I walk a few paces away to the most open area of the hall, there I hold out my arms, put my feet apart a bit as the man moves in, patting his big, grubby hands over me. Every second is torture and reminds me of what Mikhail really saved me from, but I don’t even quiver.
How am I handling this so well? Even as he cops a feel of my ass, just to show to me he can get away with it or put me on edge, I don’t sway. He’s going to get his, and soon.
The whole time, my heart is beating faster than it ever had before. No marathon can tax that muscle as hard as it is now. But I never show it. I kept my cool, my face stony and calm.
The thug who frisked me merely rises up and backs away without a word, opening the double-doors for his boss. Gregorovich.
The man who wanted me—wants me—tortured and killed. The man who made it so that I have nightmares of blood.
The man who gave me Mikhail.
It’s a twisted emotion, to loathe someone and yet be grateful for how all their horribleness opened me up to so many amazing things.
Yet this is my first time ever seeing him, and he’s not at all what I expect. He might even be handsome and charming, if he weren’t grinning at me deviously, the mastermind of all my pain and fears.
And he didn’t come with Nikki.
“Very brave of you to come all this way alone,” he says to me in his Russian accent. “Or is your little boyfriend around here somewhere?” he asks, making an act of looking around, as if Mikhail were some imp hiding behind one of the fancy tables lining the hall.
“I’m not going to let an innocent woman take my place, no matter what Mikhail wants,” I say firmly and with conviction. It surprises Gregorovich a little, but not much. He’s leering again in no time in that ivory colored suit of his, one hand in his pocket. No doubt grasping a gun.
“How noble. But I don’t think that dyke is as innocent as you believe,” he says, and I take back everything I said about him. He’s a creepy, greasy piece of shit, and no one could ever find him attractive after more than a few moments with him. “You don’t hang around bad men for that long without being a little bad yourself, hm?”
I want to hit him, then and there.
“If you let her walk on out of here now, I’ll come with you inside. That’s a fair offer. And a no-brainer,” I say firmly, sticking my chin up as I stand there in my blue dress. “I’m the one you want, after all.”
He stares at me a while, and I can almost see the nasty thoughts playing out in his head being broadcast through his eyes like projectors at a theater. It’s enough to make me feel like I need a long, scalding shower.
“I could just have you both right now, what would stop me?” he says.
“Why would you want to bother?” I counter. “This is much easier. Fewer chances of being caught,” I say, gesturing to a camera in the corner.
That really gets him, because he grins so wide it almost looks genuine. Mikhail says that’s how you know this creep is on the ropes. When he really pours on the deceit.
“Very well,” he says, then speaks into his own communicator. “Bring her out.”
We wait a moment, staring at one another. But when she doesn’t immediately appear, he grows quickly anxious and turns to the door, cursing into his mic. “What’s the hold up? Is that dyke struggling again?”
“That word is fucking gross...” I hiss under my breath, unable to contain my annoyance at him for a second. Which was dumb of me, I know—it drew attention back to me when I least needed it.
When I was pulling the sharp blade from my hair, used like a hair stick pin.
He turns to mock me just as the lights go out all around us, and I plunge the pointed tip at him.
I’m blind, he’s blind, everything is impenetrable blackness but for the lights of the city outside through the windows at the end of the hall. But I know I hit him, I could feel the dagger plunge in.
“Piz’da!” he cries out, and he lashes out at me. I take a blow to the side of my head that knocks me aside, but it’s nothing serious. I stumble in the dark and my eyes focus enough to make out his silhouette. And most noticeably, the dagger stuck through the palm of his one hand.
My disgust with his name-calling had given him time to raise his hand in defense. But I’m not sure that this was a better result for him than my original target anyhow.
The door to Gregor’s room opens, and in the inky blackness, the man I just stabbed raises his gun and fires into the nothingness wildly. The second pointed dagger in my hair had fallen to the floor when I pulled out the first, but keeping my cool, I use Gregor’s distraction to fumble on the carpet for it.
It’s easier said than done, and just as I find it, he turns his attention back to me.
“Piz’da!” he says again, but from out of the darkness looms Mikhail’s wraith-like shadow once more. And he puts a bullet through Gregor’s unwounded hand, making him cry out as his gun clatters to the floor. He screams in pain.
It’s my moment. That shot of Mikhail’s wasn’t a miss, he was giving me my opportunity. And I intend to use it.
Grasping the thin stiletto dagger in my hand, I jerk it up at him, stabbing it into his inner thigh. Then again I thrust it, this time piercing his groin. Then again. And again. Until the larger man falls over, and I climb atop him.
From that vantage point I can see the glint of fear in his eyes, as the city lights cast inwards, and I know we have the floor to ourselves. Mikhail never fails, and the way he confidently stands behind me indicates he did his job well and used all the time I bought him to eliminate Gregor’s goons.
“Take your life back,” Mikhail says to me in his deep husk. “It’s your choice how.” And he rests his hand upon my shoulder reassuringly.
