Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman)

by Nicole Fox

  The officer pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a quick call. “We’re down here.”

  I could make a break for it. I’m faster than this guy is, and he wouldn’t see it coming. I could maybe get a few seconds of a head start. But where would I go? There’s nobody around to help. I’d be running for miles, and he has a car. He’d be able to catch me without even breaking a sweat.

  The officer’s head tilts back, and I follow his gaze. Upstairs, there’s an office with a massive window. Everyone else in this warehouse is dressed casually, but the man that I catch a glimpse of up there seems to be dressed to the nines. He opens the door to the office and crosses the catwalk down to the stairs.

  As he approaches, I get a better look at him. I know him immediately. He looks so different in person, but exactly the same. Piercing brown eyes that look dark enough to be jet black. A large, straight nose. Facial hair that’s perfectly trimmed. Even his suit is tailored to perfection, his jacket and the top three buttons on his white dress shirt unbuttoned stylishly.

  “Well look who it is,” he says. His voice is like silk, but I know what he’s really about. I know the kind of man he is.

  I don’t reply. I glare at him instead.

  “She’s not so talkative,” the officer smirks.

  “That’s okay,” Konstantin says. He steps closer and tilts my head up by my chin. “We’ll get her to talk soon enough.”

  I jerk my head to the side, shivers running through me. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d take a bite out of him.

  “Take her up to one of the back rooms,” he says. And just like that, he turns his attention to something else. Something more important.

  I fantasize about rushing him. In some sick way, I want his attention again. I deserve his attention, after everything he did to my family. But instead, he crosses the room to talk to others, tossing me aside like I don’t matter.

  The officer drags me through the building, leading me through corridor after corridor. This place is huge; far bigger than it looks on the outside. Finally, he shoves me into a room and I hear him lock the door behind him.

  There’s not much in here. A dusty table with a chair on either side of it. A few boxes. In the corner, a pile of rags and clothes that look like they’ve been there for years. And on one side of the wall, something brown and crusty looks caked onto the cement. I can only imagine what that is.

  I take a seat on the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest and pressing my forehead against them.

  A few minutes pass and the door opens again, only this time it isn’t the officer or another one of Konstantin’s goons.

  It’s him.

  “You’ve certainly grown up, Lucy,” he says, chuckling. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you. Must’ve been more than fifteen years ago, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Normally, I’d become reacquainted on better terms, but I’ve heard about what you and your little boyfriend have been planning.” He says it like a schoolteacher, with an air of superiority, as if he’s talking to a child.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” He tilts his head and smiles humorlessly. “I don’t know whether I should feel insulted or honored. Honored because I ended up on both Roman’s and your hitlist. Insulted that either of you thought you could touch me.”

  He crosses the room and takes a seat at the table. “Did you really think you were going to get away with this, Lucy? Be honest.”

  I swallow down the rage and anger at his condescension. “I thought maybe I’d have a little bit of your luck and get away with murder, yes.”

  He nods slowly. “So, this is about what I think it is.”

  “If you think it’s about you killing my parents, then ding, ding, ding.” The bitterness drips from my words. I can’t hold it back like my rage. It’s already taking every last bit of control not to lose my entire fucking mind.

  “You’re going to have to remind me. Who were they again?”

  His brevity is a slap in the face. He knows who they are. He has to remember. He just wants to make me say it, to pretend like they didn’t matter to him in the slightest. “Roger and Evelyn Walker.”

  “Ahh,” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I remember the Walkers now. They were the first case I ever beat. You know, I thought it would be harder to get out of that scot-free. I guess I’m just lucky you weren’t in the house. A dead kid on my hands would’ve been a nightmare. Thankfully, it was just your mommy and daddy that died.”

  He’s rubbing salt in every wound I have, trying to get under my skin. He wants this to hurt more than it already does. He wants me to suffer before he finally decides to kill me. I refuse to give him any kind of outburst.

  “I used to think you were my boogeyman,” I say calmly.

  “Am I not?”

  “No.” I let out a small laugh. “No, you’re not as scary as I imagined. You were scarier in my nightmares. Downright terrifying. But right now, you’re just a pathetic psychopath in an ugly suit. You’re a coward that has everyone else do his work for him. The people I really should’ve been afraid of are your lawyers and lackeys. They’re the ones that do all the important work.”

  My words dig at him. I can see that perfect blasé exterior of his crack for just a second, and I soak up every drop of his offense. Fuck him. Fuck his stupid, smarmy face. He knows my weakness, but now I know his. His insecurity.

  “Are you going to have one of your little henchmen kill me, Abram?” He seems surprised that I would call him by his first name. “I’ve spent my entire life planning how I’d kill you, and I’d be terribly insulted if you passed the job off to someone else. Are you too much of a pussy to actually get your hands dirty?”

  Konstantin stands up and stalks towards me, grabbing me by the chin. I feel my heart twist, but I can only laugh in his face. “You really think I’d kill you, Lucy?” he asks. He brushes a strand of hair from my face and drags his fingertip down my jawline, tracing it.

