GRIPPED (Romance Mystery & Suspense Box Set)

by Abbott, Alex

“I don’t know how to celebrate this, Jamal,” she said, looking up at him almost demurely.

  She didn’t know what she was worried about. Her love for him... it had never waned apparently, and with his return, it had flared up into a nova.

  Perhaps she was simply afraid of losing herself in him again, allowing herself to trust him. He’d been her lover, yes, but he’d been so much more. He’d been the one that had taken care of her, made her decisions, saved her from her worries.

  And then he’d left her, filled with uncertainty and how to handle life on her own.

  Yet something in her called out for her to go back to exactly how things used to be, to let her worries go and just once more submit to him utterly.

  He lifted a hand up to cup her cheek, stroke her fondly with his thumb as he smiled down at her. His other arm went around, cupping her round ass and kept her against him snugly.

  “One night,” he said to her with such authority, as if it was not a question but simply the reality. “We’ll make our calls here and now, make appointments with contractors, go over the place one final time. And when we’re done all that business? I am going to take you away from here, show you a great night. Take you back to my place, where you can forget everything. Forget the years we had apart. Forget all the bullshit you’ve had to deal with. And just let me take care of you. Just one night,” he reiterated.

  It was like a siren song and she was helpless to resist.

  It was as though her entire body simply responded to his words, like a puppet on a string, and her head was nodding before she could control it.

  She looked away, embarrassed at just how easily she found herself obeying, and tried to hide her growing smile.

  “That’s my girl,” he said fondly, a broad, warm smile on his face for her as he stroked her cheek, gave it a tender pat and guided her towards the bar. He pulled out his phone as he went, “I know a guy who owns a company that should be able to do most of the renovations for a decent price.”

  Chapter 12

  Romy paced along the sidewalk outside of Angela’s place. His calls had all gone unanswered, yet that didn’t stop him from leaving another. His voice carrying out loud, as he hoped that maybe she was in fact home and could hear him.

  “Don’t ignore me!” he shouted to her voice mail. “I’m sorry for reacting quickly! Just talk to me and we’ll work it out! Just fucking talk to me!” he said before ending the call in a rage.

  He was normally so smooth and suave, and the fracture in his disposition was leaving him looking lost and frazzled. He paced back and forth, his normally sleek hair a bit messy from running his hand through it in stress.

  Truth of the matter was, he was far more into the older woman than he’d let on. They’d met so randomly at that bar, had a whirlwind of a relationship, but she’d sunk her nails into his heart. The theft they’d pulled together was the clincher. He had thought he’d finally found a woman — a partner — he could rely on, trust in. They’d done this dangerous thing together, and pulled it off. What said more about a couple’s bond than that?

  Yet to see her pressed up in the corner with Jamal?

  His hands clenched into fists with anger. Yet…

  Even if it were just like he saw, and she had been kissing with that old thug… they’d never talked about exclusivity. He’d never told her he expected loyalty. They’d hooked up in a damn bar and had what seemed like it’d be a one-night stand. If things had gotten more serious, they should’ve talked about it. Revisited the nature of their relationship.

  So he’d do that. But first he had to talk with her, and she’d not been in communication for hours.

  He tried calling again, but as he did, he saw in the street lights the look of some other nasty sorts. Dressed in old, worn clothing, they loomed about. And while that itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, the number of them was. They tried to space out, but he was noticing that they were far too attentive to be the usual types of vagrants and brutes.

  They were a rival gang.

  There came a roar down the street, motorcycles. Romy knew it had to be more of Vitaly’s guys, those obnoxious bikers who he did so much business with. He was relieved because there was just the one of them ‘on duty’ at the club nearby, and that wouldn’t be enough to deal with the number of men that seemed arrayed against them.

  Romy’s relief faded, however, when he saw it was just the one bike. Vitaly, all by himself. Which was odd in and of itself, as he never saw the old mobster travel alone. Stranger still was when his bike pulled up to stop next to him, rather than the club.

