by Kelly Moore
Stay With Me
The Hitman Series, Book 2
Kelly Moore
Edited by
Caleb Mau
Illustrated by
Dark Water Covers
Copyright © 2017 by Kelly Moore
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Cover: Dark Water Covers
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Sneak Peek at Hold Onto Me
Prologue
About Author Kelly Moore
Also by Kelly Moore
For Diana Macquen,
If anyone deserves this book, it’s you! Thanks for being so dedicated!
Prologue
John
A burning pain smolders in my chest, and when I strain my eyelids open there is nothing to see but infinite blackness. Not a single speck of light trickles through the dark. I have no idea where I am. The last thing I remember is being on the boat with Miles, my brother, and Brooklyn.
Brooklyn.
Is she okay? Where is she? Where am I?
I try to sit up, but the pain in my chest is blinding. It hits me full force when I use my hands to try and push myself up. I scream out in agony, clutching my shoulder as I curl into a ball on the hard, damp floor. The scent of mold and mildew is strong enough to taste. As I wither in pain, the dirt and grit on the floor grind into my naked flesh.
A chill runs through me and I realize I am wearing nothing but a wet pair of boxers. Where are my clothes? How long have I been out?
I close my eyes to the darkness and listen carefully. The sound of water dripping into a puddle echoes to my ears over a mechanical hum in the background. Intermittently breaking up the somber rhythm is the sound of footsteps. The sharp tapping sounds like an expensive pair of dress shoes stepping across a dirty cement floor, and the footsteps are coming quickly toward me.
Before I can pull myself together to prepare for whoever or whatever is coming, I hear metal grinding against metal as a latch is unlocked and a heavy door is opened. Illuminating beams flood in, temporarily blinding me. My eyes must have been closed for a while, they’re so sensitive to even the smallest amount of light.
I cover my eyes with my hand as I try to peek through the gaps in my fingers. All I can distinguish is a dark silhouette with a bright, white glow shining behind it.
“Well, well, well. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.” It’s Miles. I can tell from his short, round outline, and his annoying voice: like nails on a chalkboard.
“Where am I? What did you do to me?” My throat is sore and gravelly. I didn’t notice how thirsty I was before, but now that I try to speak, my body is screaming for water. Hell, I’m so thirsty, I’d drink battery acid if offered to me.
He walks toward me into the center of the room, where he reaches up and pulls a chain. The light flickers on and I squint against it. “I told you what would happen, didn't I?” He holds his hands out at his sides.
I force myself to look at him as I sit up right. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”
He laughs a deep belly laugh as he slides his fat little hands into his suit pockets and begins pacing back and forth. His dress shoes slap hard against the floor. “Now, John. You don’t think I’d actually hurt her, do you?”
I shift my weight to try and stand but fall back down. My head is spinning and my vision is doubling. What has he done to me? I feel like I’ve been on a week-long bender. My stomach rolls and my mouth waters, preparing to empty my stomach.
“I wouldn’t move too fast if I were you. You’ve been through quite a traumatic experience.” He’s wearing a crooked smile and his dark eyes gleam with pride.
“Where the fuck am I?” I scream. My voice bounces off the concrete walls and floor and echoes back to my own ears.
“You’re back in Chicago.” He smiles. “Back at the club, actually. Don’t you recognize it?” He motions with his hands around the room even though there is nothing that indicates I’m at the club. From the cinderblock walls to the dirty concrete floor, I can’t tell anything other than that I’m in a basement of some kind.
I lean back against the wall, still sitting on the dirty floor. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my elbows on them while rubbing my throbbing head. “What did you do to me? I feel like I’ve been drugged.” Even my words sound slurred.
“Many times. I had to transport you somehow. And with your gunshot wound, you should be happy you’ve been sedated.”
“My gunshot wound?” I’m confused for a moment, but the sudden realization brings the pain slamming back to my chest with full force.
Memories flood my thoughts: being on the boat, Brooklyn being held at gun point, getting shot.
“You son of a bitch,” I growl while looking up to his pompous face.
He holds up his hands innocently. “You really gave me no choice, John. If you would’ve done your job, none of this would’ve happened. You and your brother would both be free men.”
I jerk my head back up. “Where is he? Where is Brooklyn?”
His pacing starts back up. “They’re fine and they will continue to be… as long as you’re a good boy.” He walks in front of me and stoops down to my eye level. “You’re mine. You owe me for all the trouble you caused. Do you even know how much business you cost me? People think that I can’t control my men, and we can’t have that.” He grabs a handful of my hair and jerks my head to the side to force me to look at him. “Can we?”