  “Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  “No, no, sweet girl,” he purrs. “I brought you here so that I could get Roman. I don’t have any plans for your death. You’re much more useful to me...” he trails off for a moment as he looks up and down my body, drinking in my curves and my exposed skin with greedy eyes, before he finishes: “...alive.”

  I shudder. “What?”

  “You look shocked to hear that,” he grins. “He’s on his way right now. All I had to do was tell him where you were and he came running. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute now. And when he does arrive, I’ll bring him in here and let you watch as I slit his throat. You’ll get a front-row seat. Right in the splash zone.”

  The mental image makes my blood run cold.

  “Fuck you.” I haul back and spit in his face.

  He recoils and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. With a quick swipe, he cleans his cheek. “Keep fighting me,” he says in a low, controlled voice. “It’ll only make it that more fun when I make you mine. You’ll wish I’d slit your throat too.”

  He leaves without another word, slamming the door behind him. The second he’s gone, I press my head against my knees. This is worse than I ever imagined. I was stupid enough to think a man like Konstantin would simply kill me and not keep me around for more sadistic purposes. He would never give me a way out like that.

  The fight in me almost burns out, but I can’t give up.

  I wipe my face on my knees and force myself to stand up. There has to be some way out of here. Something I can use to protect myself. I look around the room, desperate for a solution to this problem. In the corner with all the boxes, I start looking around, twisting my arms at an odd angle so I can open them.

  The first few don’t provide anything useful, but in the fourth one, I find a box knife. My heart races, and I snatch it up.

  “Yes,” I whisper, nearly crying again. Quickly, I slide up the blade in the tool and put it against the pl
astic binding around my wrists. My hands cramp as I drag the knife up and down, but I can feel it start to cut through the plastic.

  Footsteps approach.

  In a panic, I close the blade and hurry back to where I was sitting. I press my face to my knees again, just like Konstantin last saw me. A moment later, the door opens, and he enters the room again.

  “Back so soon?” I ask bitterly.

  “Do you really think I’m that much of an idiot, Lucy?”

  “What?”

  He approaches slowly, leisurely, and puts his hand out in front of me. I stare at it, swallowing hard. If I play stupid, maybe he’ll leave me alone.

  “I can’t exactly give you a high five right now,” I mutter.

  His amused expression fades away, replaced with a stone-cold glare. “Give me the fucking knife, Lucy.”

  “I ...” How could he possibly know?

  “Now.” Reluctantly, I drop the knife. I know there’s no point in trying to stab him. That’ll just get me killed even faster. Konstantin bends down and grabs it, putting it in his pocket. “Did you really think you were going to get away that easily?” he asks, once again on the verge of laughing.

  He turns and points to the top corner of the room. There, I see a small red light. “That’s a camera,” he explains. “I’m impressed, Lucy. I thought you’d given up all hope, but then that annoying fighting spirit came back again. I’m going to enjoy squashing that out.”

  Konstantin squats down and grabs me by the chin again, forcing me to look at him. “Get off me,” I growl.

  “But this is so much fun, no? You’ll always be the prey, little mouse. I’ll always be the cat. You had years to move on and couldn’t. I’ll always be chasing you, even in your memories. Even in your dreams.”

  The worst part is that he’s right. Even when I was younger, he was always the one thing that haunted me. The one memory that chased me everywhere I went. For a moment there, working with Roman, I fooled myself into thinking that we were the cat, but I now see clearly. That role will always be Konstantin’s.

  He pats my cheek softly and traces his fingers over my lips. “Don’t look so sad, Lucy. We’ll have so much fun once I finish with Roman.” He stands, adjusts his suit jacket, and heads to the door.

  This time when I’m alone, I don’t stop crying.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Roman

  The closer I get, the stiller the night feels. It’s eerie, like all the animals know I’m coming. Like they’ve run for cover before anyone else. I turn off my headlights as I approach, slowing the car to a creep. There are all kinds of vehicles parked outside. This place is busy.

  Keeping as quiet as I can, I park the car dozens of yards away from anyone else, behind a collection of trees. I reach into the back and grab an assault rifle. When I step out, I’m careful not to slam the door. I sling the gun over my arm with the strap and approach the warehouse.

  Three men are outside, two talking while the other smokes. I weigh my options. It’s probably best to go for stealth, at least right now. If I go in guns blazing, they’ll have time to prepare themselves. I glance at a beer bottle lying the ground.

  Scooping it up, I throw it a few feet away, hard enough to shatter. That gets their attention immediately.

  “What the fuck was that?” the one of them in a hat asks.

  The one with the shaggy beard shrugs. “No clue.”

  “Go look, dumbass.”

  “Why can’t you look?” Beard asks, insulted.

  “Because I told you to. Now go fucking look.”

  Muttering angrily to himself, Beard marches down to the corner of the wall. He barely registers the shattered glass before I grab him by the throat and spin him around, slamming him into the wall. The wind is knocked out of him and he gasps, unable to yell for help.

  I pull a silenced pistol from beneath my shirt and place the barrel in his mouth, firing once. He slumps instantly. I drag him further away from this side of the building, around to the back. It’s less visible there. Less of a chance someone might find him and alert the others.

  Just as I make it back, someone turns the corner. The one with the cap on.

