Her Hollywood Hitman: A Dark Romantic Suspense

by Imani King

  I would have her tonight. I watched as the car pulled around the corner to the private parking garage. The receptionist would meet her in the lobby, and I’d be standing right here when she came into my apartment. I’d be ready to take her, to bend her to my will.

  And maybe we could have dinner later. I scoffed at myself. What had I been thinking driving her home the other morning, wet and begging for me to fuck her? Had she made me develop some kind of conscience?

  I licked my lips, wondering what she would taste like. I checked my watch again, and then my phone, glancing casually toward the parking garage. I started a text message to her and then erased it. Best to let her come up on her own. Best for her not to think I was waiting, that I’d been wanting her all day.

  I leaned against the balcony, taking in the view of the city. She’d like it out here. She had wanted to come out here with me when she was hallucinating, rambling and dangerous. But tonight, things would be calmer.

  I checked my phone again.

  Like a kid in high school. Like I didn’t have millions sitting in the bank and a closet full of handmade suits. Like I wasn’t a hit man or a fixer, or any kind of a criminal. Like I hadn’t done the horrible things I’d tried so hard to run from.

  Come through the lobby. I’ll be here waiting.

  I typed the words and paused, listening for the elevator. She should have come up by now. I sighed and sent the text.

  “What am I becoming?” I said aloud, looking out at the city and cutting my eyes back to the parking garage. What was the girl doing? A sleek black car sped off in front of the building, weaving around a taxi and another car.

  “What the fuck?” A cold sweat broke out on my brow. I tracked the car with my eyes, watching as it swerved through the congested Los Angeles streets.

  This isn’t right. I crushed the pack of cigarettes in my hand.

  “Gabriella,” I whispered, turning on my heels and running back through the penthouse toward the elevator. It opened, and I dashed inside, closing it behind me and willing it to take me down to the garage. There was a chance she was still in there, checking her phone and making me wait. I paced in the elevator, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I ran out of the doors and into the garage, heading straight for Gabi’s car.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  The driver’s side door hung open, and Gabi’s phone lay shattered on the ground.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Gabriella

  I gagged against the dirty rag stuffed in my mouth, coughing and trying to push it out with my tongue. I moaned.

  With each movement of the car, I shifted in the backseat of the van, my stomach pitching.

  The gash on my head throbbed.

  Red. Don’t come for me.

  I thought of the man, waiting in his penthouse. I thought of his arms wrapped around me. It was the last thought I had before everything faded to black.

  ***

  I woke up with a gritty feeling in my mouth and a foul smell in my nostrils. My head pulsed, the pounding and swishing centered on the gash in my temple. I reached up to touch it before I opened my eyes, my stomach pitching as I felt the edges of the wound. Pain seared through my skin. The men had hit me more than once before I’d completely passed out.

  I could almost remember it, if I tried. A gun, smashing against my temple. Hands on my body, shoving me inside of the trunk of a shiny black car. The heat and darkness, nausea washing over me in wave after wave. Thoughts of Red, swirling through my mind. The dead stare of the group’s leader as I regained consciousness inside the house on the outskirts of town. The feeling of the rag stuffed in my throat.

  Los Angeles. I was still in Los Angeles. Red knew I was gone. He would have seen my car in the parking garage, my purse on the ground.

  “Red,” I whispered, looking around in the dim light. How would he know where I was? Would these people talk to my father? Why had I been taken? I thought of Red’s hands on me, drawing comfort from the idea of him. He would come. He would protect me. I turned my head, wincing at the pain. I tried to place where I was, but the light in the room was too dim, coming in from one tiny window high above me.

  But no. He shouldn’t come for me. Something was off. I couldn’t quite remember what it was, but it happened when the men had taken me from the garage.

  The pain overtook me again, making my vision blurry until it faded out of existence. I gasped and fell onto the bed, bringing my legs up into a fetal position, tears stinging my eyes. I waited for the wave of pain to pass, and I opened my eyes again, slowly this time.

  I was in a musty room, maybe an attic. My hands and feet were untied, and I was lying on an old mattress that surprisingly didn’t smell too horrible. I tried to lift myself up on one elbow, looking around to see in the hazy darkness. I must have been locked inside somewhere, since they had untied me. There was a bottle of water on the floor. I opened it, taking a few desperate sips until my head began pulsing again. My eyes started to adjust to the near-darkness. The rafters showed through in the ceiling, and there was no heat control. It was good that it wasn’t terribly hot outside, because I’d be screwed if it was.

  My mind drifted to Red.