  Vitaly never paid Romy much mind except when it was time to do business. No patience for Romy’s charm or personability.

  “Hey man we gotta talk,” Romy said, trying not to look suspicious, but wanting to get them both off the street then and there.

  “I understand you have been screaming at the ladies place all day,” came that hard, Russian accented voice of Vitaly’s. The topic of his words threw Romy for a loop though.

  “Yeah, so what man? She’s my— never mind,” he said, trying to refocus, his temper flaring up there for a second as he was reminded of his romantic woes.

  “No, you never mind,” Vitaly said, climbing off his bike, that towering man, so tall and lanky making a heavy thud with his footsteps upon the sidewalk. “I do not brook interference with her, you hear? I made a promise,” he stated, resting one hand at his waist, thumb hooked into the belt hoop, nudging back his leather coat just enough that his handgun could be spied.

  Romy was outraged, his mind running hot with anger at Vitaly daring to tell him what he could do about his own girlfriend. Though more pressing matters were at hand, as the thugs began to move in their worn, winter overcoats. Those big garments enough to hide some serious weaponry.

  “Fuck man! Let’s get inside!” Romy shouted angrily, the two of them looking ready to fight when Vitaly’s man in front of the bar pulled out his gun.

  “Get back!” he shouted, but a gunshot rang out, filling the streets. Vitaly’s henchman went flying back, his chest exploding in a bloody mist.

  Vitaly reacted instantly, and was ducked down behind his bike with his gun out before Romy could get over the shock.

  Shots came at Vitaly, ricocheting off the asphalt around Romy, but he sprang out of the way, hiding in the nook of Angela’s doorway. Neither of them had a great spot for avoiding the shots, but they bided their time. Seconds feeling like hours in that situation, their hearts pumping so hard.

  Vitaly knew what he was doing though, and at that exact right moment, with but a fraction of a second to spare, he rose up and fired three shots with precision at one of the gunmen. All three struck home, and the man fell to the middle of the road dead.

  That was all the opportunity he got, though, before the rest of them were reloaded and shots rang out again. Vitaly instead dashed behind a car nearby, and with little time to spare as Romy watched his motorcycle topple over from the bullet spray it had already taken.

  While the shots came, Romy got himself together enough to look to the building door. It was locked, of course, but he tried pressing the buzzers. All of them, shouting frantically into the intercom.

  “Let me in! I’m being shot at down here! Please help!” over and over, as the shootout behind him carried on.

  Romy’s tension mounted. He had no gun on him, instead relying upon the Russians for their protection when he worked their area. That was part of the understanding their two groups had. But bizarrely Vitaly hadn’t had any more of his men around, just the one who now lay dead or dying against the bar.

  Finally the electronic lock buzzed and someone let him through. Though as Romy pulled open the door, there was Vitaly barreling in past him, shoving them both inside the hallway.

  The door slammed shut behind them and they ran behind another recess as Vitaly checked out what was coming. Their time was short, even Romy knew that. The door wouldn’t stop hit men like them for long, they’d just blast it ope
n.

  “What do we do?” Romy shouted at Vitaly. Fighting was not his skill he had to offer to Javier’s operation.

  “Is there a backdoor?” Vitaly asked roughly, then repeated himself with a shout when he didn’t get an answer immediately.

  “I think so!” Romy responded, and immediately Vitaly rose back up from his crouched position and they headed back through the apartment’s halls.

  Before they got far, however, a bullet fired through the window on the door and struck a wall in the hall. Vitaly ducked out of the way, then took a shot. He didn’t hit, or so Romy assumed, because another retaliatory bullet went whizzing down the hall by them both.

  “You can’t kill ‘em all!” Romy shouted at Vitaly, pressing his back against the wall as best he could as Vitaly calculated his next move.

  “Shut up,” Vitaly said simply, his aquiline face hard and focussed as he leaned out just enough to fire another shot.

