Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0)

by Alexis Abbott

  “Stay down!” Eva shouts at me, but I’m already falling to my knees.

  I can see only shadows move across the window through the curtains, and along the crack beneath the door. But multiple figures are beating at the door and firing shots inside.

  I’m surrounded by killers, and all I’ve ever been is an office employee, hidden from the violence of the world. And now, I’m really regretting not taking up those self-defense courses! I’ve never known the depths of helplessness until now, and I edge away from the door and windows.

  A bullet rips through the shitty stucco of the motel room, grazing my calf, but the weird thing is that I barely feel it, even though I’m still screaming like a maniac. Even as the blood starts to drip, it’s like I’m in a daze. I look around the room, trying to find some shelter, and then I see it.

  Sure, it’s just a flowery, ancient ironing board, but if I can get that and block the space under the bed, it could be a makeshift shelter at least.

  I just have to hold out until Mikhail gets here. That’s all. He’ll know how to take down these maniacs.

  I rush to the closet, grabbing the ironing board. It’s unwieldy, and the legs seem really rusted somehow, but it’s still metal, and that’s gotta be better than these thin little walls.

  Someone screams next door, and then goes deathly silent, and it sends a chill through me. Was that Eva? One of my protectors?

  It’s only a matter of time...

  I can’t think of that. Not now. There’s no escape, there’s just survival, so I crawl in under the bed, fixing the ironing board in place.

  Not a moment too soon, because I hear a bullet strike the metal board right after. Whether it did anything to deflect it from me, I can’t tell, but I count myself lucky anyhow.

  I curl up in a ball beneath the bed, clasping my wounded calf to stem the flow of blood. I rip some fabric from a dangling bedsheet and tie it around my leg before things go eerily quiet.

  That silence is more blood curdling than the loud bangs of gunshots.

  After a while I see a flicker of movement through a bullet hole in the wall. Then the door bursts open and I stifle a squeal before it can get out.

  “Alicia?!” hisses Eva, looking for me.

  “I’m here!” I rasp back from beneath the bed and she looks down, gun in hand as she shuts the door and reloads her gun.

  “I plugged a few of these goons,” she says to me, looking primed and ready despite her disheveled state. “There’s more but help should be here at any moment,” she says, breathing heavily.

  “Who are they?” I ask, as if it matters. They’re the bad guys. The ones with guns that are shooting at me and a woman who’s protecting me. “Is there anything I can do?” I ask, deciding that’s a much better question.

  “Just stay hidden,” she says, running a hand back over her hair, “that’s the smartest thing you can do.” She fishes into the waistband of her jeans in back, pulling out a small revolver and a tiny black object, laying them down close to me. “Take these, hide this in your clothes, and shoot anyone who tries to take you. But for the love of God don’t blow my head off if I come racing back in here!”

  “R-right,” I manage, staring for a second at the cold metal. I don’t want to touch it. I’m scared of it, and I tremble as I reach out, wrapping my hand around the grip. I can at least use it to frighten off anyone who tries to shoot at me, right?

  Regardless, it’s better to have it. Makes me feel a tad stronger, now that it’s in my hands.

  What really helps make me feel better, though, is the roar of motorcycle engines, because judging by the look on Eva’s face, help is here.

  I quickly tuck the little black object into my sock, with nary a clue as to what it is or why.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” she says with a cocky grin. But the daring woman doesn’t stop there; she bursts through the door and opens fire on the thugs after us, giving cover to her gang members as they pull up.

  It doesn’t take long before the roar of motorcycle engines is drowned out by gunfire, though, as an even more intense firefight breaks out.

  It feels like time is moving so fast and so slowly all at once. I can’t really see anything happening, as that’d defeat the purpose of hiding, but I can hear it all, and that’s just as bad.

  “Please, Mikhail,” I whisper under my breath, trying desperately to summon him into existence. “Please hurry.”