  Why had they taken me? What did it have to do with him? It felt like there was a missing piece, something stuck in my mind that I couldn’t parse out. Some phrase, some words, something someone said … but I couldn’t remember. It had been beaten out of me, along with my strength. I closed my eyes, trying to force myself to remember, but the images wouldn’t come.

  Something about Red. Something someone said. I opened my eyes and tried to sit up again, but the dark, dry room spun before me. I took another sip of water and lay back down. I knew I shouldn’t let myself fall asleep again, but my head felt heavy, drowsy, drifting.

  The man had said something about Red knowing too much, but what did that mean? Something about a deal. The words were jumbled all up in my head, and I took a sharp breath in. These were things I hadn’t been supposed to hear. They had thought I was passed out in the back of the car. But I could hear them talking through the trunk. I heard the words before I passed out, before I awoke to hands pulling me out and the gun crushing against my skull once again.

  There was a sick feeling behind these thoughts, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. When the man had come up behind me and covered my mouth, I’d thought I was being taken for ransom. After all my father had his fortune, and he was highly connected in both Hollywood and in the crime world.

  Would anyone come or was I all alone?

  I felt an overwhelming longing for Red. The man who had saved me. The man who had changed me. The man who was in grave danger.

  I heard the men walking around beneath me. Their steps echoed in the empty house.

  “Red … he’ll come,” one of them said. “The boss has him on it.” The voices drifted out of the reach of my hearing and then returned again.

  “… We got the girl, then we return her safe after we have him. Art says no one will know he’s gone, and all that money… Yeah, Art’s fucking broke, and Red’s the only witness to the murder. Better just to get rid of him.”

  The murder? What murder?

  I moaned. There were footsteps on the stairs.

  “Red,” I whispered. “Don’t come for me.”

  Red

  I paced in Art’s office. I’d driven over there first. I had to cover my fucking bases and see who the hell Art had been dealing with. The only reason someone would take Gabi would be to get at Art.

  The little fucking troll. Fucking asshole.

  “And why exactly was she coming to see you?” Art looked at me coolly, as if sizing me up. I turned the thought over in my head again. He didn’t seem like someone whose daughter had been kidnapped. But then Art didn’t ever seem like anything you would expect. Mostly, he just seemed like a dick. I pressed the sharp anger down, pacing across his office. I could almost taste her on my lips… how close she was…

  Someone. Someone
had taken her to get at Art. To get a chunk of Art’s cash, or to leverage a favor.

  “What the fuck, Art? That’s not important.” I raked my fingers through my hair, agitated.

  “She shouldn’t be coming to see a red Irish prick like you. She’s better than that. She’s Rose’s daughter, and she needs to be with someone who’s a little classier than a nasty career criminal from the projects.”

  I clenched my fists. Art looked at me, his eyes locked with mine, as if assessing what I might do.

  “I got plenty of money. Maybe more than you, you sick little motherfucker. You seem awfully calm for a man whose daughter has been taken from him.”

  “Money doesn’t mean a goddamn thing, and you know it.” The little prick’s bald head was turning red. It was a sore point for him that I had my own empire, but I kept it under wraps, just like everything else in my life. That is, until Gabi came along. “What I’ve got on you… it could put you away forever. So you do exactly what I say, just like always, got it?”

  “Damn you, Art. You know I know your secret too.”

  He waved his hand in the air. “No one would believe a dumb criminal like you. A dumb, dirty criminal, just like your old man. You got no proof.” He coughed a little and ran hand over his bright red head.

  “This whole thing is fucking strange, and you know it,” I said. “We should probably have someone else involved to ensure Gabi’s safety. Which seems to be the least of your concerns.”

  “Goddammit man, do you have to push me on everything? Don’t tell me how I feel or don’t feel about my own goddamn daughter.” Art’s brow furrowed, and he glared at me as I paced back and forth in a panic. It didn’t seem like he had the right fucking idea. Gabi was gone. She was in the hands of someone who had kidnapped her, someone who could hurt her. It was like the fucking man had no feelings. Not a damn thing when it came to his daughter. “Just get these people the fucking money. I tell you they called me... You better fucking believe that they called me. Get them the million bucks. It’s here in this goddamn case. It’s probably these assholes from the cartel, but I have no idea. Just get the fuck out of here and deliver it to them.”

  The silver case sat on Art’s lounge chair. A case, heavy with a fucking million dollars. How had this all happened so quickly? How had he even gotten the money? I thought he was hard up these days, trying to make money off of Gabi. But hell, what the fuck did I know about any of this? I had no idea who had taken Gabi, and I was assuming Art didn’t either. In cases like this, people usually made the person with the cash sweat a little, get a little bit desperate. Art was angry, but he wasn’t desperate. And he already had the suitcase full of cash ready before I’d gotten here. How had these people gotten to him ... and why had he agreed so quickly?

