by Hamel, B. B.
Taken by her Prince
BB Hamel
Contents
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1. Steven
2. Colleen
3. Steven
4. Colleen
5. Steven
6. Colleen
7. Steven
8. Colleen
9. Steven
10. Colleen
11. Steven
12. Colleen
13. Steven
14. Colleen
15. Steven
16. Colleen
17. Colleen
18. Steven
19. Colleen
20. Steven
21. Steven
22. Colleen
23. Colleen
24. Steven
25. Colleen
26. Steven
27. Colleen
Also by BB Hamel
Copyright © 2020 by B. B. Hamel
All rights reserved.
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1
Steven
The streetlights cast long shadows over Washington Street as Luca pulled up against the curb. I looked at my Lieutenant, at the scruffy beard he refused to shave, at his hair slicked back and his dark suit tight across his chest, and took a sharp breath.
The Philly street was quiet. On the left was an empty park, the swing set vacant, the colorful play structure dripping rain from the storm that just passed over. Puddles pressed up against the curb and the single tree planted in a box by the sidewalk waved side to side in the wind.
“You ready?” I asked.
“Ready,” Luca said. He held up his Glock and pulled back the slide, chambering a round.
I nodded to him and slid my own Glock into my hand. It was heavy, the grip worn, but it was clean and reliable. I’d gone over it myself twenty times in the last few days, ever since we started to prepare for this hit.
“The other guys in place?” I asked.
“Should be,” Luca said.
I gave him a look. “No fucking ‘should’, find out.”
He nodded, took out his phone, sent a text. A minute later, he got a response.
“Alex and Davide are in place,” he said.
“Good.” I stared out the windshield. The block opposite the park was filled with rowhomes, most of them quiet and dark at just after midnight on a Saturday. I could just make out a group of men standing on the street corner, huddled together under a bodega overhang.
Those men were on that corner every night without fail. Their customers expected it, needed it really. Cops probably knew about them but let it slide. No use busting some low-level dealers, and anyway, they probably weren’t holding it themselves. They’d take a customer’s cash and send them around the corner to get their actual drugs. That was one way they could avoid getting hit with a heavy charge.
“Come on,” I said, and opened my door. I stepped out into the street, splashed through a puddle, and walked to the cars parked along the opposite curb. The men didn’t look up and didn’t notice me as I stalked toward them wearing a black suit, my dark hair combed back.
Luca joined me without a word. He walked behind me, and I spotted two more guys coming from the opposite direction at the far end of the block. I knew that would be Davide and Aldo. They had orders to wait until we moved before they approached.
My heart beat a steady, calm slam in my chest. I knew the drill, I’d been through this shit before. But this was my first hit as a Capo in my own right. For a long time, I was the top Lieutenant to one of the most dangerous and violent Leone Crime Family Capos, and was only given my own crew two years ago. Ever since then, I’d been consolidating my control over the Gray’s Ferry neighborhood, but I was finally ready to expand.
I could smell dust and old rain as I slipped between two black cars, one truck and one SUV. I hesitated as I got onto the sidewalk and saw glass glittering on the ground in front of me. I skirted around it, making no noise, and walked close to the red brick fronted rowhomes as I got closer to my targets.
Three guys were huddled under the tin overhang. Water dripped on the ground in front of them. One guy, wearing a dark green hoodie and baggy jeans leaned back against the shop’s window, while another was turned away, a phone to his ear. He wore a white polo, khaki pants, and a black hat pulled down low. The third guy was squatted down, his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring at the ground with a bored, vacant expression, and he was the first one to look up.
I saw his dark blue eyes as he stood. He wore a long black t-shirt and jeans with brown boots. He frowned at me and stepped forward, head cocked to one side. His hair was a light brown, almost red in the bodega’s lights. There were signs for Coke products and lottery tickets in the windows, and the neon Open sign was still glowing.
I brought up my Glock and aimed it at the guy’s head.
“What the fu—”
I pulled the trigger and his skull snapped back. Blood splattered from the wound and covered the glass in gore.
“Fuck!” the guy in the hoodie screamed, diving to the side. He pulled his own gun but Luca lit him up, squeezing off four rounds right into his chest.
The last guy spun, his phone dropping to the ground, and reached for something. But Aldo and Davide began firing, lighting up the front of the store, bullets tearing into the guy’s white polo shirt, blood blooming all across his chest as he was thrown backwards. The bodega’s windows shattered as stray bullets flew into the building. I heard a scream followed by a shout, and the guy in the white polo slumped down to the ground.
Three dead bodies bled out onto the concrete. Their thick red blood seeped into the cracks and mingled with the rainwater still dripping from the overhang.