  The sounds of someone crying out in agony said to Romy it was at least a hit.

  “Let’s go,” Vitaly said to Romy again, leading the way on down the hall, through the corridors.

  “What if they rounded about to get us?” Romy asked, a bit of panic and worry in his voice. Though overall, he was doing a good job of holding it together, considering it was his first gun fight.

  “Shut up,” Vitaly growled at him again and they ran on towards that door to escape.

  It was a fire escape, and the moment they opened it up an alarm blared in Romy’s ears. It was so loud that he didn’t even really hear the shot that rang out from the other side of the door.

  Chapter 13

  The feel of Jamal’s lips still lingered upon her, the whole night being something surreal. Her fantasies come to life. The thing she dreamed about in his absence despite not wanting to, but made real.

  Jamal, sweeping in to rescue her from mundanity. From herself. From responsibility for her criminal actions. Making it all right, and making her feel so damn good.

  It had been so perfect, that she had to take a breather. She’d turned down his offer of a ride, repeatedly. Not because she didn't want it, not because she didn’t want that extra moment with him, just to take a moment to think.

  That felt like a mistake in retrospect, as she listened to the calls Romy left on her voicemail. Then saw the police tape along the sidewalk outside her building.

  The concrete was still stained with blood. It managed to steal her mind away from those thoughts of Romy. His apologies, his upset voice, so hurt, but so desperate to make things good with her.

  It had broken her heart to hear them on the way over. He wasn’t a bad guy, just a bit young and impulsive, but her stomach felt caught in her throat as she looked over the scene before her. She’d never seen so much blood, and she could almost taste it on her tongue.

  Her eyes immediately went to the bar down the street, knowing instinctively that there must have been something that started there.

  Right outside its doors there was another big blood stain, perhaps the biggest of them all.

  Panic set in immediately, and she whipped out her phone. Romy’s number was called. It rang. Rang.

  It went to voicemail.

  She tried again.

  The same.

  Her eyes were filling up with tears when from down the road the roar of a motorcycle drew her attention, the familiar, reverberating noise drawing her gaze. Blinking away the misty eyed moisture, she could see the familiar silhouette of a man sat high upon the bike. Looking at her from down the road.

  She found herself walking forward, towards the figure without thinking about it. Hoping there were some answers, but as she got to him… she saw it wasn’t Vitaly as she’d hoped. It was one of the big, brawny thugs who hovered around him.

  Still, he plainly waited for her, resting one foot on the sidewalk.

  She should have felt more afraid, with how quickly embroiled she was becoming in the mob’s world. She should have felt more afraid, approaching a burly biker, who was waiting for her. Only her.

  “What happened?” Angela managed, trying to act calm, strong. To hold back the panic, the fear in her voice.

  “Hop on,” he said to her simply, his voice gruff and low, so very brutish with that harsh accent. He revved up his engine, ready to take off at a moment’s notice as he waited for her.

  It wouldn’t have been the stupidest thing she’d done, but it was pretty high up there on the possible winners.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she sneered, unlocking her phone and sending a quick text to Jamal as she made the biker wait.

  “Something went down at my place. Looking into it. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the cops ‘bout the bikers near my place.”

  There. That wouldn’t freak him out at all.

  “It’s not me you want to talk to,” he said in that coarse accent of his, giving her but a brief, pointed look of exasperation. “I’ve been waitink here all mornink for you. Come and I will take you to him,” he said impatiently.

  She should have been more cautious, for certain. Though she recognized him as one of the regular thugs that accompanied Vitaly. Knew that Vitaly worked with Romy…

  It all seemed to add up.

  “I’ve just sent a text to a friend. If I go missing, there’s no way either of you’ll escape jail. Got it?” she asked sternly.

  The big Russian man looked rather unimpressed by her statement, even as her phone vibrated with Jamal’s response.