  “What the fuck?” he says suddenly. He glances at the blood on the wall and makes a move for his gun. Lightning quick, I grab his wrist and twist hard, snapping it easily. His lips open and he starts to scream when I cup his mouth with one hand and grab the back of his head with the other. I tug his face towards my knee. There’s a sick crunch. Before he has another chance to call for help, I wrap my arm around his neck and pull him close to me, squeezing the breath from his neck. He struggles, writhing and squirming, but the trauma to his nose and wrist are too much. We stand like that for much longer than I’d like. I only let him go when he’s fully dead.

  I grab him and drag him back to where I left Beard. When I return for the other, I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe he went back inside after he finished his smoke. I hurry across the parking lot, ducking behind cars. Now directly across from the massive doors, I can see everyone inside the warehouse. There have to be at least ten of them, each doing something different.

  Some of them cut and package coke. Others are lining guns up on the table. Konstantin really has the crime boss thing down pat. I grimace. This isn’t going to be easy at all. If anything, it’ll take time to lure them out one by one. The quickest way would be to—

  A bullet hole appears right next to the car, inches from my head. I spin around and draw my pistol to see the third man standing behind me. Before he can get another shot off, I fire two bullets into his chest and one through his head. He stumbles forward, firing once more. It’s way off.

  A second later, he collapses.

  My heart pounds in my ears. He could’ve ended me right fucking there. It takes a few seconds for me to catch my breath. When I turn around, my stomach sinks. They heard the gunshots, obviously.

  “What the hell is going on out there?”

  “I don’t know, but some shit is going down.”

  “Get out there and look!”

  They come pouring out of the building like a tiny militia, guns drawn.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. I slip the pistol back into my holster and grab the rifle, steadying it in my hands. It’s now or never. I remind myself what has to happen. No matter what, I have to stop Konstantin and get Lucy away from him. Nothing else matters besides those two things.

  I pop up from behind the car and aim for the man closest to me. Five, six, seven shots land in him, from his hips and legs to his chest and shoulders. He screams and falls backwards.

  Three of them turn their guns and I duck behind the car just as they fire. The clanking of bullets on metal echoes in my head. I dodge and move behind another car, breathing hard. When I stand again, I get another round of shots off, hitting two of them.

  “Fuck!” one shouts. He raises his gun and shoots, just barely missing.

  “Kill the motherfucker. Get him!”

  They duck behind cars as well, realizing that I’m not fucking around. It’s a game, a dance. I move behind their cars, peeking out to get a look at where they all are. One steps too far out from behind an SUV and I put two bullets into his knee.

  “Shit!” he cries, falling forward. I empty the rest of the clip into him, watching as he dies. Then I duck down and toss the gun to the side. Should’ve brought two.

  Out of the corner of my eye, in the reflection of the side mirror of the car I’m hiding behind, I see a man rushing towards me with a knife. I roll out of the way and grab the hand with the knife, twisting it until he lets go.

  I manage to catch it with my other hand just as his punch connects with my head. The world tilts for a second, but I blink rapidly, trying to regain my composure. His second punch hits just as hard.

  I can’t see where he is, but I can feel him. I throw all my weight into him, pinning his body between me and the car. He tries for another punch but I twist out of the way, bringing the knife down into his chest over
and over again. I don’t stop until my hands are covered in his blood and his body goes limp.

  My jaw aches from gritting my teeth.

  I’m fucking sick of this.

  I pull the backpack around and grab two of the flash grenades. I don’t know how many men are left, but two are near the first few cars between me and the warehouse doors. I tear the pins from both grenades and hold them for a second. When the time is right, I roll them under the cars and turn to cover my ears.

  There’s a deafening bang and I hear the guys cry out in pain.

  Adrenaline kicks in. They stand, coughing and blindly fumbling, and that’s when I rush in. With just the knife and the gun, I take them down, slicing and shooting, like an out-of-body experience.

  They’re dead within seconds.

  The night is quiet. I know that’s not everyone, but it feels as silent as it did when I first arrived. Cautiously, I grab one of the shotguns off a dead man and creep to the door. I toss another flash grenade into the room. It explodes, but no one cries out or begins stumbling around. The first floor must be cleared entirely. Gun drawn, I inch through the warehouse on high alert.

  I’m expecting someone to pop out at any moment. My finger hovers over the shotgun’s trigger, just begging to pull. I start for the stairs when I hear footsteps approaching me from behind. I swing the gun around to shoot and she catches it, aiming it to the sky just as I fire.

  Her leg comes out of nowhere, slamming against my exposed side. I stumble to my left but manage to grab hold of the leg, spinning her around and knocking her off balance. She tumbles to the floor in a heap.

  Shit.

  I don’t know why I didn’t expect a few women to work for him. Everything in me says that I should stick to my rules. I don’t kill women. I don’t hurt women. But she brushes her dark black hair from her face and glares up at me with the look of murder in her eyes and I know that she’s not going to go down without a fight.

  She throws herself from the floor into me, knocking me up against the wall. I see something glint off the light before she arcs her arm down. I dodge the blade just before it sinks into the drywall behind me.