  “They said they’ll meet you somewhere out in the desert. Once you’re headed out of town, they’ll text you the address where you need to go. No cops involved. It’ll be a clean trade. Get the girl back, give them the money, and get the fuck back here.”

  “Art, what the fuck? None of this sounds good. And you’re putting me in a damn bad situation. I’ll be out in the middle of nowhere with no back up.” I paced back and forth, keeping a keen eye on the suitcase. I had my own amount of money ... but I made a habit not to handle this much cash at a time. Especially where other career criminals were concerned. And there were too many damn variables. And Gabi. Fuck. Gabi was involved. There was no goddamn way that any of this was a good idea. I had the fleeting notion that the police... or the fucking FBI... should probably be involved in getting this sorted out. But Art wouldn’t touch that with a thirty foot goddamn pole.

  I’d be doing this on my own. Bringing his girl home. And it seemed like I was the only one who gave a damn about her safety.

  I thought of Gabi, her beautiful body sprawled out on my bed. Her full lips, and that smooth dark skin that came completely from her mother. There was so much beauty in her I almost couldn’t bear it. And she was in someone else’s hands. Someone who didn’t care about her. Someone who could beat her up, or starve her... or fucking worse. I thought about the straps falling down on that green dress, the producer looking at me with vacant eyes. Regardless of how much these guys wanted the money, there was still plenty they could do to hurt Gabi. Fury pumped through my veins. At the men who took her. At Art, for prepping the money and sending me on my merry way to hunt down the bad guys. At myself, for not greeting her at the garage. For not protecting her.

  Gabriella, beautiful and pure.

  Gabriella, trapped behind closed doors. At the will and mercy of people who meant her harm. It wasn’t any goddamn good.

  “Get the fuck out of here, and bring back Gabi. I don’t care how much money you’ve got in the bank, Red. I still fucking own you. Get out of here and do as I say.” He gestured at me like he was brushing me away.

  “Whatever you say, boss.” I spat the words at him. “I guess I’ll do as you say. But mark my words. One day you won’t own me anymore. And one day I’ll get on the other side of all of this.” He laughed, a short grotesque bark. The man had dirt on me, and it didn’t matter how much money I had. Money didn’t make too much of a difference behind bars. Or dead. I thought of the FBI agent, leaning in and telling me I could get the damn man, own him once and for all. I shook the thought away and looked over to my scowling boss. His eyes were cool, emotionless.

  “Dammit, Red. Stop fucking talking. And get the goddamn fuck out of here. Get the girl back here. That’s all I need you to do.”

  I grabbed the suitcase and walked out, slamming Art’s office door behind me. He was pushing on me for some reason, and I couldn’t figure out why. Blinded by my own rage, I opened the door to the Aston and peeled out of the driveway, headed east toward the desert.

  Toward Gabi.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gabriella

  I heard footsteps on the stairs. My heart pounded hard, the blood whooshing in my ears. The adrenaline of fear pumped through my body, and I gulped. Instinctively, I backed up on the mattress. I saw the man appear on the stairs in the dim light of the attic. It was the bigger of the two men, the one who had whacked me with the gun.

  “Stand up, girl. We’re going on a ride. That’s what the boss says.” My mouth went dry. With every movement away from Red’s apartment, I was further and further away from rescue. I sat there, frozen. “I said get up.” The man walked over to me and pulled me up roughly.

  “Fuck! That hurt!” I protested. He’d nearly pulled my arm out of its socket. “Aren’t you supposed to keep me unharmed or some shit?” He took my hand and tied it to the other with a zip tie.

  “For such a pretty little thing, you’ve got a damn foul mouth.” The man thrust me toward the stairs, his hand on the zip tie. “And no, the boss said we could rough you up a little if need be. You just need to be alive. Says you’re his meal ticket.” A cold fear ran through me. His meal ticket? What the hell did that mean? “Go on down the stairs girl.” He pushed me roughly and I walked until I hit the cool air of the lower floor. He pushed me outside into the blinding light of the day. The air was dry, the road in front of us deserted save for the van that brought us out here to this hell hole. The smaller man came up and tied a blindfold over my eyes.

  “You ready, Al?” I heard the taller man grunt in response. The two men grabbed me by the arms and led me, stumbling, over to the van. I heard the door open and felt myself being shoved inside. The men threaded the seatbelt in the back through my arms and slammed the door shut. I lay there shaking, cold in spite of the heat. How had I become a pawn in some kind of game? And what exactly was the game? The van rumbled along, moving east into the desert lands of California. I closed my eyes and slipped in and out of consciousness, waking fully sometime later to hear the low voices of the two men who had kidnapped me.