Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (48 page)

“Yeah, but this one in particular. I can see the name on the side of the ship. It’s the
Canary Islander
. That ship hasn’t been in use in...well, years. It was deemed unseaworthy back before the union was busted. Yeah, I can see at least three people down there.”

I hand Cherry the binoculars, and she nods after peering through them for a few moments. “You’re right. Recognize anyone down there?”

“No — and that’s what worries me,” I say, squaring my jaw thoughtfully for a second. “I don’t like this. Come on,” I say, standing up and stowing the binoculars.

“What, are we just gonna leave now?”

“Naw, where’s your investigative spirit?” I say, giving a cocky grin as I pull my kutte back on and start walking towards the bike. “We’re gonna go pay them a visit
right now
.”

Cherry looks hesitant for a moment, but as I give a nod for her to follow me to my bike, she steps forward, picking up her shoes and heading after me.

“Good thing I think you know what you’re doing,” she half-laughs.

“That’s my girl,” I say as she clambers onto the back of the bike. As I rev up the engine, I feel her slip her hands around my waist as she considers what I’d just said.

“I think I like the sound of that.”

T
he back streets
leading up to the coast are only dimly lit by the moon’s eerie glow as we park the motorbike and start walking. There are lamp posts here and there, but most of them have long burned out, never to be replaced by the public officials who regard this area of town as a sort of lost cause. And the bulbs that remain with just a spark of life only flicker weakly, lending less light and more ominous atmosphere to our nocturnal mission.

We parked a few blocks away just off the road because the motorcycle engine is not exactly stealthy — you can hear it coming from miles away. Anyway, this time of night there aren’t a whole lot of vehicles or people passing through this area, so we’d stand out even in my much quieter rental. Not to mention the fact that both the local cops and the feds will definitely keep an eye out for motorcyclists at this point. They know we’re onto them, and if they’re smart they also know that we won’t give up just because they rattled the Club up a little bit with those interrogations. And we can’t risk blowing our cover, not tonight.

We’re going in to check out the abandoned docks where we heard suspicious sounds earlier, to find out what the hell could possibly be going on there. I mean, they
are
abandoned, so nothing should be going on there at all.

Leon and I are walking softly, keeping close together, our eyes peeled, searching for any hints of danger or discovery. I feel like I’m still glowing from our moonlit tryst earlier, but I try to keep my head calm despite the giddy butterflies flitting around in my stomach. It’s ridiculous how even in a high-stakes, gritty situation like this I am still so distracted by how much I like Leon. How intensely his touch affects me.

He makes me come alive like nothing else does.

And he takes me to places I’ve never been — even though we’re physically in the same town we both grew up in. It’s so strange to me how new and unfamiliar my hometown is when I’m traipsing through it with Leon. He gives me a new perspective on everything, showing me both the dark, terrifying underbelly of the city and the passionate, defiant camaraderie of those who fight against it. It’s just like a movie, and he’s the star.

Which might just make me the love interest.

Well, if that’s the case, I sure as hell hope I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t feel like one, not anymore. At Leon’s side I feel powerful, like an electric current is buzzing through my veins and heightening my senses. With one simple touch of his hand, I transform into a spy, a secret agent, an action heroine. I love it.

Gone is the Cherry LaBeau of New York City, the girl who holed up in her loft and dashed off shallow, insignificant gossip and fashion articles for a paycheck. Gone is the high-maintenance, high-life, high-rise Park Avenue princess who was afraid to get her hands dirty. I don’t resent that girl, and I know deep down she will always be a part of me, and I will look back fondly on those years I spent prancing through the Big Apple without a care in the world. But now there’s a new Cherry, and she’s one tough broad. She can run with the wolves. She fights for what’s right, even when it’s hard. She isn’t afraid of getting down in the mud and getting filthy when need be.

I like the new Cherry a lot. I think I’m gonna keep her.

“Shh, look,” Leon whispers, holding out his arm to halt me, then pointing up ahead a ways. I squint in the darkness to make out the movements of several black vehicles, glinting ever so subtly in the moonlight. Black sedans. The feds are here.

But that’s not all… there are several vans, too. Gray, nondescript, unmarked vans. They look for all the world to be exactly the kind of van your parents tell you to avoid as a kid.

