Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (8 page)

W
e cling together
in the darkness, barely daring to breathe. I can feel Maggie’s fingernails digging into my arms, her thin body trembling with fear. A lump forms in my throat but I can’t bear to even swallow, I feel so frozen with terror. A beam of sickly light floods through the open doorway, blocked in part by the hulking mass of a man. He looks like a shadow creature, some kind of monstrous Minotaur come to feast on us, the unwilling sacrifices. My mind runs wild with horrifying scenarios of what he might do to us.

He’s too big and bulky to be Will, and I don’t remember anyone from the party at the bar looking like this guy. In fact, once he takes a few steps closer and turns his face slightly to one side, I have to stifle a gasp of horror.

His face is deformed, or perhaps just badly scarred. He looks like he might be a burn victim — and a bad one at that. Maggie whimpers, shaking in my arms. The man turns back to face us, and even in the darkness I can feel his eyes boring into me. I tighten my hold on Maggie, pulling her closer, as the scarred man begins his slow walk toward us in the dark. His footsteps are heavy and lumbering, slightly uneven as to indicate a limp. I wonder what could have happened to him to make him look this way. Who hurt him?

And is he going to hurt us?

I almost wish he would say something, anything at all, to break the cold silence over the room. In the faint light trickling in from the doorway, I can finally make out where we are, to some extent. Through the open door I can see a set of steep, moldy-looking stairs leading up, hinting that we are underground here, as I suspected. The room we’re in is fairly large, but it’s partitioned off into several sections with floor-to-ceiling chain link fencing. The floor is made of filthy concrete, and my stomach churns at the sight of more than a few large stains that look like they might just be made of blood. What happened here? What’s going to happen to us?

The scarred man stops short in front of the fence separating our particular enclosure, his two meaty hands coming up to rattle the metal links, causing a horrible racket. Maggie yelps and begins to sob as the man’s disfigured face cracks into a wide, malicious grin. He reaches up. There’s a clicking sound as he pulls a string hanging from the ceiling and a single lightbulb illuminates the room. Maggie closes her eyes tightly and burrows into my arms.

I immediately survey the whole room, blinking in the sudden painful light. Yes, I conclude darkly, those stains across the floor are a blackish-red in hue. Definitely blood. And the man in front of us looks even more terrifying in the light, with his rippled, cracked skin, black eyes, and devilish grin. He had to have walked through fire to land a face like that. Some part of me wonders if he encountered that fire in hell.

Flameface walks along the length of the fence, shaking it violently, sometimes punching it, all the while smirking at us with his crooked, yellowed teeth. Then he stops suddenly, staring at us, standing totally still. He waits a long moment, and then reels back and slams his fist into the fence, making the whole enclosure shake and rattle. Maggie lets out a startled shriek and Flameface bursts into cruel laughter, cackling like a madman.

“Ooh, didn’t mean to scare you,” he growls in a heavy accent. “
Ozornoy devushki!
Are you ready for your
nakazaniye
?”

“P-please leave us alone,” I stammer, struggling to make my voice sound clear and strong in spite of my overwhelming fear. I don’t want him to see how frightened I am. I don’t want to let him win so easily. If I’m going to die here, I’m going to die with dignity.

He chuckles and tilts his head to the side. “Oh, she speaks! How are you feeling,
malyutka
? Did you sleep well? We gave you our best milk and honey to help you rest.”

“Please don’t hurt us,” Maggie sniffles, her voice barely audible with her face buried in my arms. Flameface clucks his tongue in mock pity.

“Hurt you? Nooo! Well, perhaps a little. But not to worry. I know how to twist and bend a little stick without breaking her for the next man. I’ll only loosen you up, make you limber. You
are
gymnasts, after all, no? Just think of me as your
uchitel
— your coach,” he sneers, shrugging as though it’s the most innocuous statement in the world. Maggie’s sobs wrack her entire body and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my own tears in check.

I refuse to let this beast of a man see me cry.

“What do you want from us?” I ask, holding my head high.

Flameface lets out a long, low hiss of pleasure at my question.

“What do you have to offer?” he propositions, leaning against the fence. He leers at me through the links, his pitch-black eyes sizing me up.

“For you, nothing,” I reply scathingly, surprised at my own bravery.

He turns quickly and grasps the fence, his thick fingers poking through the links as he gives me an angry, threatening glare. He bares his teeth like a wild animal, like a rabid dog.