  I can see the silhouettes and shadows of figures fighting outside the room, and then suddenly, there’s a spray of blood right in front of me, and Eva falls to the ground, blood starting to pool beneath her.

  The fighting doesn’t stop, but bodies start spilling into the room outside. I hold the gun, but I can’t tell if they’re friend or foe, and I don’t want to risk blowing away one of the gang members here to save me.

  By the time heavy boots come stomping into the room and I can make out the mobbed up attire that looks nothing like what the biker gang would wear, it’s too late. They easily tear apart my makeshift shelter. They’ve got me!

  15

  Mikhail

  Before the call even ended I was running. The nearest car will do, I tell myself before cracking the side window and reaching in to open the door.

  The act didn’t go unnoticed, but it’s too late for that. I bust open the panel beneath the steering wheel and hotwire the vehicle, making it come to life in a heartbeat. There’s no time for a graceful getaway now, I’ll just have to trust that I’ve put enough distance between me and the scene of the hit to not be suspicious as I speed away.

  Every moment on the road is agonizing, every second feels like an hour as my head plays out possibilities for what I’m going to return to. It takes my usual business cool to get my head back on track, to prevent all the worries of a man’s infatuation from messing up my driving.

  I zip between cars and lanes, take a few sharp turns and finally… I can see it.

  There, at the motel, cars and motorcycles are strewn about the parking lot as a few people lie bleeding on the ground, and gunshots ring out in the air.

  I keep focused, pop open my door, and get my gun in hand. One breath, then I dive out of the car, plow the vehicle into one of the black sedans and subsequently one of the thugs inside, as well as another standing at the back.

  The large crash kicks up enough of a distraction that as I roll along the ground and come to a halt, I have enough time to raise my gun and take out one of the attackers. Another goes down as I rise up then rush behind cover.

  It’s never been hard for me to snuff out a life. I’ve dealt with high-stress situations, risky hits before. It’s like water off a duck’s back.

  But never have I let myself feel anything during a hit. Not anger, not pain, not fear. Especially not fear.

  But now, it grips my heart, knowing Alicia is in there, and that she needs me. She needs me to be me. She needs me to be at my best, but my heart and mind are clouded with something else, all the emotions that I’ve forgotten I even knew how to feel.

  It’s going to make me careless if I don’t push them aside. I have to, for her.

  Get my head back in the game. Focus. Concentrate.

  She needs me, damn it, and I’m not going to let my girl down.

  I rise up and fire a couple shots in the direction of the shooters up on the higher level before making a dash to the stairs. They weren’t shots intended to hit, just distract, as I made my way in. The cover fire from the gang members that are here to help also aids me as I move, avoiding taking any bullets myself.

  The stairs are tricky, because I know some of these guys are waiting for me at the top, ready to blow my head off the moment it peeks above the railing as I climb the stairs. So I have to do something else. I can’t wait.

  I could go through one of the rooms here, come out the other side, climb through the window and up onto the next level, taking them by surprise. But that would take a whole lot of time I don’t have if I’m going to get to Alicia.


  A quick study of my surroundings shows I don’t have many options, but I take what I have.

  There’s a pole directly above me, pointing out horizontally. Looks like it once sported signage for the motel, but the sign itself must’ve been removed by vandals long ago. It’s metal, but there’s no way of telling if it could support my weight.

  All the same I jump for it with one hand, grasp hold of that pole and dangle there. Exposed. It’s a foolish move, and I only hope that their surprise is enough to save my ass. I can support myself with one arm easily enough, I’ve been keeping myself in peak condition for so long. The real weakness is in the sign pole, and on whether I can lift my gun up and take aim fast enough.

  I see the two thugs immediately through the railing above. One doesn’t see me right away, but the other in back does.

  I’m not motionless, so it takes a moment longer than usual to raise my gun and aim it right. In that time the pale dirt bag gets a chance to whip his own gun toward me. He fires first, but my bullet’s just a fraction of a second behind.

  Fate’s sealed either way.