“Let’s go closer,” I murmur softly. Leon shoots me an impressed look, then nods in agreement. He takes my hand and a thrill passes down my spine as he leads me onward, the two of us creeping along in the shadows of the trees and telephone poles.

As we sneak slowly and carefully closer, I’m able to make out something huge moving laboriously on the water, with long, tall beams. Leon stops me again and nudges me further off the sidewalk into a clump of brush across the street from the parking lot to the docks.

“Is that the ship?” I ask in an undertone, my heart racing. I still don’t know why in the world would there be a ship coming into the abandoned docks, but I know it can’t be for anything legal.

“Yeah. I guess it’s actually running somehow.”

“Don’t they have to, like, register that or something? You can’t just drive a big-ass boat up anywhere willy-nilly,” I hiss. Leon shakes his head and narrows his eyes, straining to look at the bizarre scene unfolding in front of us.

“See those big, black cars? That’s all the legality they need. A couple of feds to pave the way and keep the public out of their business, and even the nastiest crime boss can get his work done right under the citizens’ noses,” he replies quietly, clenching his jaw tightly.

Then I see something even stranger. It looks like the ship is pulling in and starting to unload a series of massive, heavy-duty containers, big enough to hide elephants inside.

“What the hell?” I mumble. Leon squeezes my hand.

“Come on,” he urges, “let’s go closer. If that’s what I think it is…”

His voice trails off as he pulls me along behind him. We both crouch as we bolt across the road and into the parking lot. I’m grateful that we’re both dressed in pretty dark clothing, so we don’t stand out too much in the shadowy lot. Either way, there’s not a whole lot to hide behind here, so this leg of the journey is considerably riskier. If any of those people on the docks just happen to turn around and look directly our way, they’d catch us. My heart is pounding, but somehow I still feel relatively calm. Leon makes me feel safe, even in the most dangerous of situations. We’re still a few hundred yards from where the black cars and creepy vans are parked, but I know we are essentially inside the lair of the beast right now.

There’s a dilapidated old green dumpster nearby, and Leon pulls me beside him several yards to hide behind it. I try not to gag at the musty smell, deciding it will be better for now to just… breathe through my mouth. But at least we have some kind of cover here, and we can still poke our heads around the side of the dumpster to watch what’s happening on the docks.

The vans are driving up close to where the ship has pulled in to a stop. Feds in black suits and sketchy workers in black hoodies and baseball caps stand on the docks awaiting the containers to be unloaded. I watch with bated breath as the first of these giant boxes is opened.

And my jaw drops.

I was afraid it would be filled with weapons or drugs or something. But what I see now is so much worse. Filing slowly out of the container is a huddled mass of human beings, trudging out and dragging their feet. They all look exhausted, their heads hanging and their bodies thin, dressed in ripped, stained rags. They’ve got to be immigrants, being shuffled into Bayonne for what? Hard labor? Servitude?

“Oh my God,” I breathe, starting to shiver.

Leon’s chest is heaving, breathing hard. I glance up at him to see the mingled horror, fury, and despair on his handsome face. His hands are balled into fists and he looks like he might run down to the docks and start swinging at any moment.

“It’s exactly what I feared,” he murmurs, swiping one huge hand down his face.

“Who are they? Where did they come from?” I question, tears tingling in my eyes at the sight of their bare feet and battered limbs. Some of the women are crying, and the men have distant, far-away looks on their faces.

“From all over, I’m sure. Wherever the price of human life is cheapest,” Leon snarls.

There are multiple containers, at least three from what I can tell. And sure enough, all of them are opened to reveal similarly-disheveled, malnourished, world-weary people inside. The men in suits stand by, emotionless with their hands behind their backs or crossed on their chests, like they’re simply statues-for-hire planted strategically along the docks to guard this illicit deal. And the men in hoodies guide the miserable people down the docks and into the backs of the vans. It’s a horrifying sight. I know they aren’t bringing these people here to give them a chance at a better life. They aren’t rescuing them. They’re herding them like cattle.

Probably to be used much like cattle. Used up and tossed aside.

I tear my eyes away from this heartbreaking procession to land on another sight which chills me to the bone. There are two men overlooking the whole thing with nonchalance, one of them smirking and gesturing jovially to the other. One is in a sleek black suit and tie — and I recognize him after a moment of squinting and wracking my brain.