“You’ve got a nasty tongue on you,
malyshka
,” he snarls. “But I can temper your tongue along with the rest of you. And I need no offer in place to take what I desire.”

My throat goes dry at this threat. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I’ve never been so close to true danger. But I cannot let myself simply melt and fall to pieces like Maggie has — one of us has to stay strong. If I can only keep him distracted for as long as possible…

I’ve got to play his filthy game to stay alive.

“What would you do to tame me?” I ask, playing off his sadistic dirty talk. I feel disgusting for even engaging with him at all, but I can tell that provoking and angering him will only make him crueler toward us. If it were just me, I might try to deny him until the last possible moment, but with Maggie here I need to stay as close to his good side as I can. Even if it means resorting to flirtation with this hideous cretin.

Flameface has stopped in his tracks, reviewing me with a new, interested gaze. He’s surprised by my words, obviously, not accustomed to anyone playing along. I assume he’s used to more unwilling participants, and my upfront statement has put him off his usual game.

“Well, well, well. I did not expect such filthy talk from such a pure specimen. You dare to ask me what I would do to you? I wonder if you can even imagine,” he hisses, his hand reaching down to squeeze his crotch. I try not to grimace.

“T-tell me,” I continue. “I — I want to know.”

Flameface grins, his jagged teeth glistening in the low light. “I’m not much for pretty words,
malyshka
, but I will gladly show you what I have to offer.”

He steps forward and starts to fumble with the combination lock hanging on the gate. My heart races as I realize that I’ve probably only made things worse. My plan backfired. Instead of stalling his advances with talk, I’ve only stoked his filthy fire. I grab hold of Maggie and the two of us scoot backward, as far away from the fence as possible, until we’re backed against a slimy, cold wall. Flameface opens the gate and strolls into our enclosure, his brutish frame blocking the exit as he reaches into the front of his stained pants.

He walks closer to us and gestures for me to get up, but I shake my head and press myself more firmly against the back wall. Maggie cowers beside me, not even daring to look up.

“Stand up,
shlyukha
,” he orders, snapping his fingers.

“No,” I murmur, shaking my head vigorously and clinging to Maggie. My stomach turns in painful knots as I anticipate the blow to come.

“Ah, that’s not how it works. You see, I make the orders, and you carry them out. You don’t get to say no to me, little
suka
,” Flameface barks. As he comes closer I can see every ridge of his disfigured face, every shining streak of barely-healed flesh. “Now, get up!”

I stagger to my feet, standing in front of Maggie in a protective stance, my arms outstretched. Flameface gives me a quizzical glare, then a devilish look comes across his ugly features as a different idea occurs to him.

“You’re too easy, aren’t you?” he says to me, standing with his hands on his hips.

“Please, just don’t hurt my friend,” I implore. Maggie is weeping inconsolably on the floor behind me, totally dissociated from the world around her.

Flameface cackles. “You know, I’m pretty hungry. I think I’m in the mood for something a little bigger than you. Your
sestra
here looks to be a little taller, isn’t she?”

“No! Leave her alone!” I shout, shielding Maggie with my body as Flameface strides over to us. “Take me! Don’t touch her!”

The scarred man gives me an almost pitying look. “Don’t worry,
malyshka
. I’ll save plenty of room for you next. There’s enough of me to go around. Besides, I think your friend needs a little loosening up, don’t you agree?”

“No, please!” I cry out, but Flameface shoves right past me, flinging me out of the way so that I slam into the chain-link fence, hard. I slump to the concrete floor in a sickening daze, unable to get up in time to stop Flameface from yanking Maggie up by her arm. She screams in fear and hangs almost limply from his grasp, tears coursing down her splotchy cheeks.

“
Da
, this is what I was looking for,” Flameface croons.

Suddenly, there are footsteps approaching, not as heavy as the first set, but faster. A slightly shorter and much more slender frame appears in the doorway, and Will steps through into the dank room. “Drop her, Boris!” he commands.

Flameface spins around and glares at Will, then gives him a plaintive expression. “I wasn’t going to damage the merchandise,
nachalnik
. Just having a little fun.”

“Back off,” Will says, emphasizing each word intensely. With a sigh, Flameface lets go of Maggie’s arm and swivels around to await his next order. Maggie collapses to the floor in a sobbing heap. I want to run to Will and scratch his eyes out, pummel him until he’s black and blue, funnel my rage and betrayal into a savage attack against the evil, handsome man who trapped us here.