  I’m hit, and I feel the bullet tear through my arm, the only thing holding me up. It’s like molten fire, but I don’t lose my grasp, it’s iron solid. I know it’s a grazing hit. I won’t let it take me down, not with her on the line.

  The other guy, however? With a bullet straight through his left eye, he goes down and I’m able to take my second shot. Adrenaline courses through me, and I know I’ll get the girl. This is what I was born to do, what I was meant to do.

  I’m a killing machine, and now that my head’s in the game, not even a bullet can take me back out of it.

  I fire at the other guy as I let myself drop to the ground. He fires too, but he aims where I was, not where I am now. A moment later, I hit the pavement as I hear something move above. I can’t tell what happened to the guy, but I trust in my aim and sprint up the stairs on foot. Blood splatters from my arm onto the steps and as I turn, gun ready, I see the two men are both down. My aim was true.

  As I rush toward Alicia’s broken door and see the shattered glass, my heart ices over. I leap through the glass and prepare myself to take on her assailants, but when I see a woman’s body on the floor and blood, my own vision turns red.

  “Alicia!” I growl the name out in a bellowing shout as I surge into the bedroom toward the body. But it’s not her. It’s Eva.

  The woman’s eyes flutter open as I look around the room, see the mess of the place, the ironing board and items strewn about, the blood staining the carpet and smearing toward the door.

  “Get her…” Eva says weakly.

  She’s burning up and badly wounded, but she should survive. I hope. They didn’t get her in the gut or any of the vitals, at least, so as long as the ambulance gets here quickly enough she’ll be alright. With a motel like this, I imagine there’s been at least a few calls in about the gunfight in the parking lot, so I give her a nod and a pat on the shoulder.

  But I don’t know how to take her advice. There’s no sign of Alicia, and the room is in such a mess, it’s impossible to figure out what happened. There’s only one exit, though, and it’s the door I came in through, so I take a step toward it just before a scream pierces the air.

  I only get a fraction of a moment’s time before a bullet whips past my head and I have to duck down, but I spot Alicia, being dragged through the parking lot.

  I run back out of the motel room and race around the side of the building towards the back lot. Her blood is marking the way, and it’s making my body scream in anger, but I can’t let it distract me. I need to push it down, into my fist, let it make me hard. For so long, I’ve honed my body and my mind to be cold and ruthless, but now I’m burning hot with rage, and it’s a new sensation entirely.

  The back parking lot is smaller and there’s only one car there, and just two guys. One pushing Alicia into the back of the car and another pointing his gun right at me.

  The shot goes off as I dive forward, losing precious moments. But it saves my life, in two ways.

  Not only do I dodge that shot from the goon below, but the third thug that’s rounding the corner with his gun held high instead finds me at his feet. In the seconds I have, I manage to twist and grab hold of his wrist, keeping the gun pointed away from me as I raise my own weapon and fire.

  But my position’s not optimal on the floor like this and he’s able to grab my wrist as I did to him, and my shot misses his ugly mug by an inch or so. It comes down to a battle of raw strength, but I have the guys down below to worry about, too. I don’t have the time to fight him over this, not if I’m going to save Alicia from the other guys.

  I hear doors slam shut, and thankfully no more bullets, but that only makes matters more urgent. I push up from my place on the pavement, and as I rise, I’m able to put more of my strength into overpowering this guy. I’m able to stare into his scarred face as he gnashes his teeth at me.

  And I recognize him. He’s no ordinary goon, he’s from Brighton Beach. He’s one of Vasili’s men. And that makes me realize the guy in the gaudy suit below, the one that shoved her into the car was Vasili himself.

  “The girl’s ours,” he says to me with a sneer, and I bash his nose in with a vicious head-butt, sending a spray of blood all over the both of us. That’s all I need to get my gun pointed back at his face and blow an inch wide hole through his skull.

  I rise up, wiping the blood from my face and eyes so I can see, but the image that greets me fills me with rage. The black sedan is pulling away out of the parking lot, with the image of Alicia in the back window looking at me, panic in her emerald eyes.