Agent Doyle. Of course that bastard is involved.

And beside him, talking and joking with gleeful abandon, is an old, potbellied man in a tacky white suit and red tie. He oozes wealth, the kind of exorbitant, obnoxious wealth that indicates he has no intention of spending his money responsibly. He looks like the epitome of greed and selfishness, like a pig in a silk jacket and a salt-and-pepper toupee.

“Who’s that talking to Doyle?” I whisper. Leon sighs.

“Martin Chandler, the rich douchebag who owns the docks. He’s like a festering sore on this town, draining all the resources and sucking the life out of the working folk,” Leon answers with a grimace.

“Leon, what is going on here?” I ask fearfully, turning to him.

He bites his lip and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

“Tell me, I can take it.”

“Cherry, I — ”

Just then, he’s interrupted by a loud voice down near the docks.

A man shouts out: “Hey! Over there!” Everyone turns to look toward where the man is pointing: directly at us. We’ve been spotted.

“Shit,” Leon whispers, grabbing me so we can both duck back behind the dumpster.

One second later, there’s the deafening crack of several gunshots.

T
he metal container
to my left rings sharply as a bullet ricochets off it. I grab Cherry by the collar as I yank her down and curse. My hand instinctively goes to the handgun at my side and cock it as more bullets whiz over our heads.

“Back to the bike,” I growl, “keep low and close to me!”

Cherry’s gives a sharp nod, and her reflexes prove sharper than I realized as she keeps neck-and-neck with me as we duck out from our hiding spot and start weaving between the large metal containers, the sounds of gunfire behind us echoing throughout the docks.

We near the opening on the other side of the ‘alley’ we’re running through when a barrel-chested man steps out in front of us, raising his pistol. I raise my gun in response, but before either of us can get a shot out, a bright LED light shines in his face — Cherry is holding her flashlight up straight in his eyes. “Shit!” He shouts and puts a hand up and tries to move for cover, but I’m already on him, and my fist connects with the side of his head hard before he hits the ground with a thud.

Once we’re out, we crouch down and move through what feels like a maze of metal canisters set out to be loaded and shipped. I can hear Doyle’s voice shouting out across the docks. “I don’t
care
who it might be, find them and get them before I have
your
asses packed away with the next shipment!”

“They don’t know it’s us,” Cherry hisses to me, and I give a sharp nod. I intend to keep it that way.

A few men were drawn to where I dropped the man who yelled, so I know we only have a few seconds before they turn their attention our way. I grab Cherry’s hand and dart towards where I left my bike.

My motions are quick, decisive, and without a hint of hesitation. Cherry is surprisingly adept at being able to keep up, but my sudden changes in direction start to throw her after a while.

“Are you used to this kind of thing?” she whispers.

“You’d be surprised,” I say back in a low voice. I knew my background would always be there to haunt me as I try to lead an honest life, but never did I think I’d see the day that my past as a hitman would come to serve me like this. Yet the pistol in my hand feels no heavier than the last time I’d used it.

Finally, the bike comes into view as we crouch behind a stack of crates. But there’s a lot of open ground to there, and I get a bad feeling.

“Wait here,” I say to Cherry, “I’ll drive it over and pick you up. This will need to be smooth and quick.” Before she can respond, wide-eyed, I press my lips to hers before I pull out a bandana from my jacket and wrap it around my face and ready my pistol as I run out for my bike.

I’m nearly to it when I hear a voice shout out from behind me.

“FREEZE!”

I whip around instinctively and find myself facing off with another thug, a face from out of town I don’t recognize. On the bright side, he won’t recognize me, either.

“Drop the gun, I won’t say it twice.”

“Do what he says,” orders a second voice from behind me, and my grip tightens. I’m surrounded, and I hear the click of a pistol from the second assailant as well.

I ready myself. I’m not about to back down, so my muscles tense as I prepare to shoot and move quickly, praying the next thing I know isn’t a bullet in the back.

“You deaf? Gun on the ground, hands up, or I shoot!” the first man orders, and when I don’t immediately respond, I see him aim his pistol to fire his weapon.