“
Bonjour
, Olivia,” Will greets me, mockingly. “Good to see you. You overslept a little, though. Looks like you’re going to miss your first lesson.”

Flameface chuckles grimly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I demand, my voice catching ever so slightly. Will notices the weakness.

“Oh, what a pity. You trusted me, didn’t you? You know, I thought I’d lost you forever when you denied me that kiss. But then, lo and behold, you gave me another chance. Everybody deserves a second chance, don’t they? Even me,” he says, beaming at me.

“What did I do to you?” I ask shrilly, getting back to my feet. “Why me?”

“Well, there are a lot of reasons for that! First of all, you’re very cute. And bendy. A gymnast? My clients will love that.
D
euxièmement
, you were very convenient, weren’t you? Just sat down right next to me on that plane! Why, fate nearly landed you right in my lap. I couldn’t have asked for an easier catch,” he concludes with a shrug.

“What do you want with Maggie, then? Let her go. You can take me instead,” I bargain.

Will and Boris both laugh. “That’s very noble of you,” Will begins, “but I wouldn’t dare turn down a two-for-one deal. Not when I’ve already got a prospective buyer for your friend here. Innocent little rich girl? She was a fast sell,
bien sûr
.”

“A… a buyer?” I repeat, feeling my veins run cold. What kind of business is this?

“Oh, yes. But don’t feel left out. I’m sure we’ll have a client interested in you before long. Especially once we, ah, tone you down a little bit. You’ve got just enough fire in you to make for a lousy product,” he explains matter-of-factly.

“I am not a product, and neither is Maggie. We’re human beings. Let us go!” I protest.

Will just rolls his beautiful blue eyes. “You can drop the martyr act anytime now, Olivia. If you haven’t caught on yet, I’ll assure you there’s no escape. You belong to me now, until we find a suitable match for you.”

He looks at Boris and gives him a quick nod. “Take the bigger one.”

“No!” I shout, flinging myself in front of Maggie. But Boris easily peels me off of her and tosses me aside again, my knees skidding painfully across the rough floor as I fall. “Maggie! Maggie! It’s okay, be strong! I won’t give up on you! I promise everything will be okay!” I call out after her as Boris throws her over his shoulder and carries her off. She’s weeping and reaching for me in vain, too frightened and in shock to even utter a word. The pair of them disappear through the doorway as Boris carries her up the stairs and away from me.

Leaving me alone in this holding cell with Will.

My terror twists and darkens into rage, and without even thinking about it I run full-force toward the gate of the enclosure, where he stands. I let out a frustrated scream as he calmly clicks the lock shut again, closing me off.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you,
petite fille
?” he whispers, leaning close so that his ice-blue eyes and pointed nose are mere centimeters from my face on the other side of the chain-link fence. “I’ll break you of that.”

I spit directly into his face. He blinks once, then wipes his face with a smirk.

“
Oui
, I’ve got special plans for you, Olivia,” he growls. Then he turns on his heel and strides out of the room, turning off the light as he goes.

I sink to the floor, clinging to the cold metal gate, utterly alone.

N
avigating
the congested streets of Paris in the middle of the day is hard enough on the best of days. The grating voice of the man to my right makes it even less bearable than usual.

“Did they really not teach you any of this kind of tracking in Russia? Or whatever Russia-school you went to? This kind of stuff is, like, freshman-level kind of tracking,” my tech-savvy friend says with a laugh as he scrolls through the blinking map that’s pulled up on his laptop.

Felix Meunier is a name I wish I would never have to call upon again when it came to matters related to work, but he’s one of the most talented computer specialists in the university, and more importantly, he’s never been afraid to get his hands dirty.
Most
importantly, he owes me a favor.

If only it weren’t for his insufferable personality.

I met Felix when he came to me shortly after getting my post at the university. Just like he is now, he was working then as one of the IT staff members who ensured the sprawling enclave of bureaucracy that was the University of Paris kept running smoothly. But apparently, Felix had been involved in some shady dealings with the criminal underworld of Paris. He was the kind of white-collar criminal who thought he could skim money from the university while playing the same game with some of the offshore accounts the local mob who had ties to the university.

Inevitably, he got himself into hot water, both the French police and the mobsters he’d managed to offend breathing hard down his neck from all angles. He came to me looking for help.