  I raise my gun to try and shoot out one of their back tires, but their erratic movements, the distance, my blood-blurred vision, and Alicia’s precarious position at the rear of the vehicle mean it’s a shot I can’t risk taking.

  Instead I watch in horror as my girl is hauled off by Vasili. A sick, sadistic bastard whose only intent will be to torture her to get her to incriminate me to Gregorovich, and then murder her.

  16

  Alicia

  I can’t see where I am anymore. At some point, I’m not entirely sure when, they got sick of my screaming after watching Mikhail vanish in the rear-view mirror. The one cruel thug forced a gag in my mouth and a sack over my head. It felt like hours ago that happened, but I’m no longer sure of time or pretty much anything else, either.

  I was trying to memorize the turns, as if that’d help me instruct Mikhail if I ever got to talk to him again, but I long ago lost count. It certainly didn’t help that it felt like we kept veering off the road and driving erratically. It’s any wonder we didn’t get pulled over, but then I guess there’s not a lot of cops wherever they’re taking me.

  I just know that as we get to the end of the journey, they’re hauling me out of the backseat and I feel my feet dragging over cement once we’re inside. Which means we’re not in some cozy place. We’re probably in some dank, abandoned factory. The kind of place people end up right before they get shot by the mob.

  The kind of place I never even knew to dread dying in. This isn’t the life I ever could have expected for myself, not by a long shot, but now I suppress a sob. That’s all the bit of pride I can muster, to at least meet my death with some grace and dignity.

  “Tie her to the bed,” says the snarling voice of the man who hauled me into his car, the cruel little goblin of a man.

  There goes the last bit of my resolve, and I’m screaming again. I can handle the idea of being killed, my body never found, my mom left to mourn a daughter she doesn’t know is dead. I could, at least, make peace with that.

  But being put on a bed by these goons, I know that spells trouble of a far greater magnitude, and fear jolts through me. I struggle, my arms nearly torn from their sockets as I yank against them, but they’re both taller and stronger than me by quite a lot.

  What greets me isn’t the soft cushioning of a bed, however, not even the rough
fabric of some dingy old mattress. It’s just hard metal springs of a bare bed frame digging into me as I’m pushed onto it and stretched out.

  I’ve never felt so degraded and so terrified all at once. Every last bit of me wants to scream but my voice is hoarse. I can barely even breathe, and the throbbing of my bullet wound seems even worse now. I don’t know if it’s all in my head or what, but every part of me aches, like I’m being pulled apart.

  “Shaddup!” screams the voice of that cruel one, the leader, right before he hits me across the face, knocking the feeble sounds from my lips.

  As I sputter and cough from the blow, the two men tie me up so tightly that my poor wrists feel like they’re being sawed through by the rope. Every part of me is either in pain or in extreme discomfort, and I find myself just wishing I could disappear into the ground and be back home.

  But when the word comes to mind — home — it isn’t my apartment I’m picturing. It’s Mikhail’s safehouse. Boring, bland, and filled with such red hot lust and passion I can barely contain myself. My home is him, now.

  “Let me go,” I beg, almost sobbing the words out. But for my misery the leader yanks my hood off, ripping a few hairs from my head in the process.

  “I said shut up!” he shouts, and I’m looking up at his beady-eyed face, so wild with anger, his hand garnished with a ton of glittering gemmed-rings upon it, poised and ready to hit me. “You speak when I tell you to, da?” he asks, getting up in my face, grinding his teeth.

  I turn away from him, able to see around the building I’m in. I notice weird details about it, like how it’s not an abandoned factory as I thought, just some near-empty warehouse. I try to drink it all in, memorize every inch of it, just in case.

  Just in case you discover telepathy? My inner voice asks, and I don’t even have the energy to fight back. I’m going to die here, and this disgusting man’s beady eyes are going to be the last thing I see.