Then there’s a
crack
from behind me, and I glance back just in time to see Cherry, having brought a lead pipe down on the second man’s head, now diving to grab his gun as the thug falls to the ground.

I look back to see the first man taken off-guard just long enough, and without a second thought I fire a shot into the man’s shoulder, and he staggers back, gun falling from his hands as he lets out a sharp yell.

I close the distance between us, and as his murderous eyes turn to me, he hurls a punch to my gut, but I catch it with my free hand. He blinks in surprise, and that’s the last thing he has time to do as I bring my forehead crashing down on his nose, knocking him out cold.

“Let’s go!” I shout at Cherry, and in no more than two seconds we’ve sprinted to the bike. I’m revving up the engine before roaring down the street as more cries of alarm shout out from behind us.

Cherry’s arms wrap around me tight as we ride. “You did good,” I say back to her, grin on my face.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” she warns, glancing back at the headlights behind us. One of the black sedans from the docks is deciding to chase us.

I laugh. “If these tourists want to go for a ride, I’ll play ball.”

Gunshots ring out from the sedan almost immediately, but I’ve already started weaving on my bike. It’s hard enough to shoot from a moving vehicle, much more so at a moving target.

I drive up the docks and towards the city, wondering whether they’ll have the stones to follow me into the streets proper. Either way, I don’t want the police to get involved in the chase, so I decide it’s time to end things early. Without warning, I veer off my path and come screeching to a halt just as the sedan gains on us.

It goes zooming past, to the astonishment of the men inside, and before they can react, I aim a couple of shots at their back tires. After the shots ring out, I hear the car screeching as the tires go out. They careen to the side of the road, and before they know what’s happened, I’m roaring past them and into the city streets, Cherry looking back on the scene with wide eyes as I feel her heart pounding against my back.

* * *

T
o be safe
, I take us on a ride through the back alleys of the city again, not unlike what I did to give the police the runaround last time. With these men, though, I’m more confident they won’t dare drag this into the city proper.

“...with Agent Doyle at the helm of that, I’m sure someone’s been paid to turn a blind eye to the cops for the night,” I explain to Cherry, “but take things into citizens’ front yards, and they wouldn’t have a choice. We’ll wait for things to cool off at the Glass.”

A few minutes later, we make the roundabout and pull up at our bar. It feels like it’s been hours, but it’s not even 1:00 AM yet, and it looks like most of the club has been hanging around the bar, worried about why I haven’t at least checked in yet.

As I push the door open, Cherry at my side, I see the whole club gathered together.

Genn and Eva are playing pool in the corner, and they raise their beers to me as soon as we enter.

“Hey, Prez! Heard gunshots, glad to see you both in one piece.”

“Genn was just waiting on you to watch the table so I don’t cheat while he takes a piss.”

“Shaddup!”

Eva elbows Genn in the side as we stride in, and I hear more greetings from the club.

“Got any dirt on the feds, Prez?” Anya asks after she downs the remainder of her vodka. “With all Doyle’s goons crawling around, I’m getting kind of impatient patching people up, starting to think I was born to crack heads instead.”

“Shoulda been with us today,” I chuckle back at her, pulling away my bandana to show off the cut on my forehead where I headbutted one of the thugs. “Got a little closer to the old days than I’d like to admit.”

Now I’ve really got the bar’s attention.

“Tell us you’ve got something solid, Prez,” Vasily asks, rubbing his sore bicep after losing an arm wrestling match with Roy, one of the grizzled older members. Given how many beers there are around the table, I figure it’s their sixth or seventh match. “I want to work out these arms on a little more than letting Roy win a few times.”

“You gonna be six beers in when you ‘let them win’ too, kid?” Roy laughs, and Vasily waves him off with a curse in Russian.

“I think we do have something, in fact,” comes Cherry’s voice, to my surprise. I give her my attention with a nod, standing back to let her speak, and after my example, the rest of the bar gathers around to listen up. Cherry looks a little taken aback by the deference, but she clears her throat and continues.

“Right. So Agent Doyle and his lackeys are down at the docks, right now. What’s worse, he’s got what looks like muscle from out of town helping him. They’re working out of an old ship that should have been scrapped years ago, and now we know why — they’re shipping
people
in that tin can. Packing them in like sardines.”