We talked about it briefly when planning this.
I’ve shot men before, twice now. Even killed one myself. But that was self-defense. Strict and simple. A life to save a life in the moment. Stabbing a wounded man to death as my lover steps on his arm and pins him down, however…
That’s a choice. A dark choice.
A choice about what type of woman I want to be, or could be.
I’ve maimed him, and I’ve made him suffer for what he’s done to me and Mikhail and Eva and Nikki, for all the collateral damage that he’s accumulated in what Mikhail told me was an unsanctioned power play.
None of this should have happened, and none of it would have happened, if not for Gregorovich, this disgusting creep beneath me.
But I’m not Mikhail. I know what needs to be done, but I can’t be the one to do it.
He must sense me wavering, because his hand squeezes my shoulder in a reassuring manner. “It’s okay.”
He helps me up, and Gregor lays there, looking confused.
“Now wh-” he starts to say, but the sound of Mikhail’s gun firing a muffled shot through its silencer ends him before he can finish his question.
Gregor can’t live. Too many people would suffer and die if he did. But Mikhail will shoulder that burden for me.
“Let’s go,” he says, picking my coat up off the floor and draping it around my blood spattered dress as Nikki emerges from the room, looking skittish and scared.
“It’s all over now,” I assure her.
23
Alicia
Three Years Later
It’s the anniversary of the night that Mikhail and I met, three years ago now. We never really celebrate it, it’d feel crass to do so, but we always take note of it and do something a little special. I’m not sure what Mikhail has in mind for me this year, though. He’s been so busy after taking over for Gregorovich as Avtoritet. But then, I’ve been busy too.
Leon bops in my lap, our oldest son, named after Mikhail’s brother. Already two and growing like a weed. Having two kids makes it a bit hard to concentrate on managing all of Mikhail’s financial records, but I like being involved in his business. And out of danger. Besides, he says I’m the one person he can trust.
I glance out over at Ce
ntral Park, spread out before me from our beautiful condo. It’s a place bigger than I ever could have dreamed I’d live in, but with the two kids, plus mom and Hernando, it’s just perfect. Plenty of privacy and space, and the best location, right in the center of everything. It’s a commute for Mikhail, of course, but he wanted to keep his growing family somewhere safe. And in New York, safe means ritzy.
“Mommy, walk,” Leon says, squirming down from my lap and rushing to Eva’s playpen. He’s a bright kid, and I blame that on his dad. Mikhail has been reading to him every night since before he was even born, I guess trying to be the father he never had. Regardless of his reasons, I couldn’t be more proud of our little family.
“How about nan takes you for your walk,” I say as I pick Eva up, bringing her down the hall. My mom has recovered a lot since meeting Hernando, and the doctors have said it’s a miracle, but I know what it actually is. He’s given her purpose again, never treated her like an old lady knocking on death’s door. After dad died, I guess she lost a lot of that spark, but Hernando has lit her back up.
“Oh my little Eva!” Mom says as she comes to collect my baby from my arms.
“Could you take her and Leon for a little walk in Central Park? Mikhail is due home soon, and I have a little surprise for him.”
My mom laughs, bouncing Eva in her arms as she nods.
“Of course, sweet peach. We’ll get out of your hair for a bit!” She kisses me on the cheek before she quickly gathers the children and leaves me to the silence.
It’s funny, living so high above the bustle of New York, away from the crowds and the noise. Mikhail splurged on this place, most of his savings gone into securing the best condo he could find, our little castle from which to rule. But as a boss in the Bratva, the millions he spent on this place seem like peanuts. I should know, I do the books.
I head into our bedroom, changing out of my more comfortable clothes into a slinky red dress that looks similar to the one that Mikhail first found me in, and I tie my hair back, letting a couple tendrils frame my face. I’m used to dressing up fancy now, and it doesn’t take a lot of time to put on my makeup and the finishing touches.
By the time I finish, though, I hear the door unlocking. Even after all this time, I find my hand going to the gun hidden in my vanity, instincts kicking in before I hear Mikhail’s voice. He knows better than to surprise me after trying that once on our wedding night and finding me with a gun in my hands pointed at his chest.
“You’re home,” I smile as I head into the living room to greet him.
His face lights up with warmth as we greet, and the beautiful bouquet of flowers he whips out from behind his back helps. The assortment was carefully picked, including several white gardenias, the flowers I’d begged for at our wedding. I didn’t care about anything else, but gardenias were my dad and mom’s wedding flower, and he got her one every anniversary. Now the tradition has been passed down.
“I stopped off for these, kotika,” he says, and simple acts like that I know are far more troublesome now. He has a small army of guards with him wherever he goes. Though none of that keeps him from being sweet to me, like how he’s sweeping me up in his arm and pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss.
The fire between us hasn’t dimmed at all as we make out, and before our greeting can be completed, my beautiful new flowers are fallen to the floor despite my best efforts, my red dress is crumpled beside it, and I am glistening with perspiration with my stunning, muscular hunk on top of me.
