Captive of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel (15 page)

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.

I
t’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 Central 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.

* * *

T
hank
you so much for reading my new release. Sign up for
my newsletter
for future releases, deals, and information. If you want to find out more about Leon and Cherry, check out
Saved by the Outlaw
.

A
vtoritet
- 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

T
his copy
of Captive of the Hitman includes a free bonus book, Ruthless! I hope you enjoy this one just as much :)

T
he last person
in the world I ever expected to hear from again is my wicked witch of a step-mother.

Yet here I am, sitting in her fancy office’s reception area, flipping through a magazine as I keep eyeing the receptionist who promised me for the tenth time that Rebecca will be right with me.

My legs are covered with goosebumps; the summer heat outside is sticky and damp, so I dressed light in a skirt and a tank-top, but now that I’m in her office building, I feel like I’m stuck in an icebox. My nipples press against my bra uncomfortably, and I’m trying not to shiver.

I have to appear strong, Confident. All the things I’m not.

I don’t even know why I agreed to meet her.

Curiosity, I guess. My dad always said that’d be my downfall, that I can’t ever let anything go no matter how much I should.

No, I know the real reason. Because she’s my link to Dimitri.

My step-brother.

The man who I looked up to most in the world, and who ditched me just as fast as his mother.

He broke my heart, and now Rebecca’s opened the wounds again. I tried to ignore her message on my phone, but every time I came close, I thought of Dimitri’s dark eyes filled with devilish glee.

I remember that last night we spent together before my life came crumbling down around me.

The magazine in my hands is filled with glossy pages of fashion and people who don’t look like themselves. I don’t understand that. Why bother hiring a famous celebrity for a photoshoot if they’re just going to manipulate the lighting and the makeup to the point she doesn’t look like herself?

It’s the type of things that bored women pay to do, to live as someone else for a little while. Not celebrities being
paid
to do it.

I roll my eyes and glance up at the receptionist again who gives me a smile tighter than her bun. I feel kind of bad for her, honestly. If Rebecca is a boss like she was a mother? Then she’s colder than ice, and crueler than Cruella.

How long have I been waiting?

I glance at my watch, and my lip twitches. She’s kept me here for over fifty minutes after insisting I come. I throw the magazine to the side with a huff and fold my arms beneath my chest. She hasn’t changed at all. Not even a little, since she kicked me out with nowhere to go and not a cent to my name.

From a mansion to the street in one night. I know, poor little rich girl, right?

Well I’m not rich anymore, and I don’t want pity. For the past two years, I’ve been building up a life for myself. Something I’m proud of.

Something she can’t take from me.

The clicking on the floor of stiletto heels draws me back from my stupor.

“Sarah, darling!” Rebecca exclaims with that mild, Russian accent, as if there were nothing wrong between us.

I glance up at her, and my expression goes sour. She looks even better than I remember. I suppose good plastic surgery isn't so much a luxury of the rich as a necessity, and her blonde hair is pulled back to reveal her sharp cheeks and button nose. She looks younger than her forty-five years by at least a decade, and I'm instantly jealous.

My platinum hair tickles my cheeks, and I lift my thrift-store purse to my shoulder as I move to her, coolly.

Don't let her rattle you,
I plead with myself, trying to exude casual calm that I certainly don't feel inside. Inside, I'm terrified. This woman is a viper, and she'll chew me up and spit me out with no more thought than most people give to what they eat for breakfast.

She puts her hand on my shoulder and I can feel her glancing there, noticing the wings between my shoulder blades, the black ink a bit faded over the years. I was only seventeen when I got it, but I don't regret it, and I won't let her make me regret it.

I won't let her control me. I just came as a courtesy to my father. It's what he would've wanted, and regardless of the path he went down when he was alive, I owe it to his memory to try to be a better person.

Her office, though, makes me want to be anything but a better person. It's bigger than the entire building I work out of, which barely makes sense. Who needs a penthouse suite as an office? There's a bar over on the far end, a meeting table and couches and chairs littering the room, but she leads me to her desk and an uncomfortable chair that I have to wonder if it was brought in just for me to sit on.

I take a seat across from her as she smiles at me placidly. It's a strange look to her face, like resentment barely hidden by a veil of civility and good manners.

She simply stares at me in silence and I'm forced to speak.

"You're looking well," I say, my tone flat and displeased.

She calls me all the way to Manhattan to make me squirm? Well I'm not going to squirm. I might not have had an easy time of it the past two years, but I worked hard for everything I have and I won't let her take my pride away.

"Thank you," she says cordially, not returning the compliment as she smiles.

And then, it's like she remembers herself. Remembers the fact that she asked me to meet with her, and that she had something she clearly wanted of me. What that something is, I haven't the foggiest idea, but it seems to wipe the resentment from her expression and she looks nearly desperate.