There’s a grumble throughout the bar, and I can practically hear people gripping their beers tighter. A few of the immigrants among us are first or second-generation Russians like me, and some of them have very personal experiences with the human traffickers in New York.

“Looks like most of them come from south of the border. We saw Doyle coordinating with Marty Chandler down there. The dock owner is in on whatever operation’s going on down there. I don’t think it’s a long shot to guess those victims we found buried in the field are some of the men and women who didn’t survive the journey.”

“Sons of bitches,” I hear Eva hiss in the background.

“And it makes sense now,” Cherry goes on, pacing around the bar. “If Doyle keeps us distracted with him while they push through the sale of that empty lot, the secret gets buried for good the moment a NexaCo gets built on top of those graves.”

It feels like there’s a pall over the whole club. Genn spits on the ground in disgust, and Roy looks about ready to storm out the bar and start raising hell that second. Most of the older members look to be of the same mind.

“I’m tired of these goddamn feds walking all over us with a free pass to do whatever the fuck they want!” Anya shouts, slamming a fist down on the table as she sways in her seat. Vasily nods to her in agreement, cracking his knuckles.

“We can pound our chests all we like,” Genn says glumly, “but it’s the FBI. We can’t lay a finger on Doyle, and the chickenshit knows it. And if we can’t touch Doyle, we can’t touch his buddies, either. As far as they’re concerned, they’re golden.”

“That’s why they’ve been so bold,” Eva adds on. “Marty Chandler’s friends aren’t just taking advantage of the FBI’s presence, they
know
he’ll save their asses when they start pulling off shit we’d bust their heads open for.”

Cherry crosses her arms and chews on her lip, thinking, but after a few moments, she looks to me, a concerned look on her features. “I don’t know. What’s your take...Prez?”

Hands on my hips, I think for a moment, brow furrowed, but when I open my mouth to speak, someone calls me to the door behind me. When I turn and head out the door to see who’s there, the ghost of Joe Hill himself couldn’t have shocked me more.

“
The Lone Wolf
,” I say darkly to Mikhail. “You’ve got some fucking nerve coming back into this town.” Of all the people in the world I expected to see in the club’s parking lot, he was right around the bottom of the list.

The man standing by the car is every bit as tall and muscular as I am, with slightly darker hair and a clean-shaven face. A designer jacket hangs on his shoulders, unadorned with any patches or markings of any kind. He’s almost the spitting image of myself, but more clean-cut, his Russian heritage as plain as day. I send a message with my kutte. He sends a message with his eyes.

I raise my fist to him playfully, and he goes for my ribs before we break into laughter.

“Leon! You are quicker than ever,” Mikhail says with a smile.

“Quick enough to put a fright into your Old Woman,” I say, shooting a half-smirk over towards the woman waiting by the car who’d just squeaked like a frightened mouse. Where’d she think he was taking her to that an honest fight would break out right away? “My most sincere apologies, ma’am,” I grin, laying on the charm.

“I was just playing the role of the audience,” the pretty, young woman says back. She’s quick witted at least, even if she does seem shaken up.

“Sorry my timid
kotika
,” Mikhail says, releasing me and stepping around the car to extend his hand to his woman. “Come meet Leon. Leon, this is Alicia,” he says. He puts his arm around her, laying his claim as clear as day. Never thought I’d see Mikhail of all people takin’ a shine to someone like this.

“Ahh, she is indeed a pussycat,” I grin, and for Mikhail’s benefit, I take her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Welcome to Bayonne, Alicia.”

I’m trying to stay calm, but I know if Mikhail is here, trouble is following him, and trouble is the last thing we need. Not with the feds, not with these slimeballs trying to take over our city and bringing in human slaves.

But I can’t say no to him. Not after all we’ve been through. Even if he is bringing the heat down on us.

“Now hands off of her,” Mikhail says, pushing away my arm before we head on inside. A few of them grin and cheer excitedly for Mikhail’s return, knowing who he is to me and what he once meant to the area.

“Some people you know?” Cherry asks, stepping close to my side as the man steps in and looks at me with the same familiar recognition that’s on my face.

“Yeah,” I chuckle, “it’s been a hell of a long time, but I like to think I know him. He’s the walking, talking reminder of my past, in more ways than one, but dammit, he’s family.”