“Who?” I ask.
He sighs. “Colton Matthews.”
I almost drop the phone out of my sweaty hands. I press my fist to the side of my head, trying to come up with something to say but I’m unable to think. My pulse is racing and my breath catches in my throat.
“Say again.” Maybe I heard wrong.
“I need you to take out Colton,” he repeats. Shit. “He’s after Sara as well. He seems to have defected to the Russians.”
I gulp. “I don’t think that’s accurate boss,” I say, my voice coming out in a much higher pitch than Ichiro’s does.
“Now that’s not for you to question now is it?!?” Carmen screams into the other end of the line. I can feel the spit flying through the phone. I thought he only yelled at me like that. “Get my daughter and eliminate your target!”
I jerk the phone away from my ear as crashes and bangs ring through the ear piece. Carmen is probably slamming his phone onto his desk. He goes through iPhones like an ape goes through bananas. It’s at least his fifth one this month. Cell phones are great but there’s something so satisfying about slamming down an old rotary phone that I’m sure the boss misses.
I slip Ichiro’s phone into my pocket and head to the door, stopping at the small mirror over the key hook. My right eye is black and my left cheek bone is swollen. I wipe the dried blood from under my nose and run my fingers through my hair. I’ve looked better but I just fought one of the top assassins on the planet. I’m lucky to be alive.
I glance uneasily around the room at all of the chaos that I’m leaving behind. Broken furniture, blood stains, bullet shells and not to mention the used condom. There’s way too much of my DNA linking me back to this room. But I have to leave. I have to find Sara before Ichiro or the Russians do. If I lose her I’m truly a dead man.
I fear Carmen more than the police. Cops are like teddy bears compared to the killers that Carmen has on his payroll. I know because I’m one of them.
I run down the hallway and burst into the stairwell where I made out and fingered Sara last night on the way up. I fly down the steps, only stopping for a second to adjust the back of my shoe. I crash through the doors and curse when I end up outside. People are walking on the sidewalks with their heads down on the way to school or on their morning commutes.
I don’t know which way she went. I sprint across the street and head towards the University. That’s where I would go if I were her. She knows the area and there must be a ton of people at this hour. A ton of places to hide.
I bump into students as I rush through the main gates of the University. I sprint onto the grass of the courtyard and stop in the middle.
“Fuck!”
I look around from building to building and shake my head. She’s gone.
I just lost the only thing that can reverse the death sentence that Carmen has on my head.
At least she’s not with Ichiro. At least she got away.
I hear a scream and some commotion and I take off in that direction, pumping my legs until they burn like acid.
I pop out on the street and look up the sidewalk. A navy blue SUV with a few Russians hanging around it are a few yards away. One of them is smashing the cell phone of a terrified teenager. They all have the same faded tattoo of two crossed hammers on their forearms.
I pull the gun out of the waistband of my jeans and sprint forward. A lady screams and dives out of my way.
I hate doing this in public, really. I try to be a professional but these sort of messy situations just always fall into my lap. Ichiro says that it’s my fault. I just think that the universe hates me.
I aim Ichiro’s gun between the eyes of the closest Russian thug in front of me, the one with the red track suit on, and pull the trigger. He crumples to the sidewalk before I hear the ringing in my ear from the shot. Three more flicks of my finger and three more dead Bratva Russian mobsters fall to the cement. Their bloated bodies will leave grease stains on the pavement to commemorate their shitty existence and even shittier deaths. A mobster walk of shame.
The passenger door of the van slams shut and the engine starts. I aim for the tires and click. Nothing happens. I slap the gun and try again. Just a click that I know is there but can’t hear over the ringing in my ears.
Fucking Ninja Assassin.
What kind of hitman only keeps four bullets in his gun? “A good one,” Ichiro would say. “A true hitman only needs one bullet.”
I slip the gun back in my pants and haul ass to the departing SUV as the hot steel barrel gives me that sweet burn on my lower back.
Sara must be in the vehicle. There’s no other reason why six Russian mobsters would be outside a University in the early morning. Unless they’re stealing lunch money but if I had to bet I would say that the sweet piece of ass I had last night is tied and blindfolded in the back of the truck.
Silly Russians. Don’t they know that tying and blindfolding her is my job?
The tires squeak as the big blue beast kicks away from the curb. I sprint after it down the sidewalk. Even I can’t outrun an eight cylinder piston engine but they’re bound to stop sooner or later in the chaos that is the downtown morning commute.
I grit my teeth and run like I’m a lion chasing down a gazelle. My throat is burning after the third block, my head is dizzy after the fifth and I’m good to go with a second wind as I pass the sixth.
Construction up ahead. I see the SUV stuck in a mess of honking cars. They’re trying to get into the oncoming lane to speed around it but the office monkeys in their penguin suits are even more aggressive than them, honking and throwing up middle fingers out their windows as they pass.
I hop onto the road and dart to the SUV, heading for the passenger’s door.
This would be much easier with more bullets. Fucking Ichiro.