"Sarah, darling, I won't waste any more of your time than I have to. You remember my son, Dimitri?"

I stare at her as if she's just said the stupidest thing, and honestly, she has. He's been my step-brother for seven years, and I lived with him for four. After my father passed away, he was the only real man I had in my life, and even though he's three years older than me, we were close as siblings.

Until she stole him away from me.

My eye twitches as I nod my head.

"Good, good!" she exclaims, her smile so phony I want to smack it off her face.

"Are you two still in contact?"

Again, another stupid question.

"No. Not since you ensured I’d be getting a dose of homelessness for my eighteenth birthday," I reply with a sneer, and her eyes narrow at me.

Whatever it is she has me here for, though, must be important. I've seen her lose her cool over much less than that, and I can tell from the way she's tightening her fists that she's pissed at me. But she doesn't say anything, just staring at me with that angry expression.

"Well, good," she says coldly before trying to soften the blow with a smile, "because I have a task for you and it's better if you remain... unattached."

"A task?" I can't help the curiosity eking into my voice. What’s she want from me, and what does Dimitri have to do with any of it?

Her smile broadens at my interest and she nods.

"Mmm, yes. I've heard from my sources that you work at Upstream Co. as a... receptionist or some sort?"

What the hell? Has she been stalking me? How does she know where I work? Since she kicked me out, I haven't heard from her or thought of her since. The only reason she was even able to get ahold of me is that I didn't get rid of my old cell phone. It has a voice mail my dad left me and I didn't want to lose that. Surprise, surprise when I found a new call from her, though.

"How did you know that?"

She sweeps off my concerns with a bat of her hand and a venomous smile.

"Oh, don't worry about that."

"Well your
sources
are wrong. I'm a bookkeeper."

She rolls her eyes at that too, though part of me gets the feeling that she knew that and was just testing my reaction.

"Regardless of what it is you do there, I have something more important for you, and something I'm willing to pay for. Lord knows if this wasn't dire you wouldn't be here today," she says with another sneer marring her puffed up lips.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and with it I stand to leave.

"I'm not going to sit here and be condescended to when you need a favor. I'm not a little girl anymore,
Rebecca
. And I made it just fine without your handouts this far. I only came to see if you realized that kicking an eighteen year old girl out with no support was a bad idea, but apparently, you're fine with your choices."

"Well of course I am," she says, standing as well and looming over me. "You said it yourself. You've done fine without my handouts. You're intrepid. Determined. And that's why I'm willing to pay you an exorbitant fee just to keep doing what you're doing, except instead of working for Upstream, you'll do it for Marala Corp."

Dimitri’s company. She’d bought it out a year before she kicked me out, and gave it to Dimitri as a birthday present. It was all over the news.

"You don't have to reply to me now, but it will put your skills to the test. You'll be able to use your photography, your bookkeeping skills, and in the end, I'm willing to part with half a million dollars for six months of work."

My lips part.

I want to protest, to tell her that she can't intimidate and control me with money, but it's like my mind and my mouth are disconnected. After struggling for so long, it would be so nice to just have a nest egg. To not have to worry where rent is coming from, or how I'm going to pay my grocery bill.

And I'd be lying if I said a little part of me isn’t curious about what this has to do with Dimitri. Just the memory of him brings back such scandalous thoughts that I have to push away. It was easier to ignore them when I'd cut them all off. Hell, he doesn't even have a Facebook account — I checked.

"So here's what I need you to do," Rebecca says, taking my silence as agreement, and I don't have time to interrupt her. "I need you to approach Dimitri. Tell him that you've missed him, whatever," she says, brushing off emotional displays as if they are nothing more than an annoyance. "You're curious about his work, and would love to help him manage his books. And then you'll look at those books, you'll bring me photocopies of those books, and you will be well compensated."

She makes it sound so easy, but I know there's something she's not telling me. A lot of somethings, likely.

"What would I be looking for?" I ask, careful not to make it sound like I'm agreeing with her.

"That's nothing you need to concern yourself with. Just make me the photocopies. And don't let him trick you into thinking there's only one set of books. There's not, and you need to get access to it all. If you don't, well, you can wave your payday bye-bye. I will however," she adds with a roll of her eyes, "pay you a pittance slightly above Upstream's hourly rate, regardless of whether you prove yourself useful or not."

I bristle at her words, wanting to fight back and argue, but she has me right where she wants me, though not just for the reasons she expects.

The money, the freedom that would afford me? No one could rationally turn that down.

But Dimitri? I've never been able to say no to him.

“Wonderful,” Rebecca smiles fondly at me, handing me a stack of documents. “I just need you to sign these, and we’ll be all done.”