“Rob them,” I said to Davide and Aldo. “Take that phone. Luca, check around the corner, make sure nobody’s coming.”
Luca nodded, his dark eyes hard, and jogged off. Davide was a tall and thin guy with a receding hairline and dark bags under his eyes. He knelt down at the bodies and began to rifle through their pockets. Aldo joined him, a short guy with a broad chest, a shaved head, and a wide jaw.
I walked past them and stepped into the bodega. I knew this place had a security camera, but the owners didn’t actually tape anything. Otherwise the Irish would never have posted up outside of this particular store to do their dirty business.
I looked around the room. A rack had been pushed over and a man with light brown skin, a black shirt, and jeans was leaning over the counter, his eyes wide with fright. I had planned on robbing the place, just to send a message to the Irish that nothing was safe, but I followed the guy’s gaze and stared down at a girl lying on the floor.
She had a shock of deep red hair, long and thick. She wore a white crop top that showed off her tight stomach and high waisted black shorts. Her breasts heaved with each hard breath she took and her bright green eyes were wide and wild with fright.
Blood seeped out from a wound in her shoulder.
“Shit,” I said.
“She needs… she needs help.” The owner’s eyes went wide when he saw me and the gun I was holding. He threw his hands up into the air and stepped back.
I pointed the gun at him. “You call someone, I kill you,” I said.
“But… she’s shot. She’s not… part o
f this.” He shook his head. “Please, I won’t call the police. Let me ask for am ambulance.”
The girl groaned and writhed. She pressed a hand against the wound and let out a sob. She was beautiful, and I felt a stab of anger rush through me.
Fucking Aldo and Davide. They got sloppy and excited, lit the place up for no fucking reason. We only had to kill three guys, just to kick things off, and there was no need to empty an entire magazine into them.
“No,” I said. “I’ll take care of her.”
“What—” The owner’s eyes went wide. “No! You can’t kill her! Please, no!”
I looked at him. “Do you really think I’m going to murder some fucking girl?” I asked.
He opened his mouth then shut it again.
I walked to him and aimed the gun at his forehead.
“Get on the floor,” I said.
He hesitated, then sunk down. He got to his knees, staring at the vinyl tiles.
“If you move, if you look, I will end you,” I said.
Then I turned away and shoved the Glock into my waistband. I hurried to the girl and knelt down beside her. She looked at me, face drawn and pale.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
She opened her mouth, grimaced, shut it again. I moved her hand away from the wound and pressed my own hand against it.
“Come on,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Colleen,” she said.
“All right Colleen. My name’s Steven, and I’m going to take care of you.”
“Wait,” she said. “I need a hospital. Please, I need an ambulance.”
“Can’t do that, sweetheart,” I said, then scooped her up into my arms and stood.
She didn’t weigh much. I tried to be careful but she moaned with pain, her head thrown back. I looked at her body, at the wound in her shoulder, and carried her to the door. I walked fast and the owner looked up, fear and shock in his face. I hesitated before leaving.
“Tell anyone about this,” I said, “and I’ll come back.”
I left the store. Davide looked up from where he was taking a watch off one of the dead guys. He stood and gaped at the girl.
“Boss,” he said. “What the fuck is that?”
“Help me get her in the car,” I said.
Davide just stood there, mouth hanging open. I looked at Aldo and kicked him in the foot. He stood up, staggered back, blinked a few times.
“Help me, you fucking idiots,” I said, rage flowing through me.
Davide snapped out of it and hurried down the sidewalk. I followed, trying not to jostle the girl too much. She groaned in pain and I knew she needed help soon. Davide reached my car, a simple black SUV preferred by the Leone Family, and threw open the back door. I got the girl in there as gently as I could.
“Find Luca,” I said. “Tell him what happened. Tell him I’m taking her to my place.”
“You’re taking her to your place?” He stared at me and shook his head. “Boss, you can’t just—”
“If I have to tell you one more time, Davide, I’m going to break your fingers.”
He took a step back and nodded. “Right, yes sir. I’ll take care of it.”
He turned and ran off. I watched him go before climbing into the front seat of the car.
The girl was trying to sit up. She glared at me, a hand over her wounded shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe,” I said. I took my phone out of the glove compartment and started flipping through the contacts. I stopped when I reached the number for Dr. Chen, and sent a message.
When that was done, I started the engine and took off. Luca could get a ride with Davide and Aldo. They’d regroup and meet up with me later.
Right now, I had to take care of this girl.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I could’ve called an ambulance and left her there. I didn’t have to take her, and I could still drive her to the emergency room, shove her out the door, and leave her. That wound didn’t look like it was going to kill her, and she wasn’t bleeding so bad that she’d die anytime soon.
