even missed bullets deadly.
I find the last two guards sharing a joint by the front door. I’m high on the thrill of a fresh kill and my pulse jacks at the sight of two new targets.
I crouch down behind the corner of the wall and aim for the heads poking out of the big cloud of thick smoke. Click, click, drop, drop.
My adrenaline spikes and I head for the door.
It’s time to get my girl.
eighteen
Sara
The lingerie is too small and digs into my skin like claws. I turn to the mirror and when I see my reflection I have to place my palm on the wall to keep myself up. My stomach heaves and I taste a bitter tang in my mouth. This can’t be happening.
“Let’s go,” a muffled voice says from outside the bathroom. He bangs on the door and I nearly have a panic attack.
They’re going to parade me through the building in a baby doll lingerie outfit and force me to spend the night with my father’s enemy.
“Let’s go!” the voice outside yells louder this time.
I have pink panties on that barely cover my ass and a short, see-through nightgown that begins with a clasp at my bust and floats away from my exposed body. The lace bra barely covers my nipples. I have never felt so exposed in my life.
The door opens and a man with a tattoo of a tear on his cheek yanks me out. “I said five minutes,” he says with a snarl. His disgusting face curls up into a smile as his vile eyes trespass over my body. “The boss is going to like you.”
It feels like I have tiny insects crawling all over my skin. I flinch and cringe away from him but he grabs my arm and yanks me forward. I hold back a whine as his steel grip digs into my soft flesh.
The Hitman's Baby: A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Novel Page 11