To this day, I don’t know why he reached out to me specifically, but I suspect he did some digging into my background and thought I’d be the kind of person he’d want to have his back in a situation like his. The assumption was correct, but I only agreed to help him reluctantly, covering his trail and burning old bridges that might have tied him to his crimes. He was beyond grateful.

And despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to shake the little man since, so I suppose we could be called ‘friends.’

“They did not teach us…’your expertise’ in Spetsnaz training,” I answer, trying desperately not to say “
they didn’t teach us how to be nerds.
”

“Right, right,” he muses, his fingers flicking the screen back to his voluminous spreadsheets through which he’s been inputting data that’s been assembling the GPS signal we’re tracking now, “have to keep all the training on killing enemy spies, climbing up sheer cliffs, wrestling bears with your bare hands, that kind of thing, right?”

“We were taught to track,” I say, no smile on my face, “but we needed no such technology to hound our targets down like animals.” He stares at me a moment before giving his head a light shake and turning back to his computer. I smile quietly to myself; it was helpful to recount the details of my past to keep the fear of god in men like Felix.

“Anyway, like I was saying: the email address you have was sent from a computer that was hooked up to the internet, just like any email, so that means it’s got a server associated with it.”

I’ve already stopped paying attention, but I nod.

“So I can trace that server and bounce a signal off it and figure out where it’s coming from, kind of like echolocation, but with internet signals. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” I lie absently.

“It doesn’t look like this person was using any sophisticated technique,” he adds with a scoff, “even the most basically tech-savvy users who do so much as illegally download a movie will use something that masks your IP address at least, or maybe a program that can bounce signals around to confuse people like me who might want to track ‘em, but it looks like your guy was just sending an email from a building, plain as day. I could pull up the email here if I wanted.”

“Mmhmm,” I say with a nod, pretending to be following along.

“Basically, I mean he’s not trying to pull any tricks in keeping me from being able to figure out where your Liv’s cell phone is, from what I can tell,” he goes on. “Between triangulating the location of her phone, provided it’s still on, and figuring out where this Will guy is sending his emails from, this is child’s play. You sure this guy is doing something shady? Take a left at this light.”

“Not everyone is as skilled as you, Felix,” I say candidly, and Felix rolls his eyes as we take yet another turn down the winding streets. What I meant was that plenty of criminals did just fine without the help of technology, and even so, sometimes a light touch did the trick just fine. That, and his question made me uncomfortable — because no, I was not sure.

“Anyway, I triangulated the signal, and I’ve just about —
voila
! Got an address for you.”

“No dramatic pauses,” I say with an arched brow.

“56 Rue Alfred de Vigny in the Parc Monceau area,” he says, and I feel my mouth grow cold at the name of the address. It’s a respectable area of Paris, to be sure, but that makes the significance of that address no less familiar and dangerous.

“Uh...Max?” he asks, tilting his head and pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. “You alright? You look a little tense,” he says as he eyes my tightening knuckles on the steering wheel.

“No, Felix,” I say slowly, taking a breath and resisting the urge to carve a path of destruction through traffic to reach our destination faster. “I’m afraid this little excursion of ours is about to get complicated.”

We speed towards the Parc Monceau, tires screeching as I take sharp turns, and Felix grips the safety handle of the car, trying to keep his computer steady. “What’s the big deal? You’ve got your missing students, they’re probably doing drugs with some locals in a fancy apartment or something.”

“I recognize that address,” I say, my voice tense with the anger I’m holding back. “Felix, you did some digging on my past, didn’t you?”

The question throws him off, and he stammers a few syllables before I cut him off.

“You know some of my background, I have no doubt. You’ll also know a thing or two about the Russian mob’s activity in Paris, I’m certain. What you may not know is that this address is where the Bratva established a base of operations to run their human trafficking ring here in France.”

Felix paled as we turned onto Rue Alfred de Vigny, and he licked his lips nervously. “B-but that’s impossible,” he stammers, “the Russian mob hasn’t had a sex slave ring in Paris for years — I mean, I keep an ear out for this kind of thing, just for safety’s sake and all.” He looks uneasy, but I don’t bother casting him a glare. I know I’m not the only person Felix has been helping from among the Parisian underworld’s denizens. He’s a pencil-neck and a coward, but he’s not a particularly predictable man, and he knows his skills are valuable to those willing to pay the right price. Despite his close calls with death in the past.