He’s fucking lucky I’m so fucked up or that would have been his last move.
“Can we?” he roars in my face with a sharp jerk on my hair.
I have to swallow my pride and bite my tongue for now. “No," I answer flatly.
He releases me. “That’s what I thought.” He stands and walks back to the center of the room before turning to face me again. “You’re going back to work, John.” He smiles before turning off the light and leaving me alone in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the shadows to swallow me up again.
Chapter One
John
My fingers have traced the photo so much over the last few weeks that the image is already fading and the corners are curling inward. I slam my hand against the cold metal wall, listening to the same echoes that I have been listening to for… how long now? It feels like forever. My hand throbs from the impact.
“When are you going to let me the fuck out of here?” I yell. My voice travels down the corridor and vanishes into empty spac
e. I sit on the damp, uneven concrete floor, hanging my head between my knees. My sense of time is gone and I have no idea where I am. My captors have drug me from place to place with a bag over my head so that I never know how far I’ve traveled or where I am. I have stuck to my guns and refused every one of their demands, but they’ve finally pulled out all the stops. This goddamn photo they brought me is my breaking point.
I trail the tip of my finger across the picture, tracing her long, deep red curls. God, what I would give to run my hands through the silkiness of her hair, to sweep it out of her face as her dark eyes take me in. The little boy is the spitting image of me, there is no denying that he is mine. Everything about him looks like me, down to the color of his hair. Those eyes though, they are Brooklyn’s. He has that same spark in them, like hers. The way she is looking at him, I know he saved her from being all alone. I can tell she has poured every ounce of love she had for me into our son. He didn’t even exist for me until Miles shoved the picture in my face. The bastard taunts me by telling me that I don’t exist for them either. I’m dead. I’m a dead man locked in a cell, in God knows where. All I have is a tattered pair of jeans, an old t-shirt, and this picture.
My hand voluntarily finds the star-shaped scar on my chest. It’s raised and still tender to the touch, shooting flares of pain whenever I exert myself. I overheard Miles telling one of his men that the bullet is still inside me. He mumbled something about ‘nanotechnology at its finest’. The short little fucker had it all planned out. He never really had any intention of killing me, at least not physically. He drugged me that day on his yacht with something that stopped my heart long enough for Brooklyn to think I was dead. I could hear her screaming my name, but I couldn’t move a muscle or utter a word to tell her that I was still alive. The specially-made bullet went in and cauterized the vessels to keep me from bleeding out.
Even if I could escape, the titanium bracelet snapped around my wrist would leave me even worse off than I am now, and likely endanger my family. It is as much my captor as Miles is, with sensors that will alert my guards if I get within a hundred yards of the perimeter. According to Miles, if I try to escape I will end up a pile of ashes from a powerful jolt of electricity that will travel straight to my heart, stopping it in an instant if I’m not back on the property within minutes of triggering the alarm. The memory of his belly shaking with laughter at the thought of incinerating me makes me sick to my stomach.
I don’t know why he’s kept me alive. Killing me would have been easier. He says he has plans for me and until I agree to work for him again, this will be my punishment for not killing the woman that I love and costing him millions of dollars. His fucking greed has changed him from the man I once knew, someone I considered a friend.
The sound of boots pounding down the hallway rouses me to my feet. I take three steps back, knowing the door will open soon. The rattling of the keys always puts me on edge, filling my head with thoughts of a freedom that has yet to come.
I glance at the worn-out photo one more time and shove it in my pants pocket. I’m determined this time will be different. “I will find a way back to you, baby,” I whisper.
“John, you ready for your nightly interrogation?” the stocky guard I’ve come to know as Tank says with his usual ugly, deep scowl. His bulky biceps protrude from his tight uniform as he flexes his arm with a Taser outstretched, fingers toying with the trigger. The bastard enjoys causing me agony. He’s tasered me many times for his own entertainment.
“It’s what I live for.” The sarcasm rolls easily off my tongue. Besides, I know it pisses him off. I guess that makes me as sick as they are, finding pleasure in their anger, but the pain they cause me is the only thing that is real to me anymore. His hand clutches my tattered t-shirt and yanks me out the door, shoving me against the concrete wall. I hold back the groan of pain that tries to escape.
My bare feet slap the floor as I straighten my spine and walk beside him. I lost the privilege of wearing shoes when I tied my boot string around Tank’s neck. I suppose that’s why he feels the need to carry the Taser, other than the fact that he enjoys it. His rough, large hands were around my throat when Miles ordered him not to kill me. I could feel the last breath leaving my body just as he jerked away from me. I wanted to die so Miles would lose.