I open the door and take the Russian sitting in the passenger’s seat by surprise. He screams like a little girl when he sees me. I punch him in the throat and lean into the car. He opens the glove compartment and tries to reach for the gun inside but I slam it closed and punch him in his round stomach.
He grabs me and pulls me into the truck, smothering me in his fleshy, hairy arms. He’s a smaller, beefier guy but strong. Whereas my body looks like it’s carved out of granite his looks like it’s molded out of Play-Doh. So his bear-like strength takes me by surprise.
His arm snakes around my neck and he squeezes. I punch his ribs with both fists until my knuckles get sore and my vision starts to cloud. He’s squeezing my neck hard, cutting off the circulation of blood to my brain. I haven’t taken a breath in a while. A little too long actually.
He never lets up on his choke hold and I’m going to go unconscious if I don’t do something soon. My punches are becoming weaker and weaker until I’m doing more tickling than hurting with them.
My hands drop down and I can literally hear Ichiro laughing in my head. He would have killed them all and been on his way to get a frozen yogurt by now if he was in my shoes.
My hand falls in the plastic console between the seats and the tip of my finger touches something round. A wooden pencil. I grab it and use my last whisper of a breath to sink it into his gut. He screams and releases his hold on my neck.
I take the most glorious breath of my life while I yank the pencil out and sink it into the jugular vein in his neck. His eyes go as wide as hamburgers and he clutches his wound. He spits up blood as his neck turns into a bloody geyser.
The driver sees that and runs out of the parked truck. I open the glove compartment, grab the gun, lean out the driver’s window and drop him in the street with a head shot.
“What a fucking morning,” I mutter to myself as I kick the dead fucker out of the passenger seat and onto the street. “I haven’t even had a morning piss yet, let alone a coffee.”
I close both doors and climb over the blood splattered console into the driver’s seat, buckling my seatbelt, because well, safety first.
“You back there Candy?” I ask, looking over my shou
lder at the curvy body that I fucked the shit out of last night.
She says something but it comes out muffled with the black nylon bag over her head. My ears are still ringing from the gun anyways and I have a splitting headache now that every threat in my immediate vicinity is now dead.
I throw the SUV into drive, wave at the horrified drivers watching me on their way to their cubicles and do a U-turn.
I squeeze the steering wheel and grind my teeth as I drive. I just had a shootout in the middle of a downtown street in broad daylight with the Russian mob. Carmen and the Bratva Russians are both going to be salivating for my head, the police are going to want to have a little chat and I’m stuck with this spoiled rich girl that I can’t stop thinking about. Not to mention I have a Ninja Assassin hunting me down.
And today was going to be such a good day…
eight
Colton
I’m finally out of the city driving down the highway in the opposite way of the morning traffic. I rummage through the glove compartment and middle console looking for weapons, food, anything.
My hand wraps around a pack of cigarettes and I let out a sigh. I quit years ago but I need one badly now. I open the pack, put it to my dry lips and slide a cigarette out. I feel light and giddy like someone waiting to see an old friend. I look around for a lighter as I smile in anticipation of the glorious smoke about to stuff my lungs.
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
No lighter. I toss the cigarettes out the window in a fit of rage and punch the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
Sara starts stirring in the back. She’s been so quiet that I almost forgot about her. She’s lying on the floor of the car with her hands and feet tied up with duct tape. I lean back and pull off the black, nylon hood covering her face. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are bulging.
“What happened?” she asks with a gasp.
“I rescued you,” I say sitting up straight in my seat.
“You’re welcome,” I finally say after waiting for a ‘thank you’ that doesn’t come.
“Where are my manners?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Thank you so much for kidnapping me and almost getting me killed.”
“I’m trying to bring you back to your father,” I explain.
“Exactly. Kidnapping.”
“What do you think is going to happen if I let you go?” I ask. “Those Russians that tied you up are going to come back and do it again. Do you have any idea what they would do to the daughter of their enemy?”
“I’ll go to the police,” she says.
I let out a laugh. “The Bratva pay the police off sweetheart. This is the real world, not some Ivy League school. They’ll hand you right over to them.”
She doesn’t have anything to say to that.
“I’m taking you back to your father.”
“I’m not going back there,” she says with a finality in her voice that makes me wish that I found a lighter for that cigarette.
“Well, then I guess you’re going to stay tied up for the rest of the drive.”
“If you take me back there I’ll tell my dad that you kidnapped and raped me,” she warns.
I sigh in exasperation. “He’s not going to believe that.” I hope.
“He will when I take a rape kit and they find your semen in me.”
This fucking girl. I should have fucked that drunk blond instead. I tap the gas pedal with my foot as I curse myself for taking the nylon bag off her head.
“That’s if we don’t get stopped by the police first,” she goes on. “What do you think the cops will do if they find a tied up girl in this blood-soaked, stolen vehicle, again, with your semen in me?”
I squeeze the steering wheel and seriously consider just parking on the side of the highway and walking back to New York and leaving this mess behind me.
How do I always get myself into these messes?
As badly as I want this shit over with, I have to lay low for a few days. I’ll hole up in a motel in a small, secluded town, call Carmen and explain the situation to him and hope that he can calm down enough to call off the hit on my head.