But as I drove back to my place, my phone buzzed.
Chen: How bad is the patient?
Me: Gunshot. Shoulder.
Chen: I can be at your apartment in five minutes. Hold a towel against the wound until I arrive.
I tossed my phone onto the passenger side seat and drove fast, the wheels of the SUV kicking up water as I took a corner hard.
This was a stupid, needless risk. I looked at the girl in the rearview mirror and she was sitting up, slumped to the right side, holding a hand against her shoulder. She was sweating, breathing hard, and glaring at me like she wanted to rip out my heart.
But fuck, she was beautiful. I couldn’t just leave her there or throw her out in front of the hospital. I had to make sure she was going to be okay.
Nobody else was supposed to get hurt. That bodega was normally empty. We’d been scouting out that hit for days, preparing for it, making sure it wouldn’t blow back on us, making sure there’d be no collateral damage. This girl was a mistake, a stupid mistake, and I was going to make it right.
No matter what, I’d make it right.
2
Colleen
I woke up and stared at a white ceiling for a long moment, confused and disoriented. I took a deep breath and felt a flare of sharp pain in my shoulder, followed by a dull, aching throb. I sat up on one elbow and stared around the room.
I was lying on a large bed, wide enough for two more people. There was a simple end table with a clock sitting on top that said 6:55 in glowing red numbers. I groaned a little and looked at the wooden wardrobe, the set of drawers, and the chest at the foot of the bed. The walls were a grayish blue color, and simple black and white landscape photographs hung on the walls.
There was a door at the far side of the room, standing slightly ajar. I thought I could see a tile floor and a mirror hanging on the wall. There was a closet next to that door, and another door on the wall to my right. That was shut tight.
I let out a groan then fell back onto the bed as the night before came rushing back.
I remembered going out to the bodega around the corner from my apartment. I was bored, a little lonely, and I wanted some ice cream because I couldn’t sleep. I’d been out at the bar with Tracy and only had one drink before leaving early. I figured I’d buy a pint, eat half of it, and watch The Office until I passed out.
But then there were gunshots. I heard shouting outside. The glass shattered. And something knocked into me, not painful at first, but quickly blooming into a sharp screaming fissure in my shoulder. I staggered back, knocked over some shelves, and dropped to the ground.
That’s when he arrived. Square jaw, bright blue eyes, dark hair. He frowned at me and I could have sworn he was a movie star. I thought I was hallucinating, or dreaming, or about to die and he was the vengeful angel sent to drag me up to heaven or something like that.
Instead, he picked me up, carried me to his car, and took me to his house.
I couldn’t remember much after that. The rest was a blur of him bringing me inside… and then a couch, or maybe a bed… and another man, whispering soothing words. He gave me a shot… and then nothing after that.
I touched my shoulder and winced. It took me half a second to realize I wasn’t wearing the same shirt from the night before. It was a man’s white t-shirt, too big for me, but not so enormous that I was swimming in it. My shorts were the same, although there was a brownish splotch along the front, which was probably a bloodstain. The shirt was gone, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
That man… he could’ve stripped it from me. I touched my chest and felt a small amount of relief that I still had on my bra, at least.
I got out of bed, felt a little dizzy, and steadied myself on a window sill. I looked outside and saw a quiet Philly street, the rowhome across the road, a guy in a suit walking along with a briefcase
in his hand. I turned from the window and walked into the bathroom before splashing some water in my face, took a few deep breaths, tried not to freak out.
I should be in a hospital. I got shot last night, shot during some kind of attack or maybe a robbery, I couldn’t tell. I think I got a glimpse of some guys on the ground when I was carried out of there, but I wasn’t thinking straight and maybe I made all that up.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself.
Then I turned and walked to the door. I grabbed the knob, turned it, and pushed. Nothing happened. The knob wasn’t locked, but the door didn’t budge. I pushed again and again, but something on the outside was keeping the door shut. I shoved against it, banged against it hard, but it wouldn’t move. I felt tired and light headed and my shoulder began to ache again as I stepped away from the door.
“Fuck,” I said as panic began to set in.
Some guy shot me then picked me up and kidnapped me. He called some random doctor that gave me some insane shot, and I had no clue what they did to me while I was unconscious. I felt sick, like I might puke, and I ran back into the bathroom. I took off the shirt, peeled back the bandage, and stared at the wound.
It was stitched up, neat and clean. I reached up to touch it, but felt a stab of pain and instead pressed the bandage back down again.
“What the fuck,” I said, and sat on the edge of the tub. I put my face in my hands and took deep breaths, trying to calm myself, trying not to panic.