  “Was very stupid of you to want to involve police at all. But it makes no matter. You hop on if you wish to see him. Or don’t. And I ride away, and he is very annoyed with us both,” he said, putting it all so simply in that gruff voice of his.

  Angela rolled her eyes.

  “God, I’m hopping on, obviously, but you only got an hour,” she said, hopping up onto the back of the bike, phone still clutched in her hand.

  When the motorcycle revved up again, she could feel it reverberate through her, the tremors so powerful as they carried through her body.

  “You may wish to hold on better than that,” he warned, but gave her no more time. Instead, he simply pulled away from the curb and away from the club.

  It wasn’t long however, before he stopped, and delivered her right behind another motorcycle. The figure this time far more familiar.

  Vitaly looked back at her simply, revving his motor as he left space for her to hop on. The roar of the engine said that it wouldn’t be a conversation with him just yet either.

  All she wanted was some damned answers, and by the time she was seated behind Vitaly, her arm around his waist, her eyes were narrowed and her face was red.

  Sorrow had been replaced with annoyance and anger, and there was nothing she could do about it but wait.

  Vitaly’s motorcycle pulled off and away, the roar of it was felt through her like she was riding a freight train. She felt like she might vibrate off if she didn’t cling tightly to the man’s hard torso.

  He took her through the city, off down street after street, until he finally came to a park where he led her down a road to a quiet little nook that was hard to see, hidden by a copse of trees.

  With that, the engine was cut off and he put the kickstand down. Silence reigning once more.

  She wasn’t in the mood for waiting, and she quickly went to her phone, sending another text to Jamal.

  “Still okay.”

  She didn’t have time to read through his numerous questions and concerns, safe to say, she knew he was troubled.

  “So what is it?” she said to Vitaly, no longer in the mood for waiting. “What happened at my place?”

  He climbed off his bike, his long legs lifting up over it before she too was pressed to climb off, her body feeling odd from all that vibration, leaving her limbs a bit like jelly.

  Vitaly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, offering one to her in turn as he looked her over.

  “Was a rival gang. Looking to move in o
n mine and the Cuban’s turf,” he said to her in that deep, gravelly voice of his, so edged with authority. “They tried to take as many of us out in that one hit as they could.”

  Angela felt her stomach go like lead, swallowing down cotton balls as she shook off his offer of a smoke.

  “Where’s Romy?”

  Vitaly lit up his cigarette and then tugged open his jacket. She could see a handgun holstered beneath the leather as the towering man tugged his shirt out of his pants, showing his lean, rock-hard abs and then… a bandaged wound.

  “You know that punk was outside your place screaming his head off at you for hours? I came over just to tell him to fuck off and leave you be,” he said to her in a low voice, his accent not nearly as heavy as the other Russians she’d met. “That is why I took this wound.”

  “I was out,” Angela explained, as if she had to. As if there was any requirement for her to have to justify not being at home.

  “But that doesn’t answer my question,” she said, even as her eye twitched at the wound.

  Vitaly tucked his shirt back into his jeans, looking her over curiously, his head tilted back, the dangerous man scrutinizing her intensely.

  “I get shot doing this thing for you. But you worry about a man who shouts threats at you?” he said, finding some dry amusement in that, laughing out a cloud of grey smoke. “You are a strange lady.”

  “Well I know you’re fine. All patched up, and tough as nails,” she said, her face turning redder at his insults. “And all you were doing was helping my neighbours out so they didn’t have to listen to him anymore. I can handle Romy.”

  “Very well,” Vitaly said in that gruff, ominous voice of his. “You will have to handle him your own self then. Because I do not know where he is. I led him to safety in the gunfight, but when I was shot, he ran off on his own.” With a shrug of his broad shoulders he looked her over. “It is my bet that they have him. Or he is dead.”

  Angela had no idea how to feel about that. It felt like she’d been kicked in the chest, and she even staggered back. She’d never known someone who’d gotten in this deep before, and her eyes widened with fright and rage. Maybe it was just hearing the words aloud.