I’ll have to bring the princess with me. There’s no other option.
“You’re so fucked,” she gloats, seeming to relish my perilous situation. “Who do you think is going to catch you first? My father, the Russians or the police? Which one would you prefer? I know it’s hard. It’s like choosing to get eaten by a shark, a lion or a bear.”
“Don’t forget the dragon,” I mumble, remembering how Ichiro got away on the bicycle. He never stops until his job is done.
“You got me into this mess,” she says, her voice rising. “I’m going to love watching my father handle you. You’ll never-”
She shuts up when I pull over, grab the black nylon bag and stuff it back over her head. I lean back in my seat and exhale slowly.
Ahhhh fucking silence.
nine
Sara
My arms are as numb as a zombie’s when the car finally comes to a stop. The Russian goons had yanked my wrists behind my back in an awkward position and tied them together painfully tight.
Colton thankfully removed the mask an hour ago if I promised not to say, and I quote, ‘one fucking word.’
He turns around and I grunt in frustration at finding him so sexy. Textbook Stockholm Syndrome, but instead of wanting to just please my captor I want to fuck his brains out. The behavioral psychologists at Yale would have a field day with me.
“Stay here,” Colton says. “I’m checking into a motel. If you’re good I’ll untie you.” He smirks. “And if you’re really good I’ll tie you to the headboard when we get inside.”
“I’d rather stay in the trunk,” I respond trying to ignore the heat swelling between my legs at the image.
“But seriously,” he says glancing out the windshield and looking around, “I’ll get you something to eat. You can have a shower.”
And wash away his kisses from last night that still linger on my skin? I feel strangely sad at the thought. On one hand I want this guy out of my life but on the other hand, he fucked me harder than I thought possible. He’s sexy as hell and he killed, numerous men, for me.
Now that’s fucking sexy as much as I hate to admit it.
He opens the door, pauses and turns back to where I’m lying on the floor of the truck.
“Remember Candy…” he places his finger to his delicious lips and makes a soft shhh sound.
He shuts the door and I try to get up to see out the window but I collapse back to the floor on my numb limbs. They tied me up too tight. I think of screaming but decide against it. That shower and food sound too good right now. Not to mention sharing a bed with my sexy captor.
I try to go over the morning events in my head again but the events of last night keep creeping back in. I can still feel Colton’s cock tracing my lips before it slid into my mouth. I can still feel his dick as it shuddered deep inside me, filling me with his hot warmth. Just thinking about him is getting me wet. I have a hungry urge to feel him between my thighs again.
“Smarten up,” I whisper to myself when my fantasies start to take over. “This guy has you kidnapped for fuck’s sake.”
I still have no clue what’s going on. My father told me to go with that Japanese guy who tried to kill me, Russian mobsters are after me for some unknown reason and then there’s Colton. I’m still wondering how he fits into all of this. He says that he wants to bring me back to my dad but my dad said not to go with him. He rescued me only to keep me kidnapped. It doesn’t make any sense.
My head aches in confusion as Colton returns. He’s holding a greasy brown bag and the smell is enough to make my stomach groan like a hungry beast.
“I hope you like burgers and fries,” he says about to throw the bag on the bloody passenger’s seat. “Eww,” he says, yanking it back. “That’s not ketchup.”
He starts the car and drives a short distance. I see tall trees and one phone tower whiz by the w
indow before we stop.
“Look, Sara,” he says, looking down at me. “In all seriousness, I want to help you. There’s a lot of bad guys after you and all I want is to clear things up with your father and bring you back to him. Where he can protect you.”
I hiss out a frustrated breath. “What the fuck is going on?”
He sighs. “Let’s go eat. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Colton unties my wrists and it is excruciatingly painful to move my arms. “Ow,” I whine as he unties my feet. I promise him that I won’t try to run away or make a scene.
“I’m not running away from those French fries,” I joke. “I’m starving.”
I stretch out when I hit the pavement. “Where are we?” I ask. I can hear the highway in the distance but there’s nothing else around besides the shitty motel across the parking lot from of us. Every window has faded blue curtains drawn closed by the scumbag tenants inside, hiding whatever undesirable thing they’re doing.
Colton opens the trunk and pulls out an old woolen blanket. He throws it over the bloody passenger seat and wipes down the dashboard with a crumpled newspaper that he found in the back.
“Looks brand new,” I say, shaking my head.
He grunts in response.
I follow Colton across the parking lot to an orange door with peeling paint. He slides the key into the lock. “Ladies first,” he says, opening the door and waiting for me to enter.
I walk inside and get hit with a damp, musty smell. The room is small with a queen size bed placed in the middle with a painting of a naked lady on the wall over the headboard. The woman’s left breast looks more square than round and if you squint she kinda looks like an orc from Lord of the Rings. I was a better painter than that before I hit puberty. It’s been two years since I’ve had the exhilarating feeling of running a paintbrush over an empty canvas. I wonder if I’m still as good.
I dip my head into the little bathroom tucked away in the far corner with a running toilet that seems to be leaking. The rest of the motel room is in equally bad condition.
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