The windows lining the hall are securely boarded up, banishing all light from entering. The only light comes from the florescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Every other one either flickers weakly and intermittently to life or is altogether dead. I’ve been held here long enough now that I know exactly how many lights there are and how many steel beams line the ceiling from my prison to the interrogation room.
The sound of the keys clanging against the colossal belt supporting Tank’s protruding gut grinds on my nerves, but also gives me an idea. I slow my pace so that he is only one step ahead of me, then reach over and rip the keys off his belt, the leather breaking from the force. Before he has time to react, I jam them into his carotid artery. His hand flies up to his neck as the thick, crimson blood pours out of the gash and between his fingers. It’s running down my arm, but I refuse to move until he is lifeless on the ground. His knees slowly start to give and a gurgle erupts from his mouth. I move with him to the floor, watching the light fade from his repulsive green eyes.
I look around to make sure no one is coming and quickly remove his boots, putting them on before taking off at a sprint in the opposite direction. The door at the end of the hall is locked, so I take a few steps back and run, ramming my shoulder into it. The hinges shudder and loosen from the impact enough that my second run springs the door wide open.
Sunlight glares in through an open window, momentarily blinding me. It’s bright but the cool air bites at my skin. I finally regain my focus and rush to the window. When I look down the three stories, my heart hammers in my chest. I could make the jump - I’ve trained for shit like this - but I’ve been locked away for so long, I’m not sure I can make it without breaking something. I look around for other options, but nothing presents itself. The stairwell leading down is blocked by a massive, locked steel gate.
I hear boots barreling in my direction. I have no other choice. The window refuses to budge open, so I take off my shirt, wrap it around my balled-up fist, and punch through the glass. Shards rip at my skin as I climb onto the ledge. The wind whips around me, making me shudder. The only warmth I feel is the heat of my own blood dripping from my fingertips. I look down, hesitating only for a moment, then jump. I tumble through the air and land on my hand against the icy ground. It buckles underneath me, bones audibly snapping and shooting a blast of pain all the way up my right arm. The pain is some of the worst I have experienced, but there is no time now to think about it. I roll over and see two guards looking out the window that I jumped from. Both of them raise their guns and take aim at me. I dive to the left as quickly as possible, just as one of the bullets whizzes past my shoulder. I don’t wait for them to fire off another shot.
The ice crunches underneath my boots and the cold air is so bitter on my bare skin that it takes my breath away. I round a corner out of sight and lean against a wall while holding my arm to my chest. I’m on a loading dock. The light on my bracelet begins to flash red instead of the continuous green. Shit. I don’t have much time.
Movement catches my eye. There is a man on a forklift heading my way. I drop low to the ground and wait for him. He doesn’t see me coming until the last minute. He tries to swerve, but I’m able to jump in the seat and grab him in a headlock. The forklift jolts us forward as he slams on the brake.
“All I want is your cell phone.”
He responds in Russian. Great, the one language I don’t know. I can barely move my right hand, but I manage to pull off the phone that is clipped to his work belt. I know this is my one and only chance. I let go of him as he passes out and jump to the ground. The guards are already coming around the corner, I can hear their shouts echoing down the dark alley. I quickly text
a message for my brother to the last number I remember, hoping like hell he still has his burner phone. If he gets it, he will know without a doubt that I’m alive. As soon as I’m done, I throw it on the ground and smash it under my boot.
I stand tall waiting for the inevitable. My body hits the ground hard again as three of them tackle me. I don’t fight them. I’ve learned I will only lose. I will pay a dear price for trying to escape, but this time it was worth it. I know Jake will understand my message. A broad fist covered in thick rings comes flying toward my face. I feel the crack of pain. Before my eyes go dim, I look for any signs that might tell me where I am.
“Why do you always defy me, John?” I hear his voice and feel the slap to my already sore face. “Wake up!” he yells.
My eyes flutter open. Miles is standing in front of me on the opposite side of a steel table. His hands are splayed out, supporting his weight as he leans over, glaring at me. I scan my surroundings. I’m tied to a chair, back in the familiar interrogation room. “Don’t you ever grow tired of this game?” Blood flies from my mouth when I speak, sprinkling the table between us. His eyes flash down to the blood splatter and a wicked smile tugs at his lips.
“When are you going to learn that I will win? Now you’ve gone and killed Tank. I’m afraid you’ve really pissed off some very dangerous people.” His head leans in the direction of the one-way mirror.