“Police databases have some kind of files on every ring that’s active in Paris, and they’ve got agents deep undercover, but there’s nothing on a Bratva slave ring based out of Paris. I’m sure they’ve been inactive here for ages.” He pulls up a few more spreadsheets, scrolling through them while chewing his lip. “Right, see here, it says there was some kind of internal coup that ended the trafficking activity from within a few years ago. The slave ring’s ended, Max.”

“You’re right,” I say as we pull up at that old, familiar building, and I gaze up at the faded stone. “Because I’m the one who ended it.”

I turn off the car and step out, Felix fumbling to put his laptop away as he unbuckles his seatbelt and staggers out of the car, now casting nervous glances up at the building before us. The sky is overcast, gray clouds rolling overhead very quickly as wind blows above us. Felix follows me to the back of the car, where I pop the trunk.

“Well,” Felix says, wringing his hands, “okay, so if we know she’s here, and you think...well, what you think, then shouldn’t we call the police and have them investi-”

“No,” I snap, whirling around to look the man in the eye, my expression stony. “Felix, these girls are my responsibility —
mine
. It was me who took them from the comfort of their hometowns to come train in Paris. It was me who offered them everything when they never thought they’d get the chance to glimpse this thorny flower of a city. It was me in whom they put all their trust to guide them as they tried to make their homes here for the next few years. And it was me who saw the unbridled potential in them to be something
more
than they or their parents or their old teachers ever could have begun to imagine,” I say, and I mean every word of it.

Felix looks hesitant, but nods slowly as he watches the determination burn bright in my eyes. “You must have a lot of respect for these girls.”

“Far more than they know,” I say, looking at the ominous doors of the apartment building. “I was harsh on them. I had to be. But there’s something special about them that I want to see realized.”
About Liv
, I want to add especially, but every one of them has untapped passion. “But that’s not the only reason this is my battle to fight,” I say as I reach into the trunk and move a panel aside, revealing a false bottom.

“I thought I’d put a permanent end to the Bratva’s human trafficking days.”

Felix’s eyes widen as I pull a couple of silenced pistols out of the trunk’s false bottom, followed by a set of knives I start strapping to my legs. “I thought that part of my life was gone entirely. If I was mistaken…”

I take out some ammunition and load up the pistols, strapping a pair of spares to my waist under my jacket as Felix looks around the empty street nervously.

“Then things are going to get ugly,” I finish, loading my pistols. “These Russians are Bratva. They’re ruthless, they’re dedicated, and they have no qualms delving into the deepest depravities imaginable to man. If the girls are in their possession, they won’t give them up without a fight, and they’re every bit as vicious as the next mobster. These are men from my past, Felix,” I say in a low tone, looking him dead in the eye.

“You can’t be serious, Max,” he breathes. I give him a silent look that tells him that I am every bit as serious as the weapons on my person are deadly. He swallows.

“Take the car back to my place, Felix,” I say, “then get a cab. I’ll pay you back. You’ve done me a service today. I won’t forget this.”

“No way,” he says, stepping forward, “Max, this is too much. Okay, so yeah, I looked up the whole story on you. The orphanage in Yakutsk, the stint in the Russian Special Forces, the covert operations you did, the retirement to the Bratva here in France, I know it all. I know you’ve been involved with these guys before.”

“Then you know that I know my enemy,” I say calmly.

“I know that for all you know, the guys in there are a whole different breed of killers. They’re slavers, Max, and if they’re starting up again after you shut them down last time, they’ll be expecting a visit from you. I don’t need my spreadsheets and statistics to tell me that, but you sure sound like you need to hear the statistics on your chances of survival if you’re thinking of going in there guns blazing with no plan!”

“The men in there are the reason I divorced myself from the Bratva,” I say. “For them to start up again is a mockery of everything I did to earn my retirement... Do you think I made my career on helping white-collar criminals dodge the law?”

I smile a cold smile that sends a visible chill down Felix’s spine. I was more than just a killer. I was a hitman. One of the most feared hitmen in all of Paris. And to let the monstrous wretches in that building live would be an insult to everything I stood for.

Felix keeps an eye on me for some time before asking, “So there’s no convincing you. What if I don’t hear back from you?”

“If you think that’s a possibility,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way up the steps toward the apartment front doors, “then you don’t know me very well, my friend.”

I hear Felix starting the car behind me as I ready the pistol in my hand, put the other hand on the door handle, and push.