“It tortures me the whole day through to have to wait to ravage you,” he growls, plucking another kiss from my lips in our post-coital bliss.
I curl into him, knowing my hair and makeup is a mess, but I don’t care. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment as my mouth meets his, slower and lazier. I want to remember this moment, the light scent of flowers filling my senses, the feel of his heavy hands on my waist.
Then I lightly rub the back of his hand, guiding it lower, towards my navel, and I catch his eyes.
“I have good news,” I say, unable to resist smiling. My love was so virile and potent, we never needed to wait long for a new life to begin within me.
His face lights up just like it did the first time I told him I was expecting.
“Boy or girl, I hope this one is as amazing as you, my love. My life,” he says, overjoyed with the prospect of being a father the third time over.
Glossary
Avtoritet - The Authority, the Boss
Kotika - Kitty cat
Nichego - Nothing
Klyanus - I swear
Zasranec - Asshole
Da, da, moy drug - Yes yes, my friend
Podruga - Girlfriend
Politsiya - Police
Khorosho - Alright
Devushka - Girl
Sotrudnik - Officer
Mudak - Asshole/dickhead
Chert voz’mi - Damn it
Byet ostorozhen - Carefully
Zatk’nis, mu’dak - Dumb asshole
Pidarasy - vacation
Vy prekrasny - Beautiful
Obeshchayu - I promise
Ne volnuytes, kroshka - It’s okay, baby
Ochyen priyatno, sestra - Nice to meet you, sister
Moy brat - My brother
Bratishka - Little brother
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
Stolen from the Hitman
Description
I was supposed to protect her. Now, I'll kill the men who took her.
I’m leaving my dark past behind me, where it belongs, and it seems like fate has finally smiled on me when she comes into my life.
Innocent, pure, and with a bright future ahead of her, she’s the girl I always wanted and never deserved.
Then, those scumbags steal her right from under of my nose.
But they don’t know who I am, or the lives I’ve taken. They’re out to make some quick cash by selling a pure bride, and there’s no way I’m going to let that happen. Not to her.
I have to risk everything to save her.
Then, I’ll try to win her heart and make her mine.
A full length Standalone Romantic Suspense novel. No Cliffhangers. Safe from cheating. Explicit language & swearing.
Prologue
I step out of the black sedan and into the midnight rain that’s drenching all of Paris tonight. The raindrops roll down my black leather jacket, trailing down my gloved hands to trickle in thin drops onto the dark cobblestone of the streets beneath my feet.
It’s past midnight, and most people are already either sleeping or shuffling out of the bars to get ready for the next day’s drudgery in the city of lights.
The apartment building in front of me is an upscale kind of place, not unusual for some of the city’s wealthier residents. The stone on the outside might have been white once, but it is now faded, the lion statues near the entrance having lost their bite long ago. As I step towards the door and swipe the cardkey, the glass doors open for me, and I make my way in swiftly, my weapon low at my side.
I pull my collar up and keep my gaze down as I make my way to the stairs leading below ground level. I have one stop to make before seeing to the main event for tonight. A short flight of stairs brings me to a door, and I can hear a television playing behind it. Raising a fist, I pound on the door.
“What?” comes the superintendent's surly French voice from within the room. I wait a moment before pounding on the door again, a little more demanding this time. I hear an angry groan from the other side before footsteps approach the door. “If
the internet is out again, it can wait for the morning,” he says as he opens the door, but his eyes widen at the sight of me for only an instant before I’m upon him with a cloth to his mouth and nose, his whole body seizing up as he draws a sharp breath before slipping into unconsciousness.
Closing the door behind me, I carry the limp body back to the chair he’d been sitting in. There are reruns of old football matches playing on the television, giving me a backdrop while I shuffle through the man’s belongings, knowing I only have a small window of time to find what I’m after.
In another few seconds, I discover the apartment master key sitting under a soiled napkin, and I take it, leaving the room as swiftly and silently as a phantom.
My footsteps make little noise as I ascend the staircase, key clenched in my hand. The stairs go in a spiral up the side of the building, and a glass pane window gives me a full view of the world outside as I move.
As I near the top floor, my gaze glances out over the cityscape to my right, and the soft glow of the remaining city lights hover over the Parisian skyline like a corona. I slow my steps for just a moment, my cold gaze pausing to appreciate the tarnished jewel of Europe before I pick up my pace again.
The soft glow of the city lights have only an instant to shine on a glint of metal on the silenced-pistol I’m drawing from my jacket pocket.
I soften my steps to near-silence as I reach the top floor, a wide and polished foyer leading to a single ornate door with a large man posted outside it, his arms folded as he thumbs through a dirty magazine.
He has time only to raise his head while I raise my pistol. When he crumples to the ground a second later, I wonder if he even had time for fear to swell up in his heart. His is the only life I might have had a shred of remorse for taking tonight, if I hadn’t hardened my heart to such business long, long ago.
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 52