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

by Alexis Abbott

  Even through the tall trees that line the cobblestone path to the manor, it’s clear they haven’t made much of an effort to conceal their security, even if the men I see aren’t carrying weapons out in the open.

  There are three guards standing watch at the entrance, at least six men strolling along the tops of the walls, and every balcony I can see from here has at least one person on it, and eyes are starting to turn to my black sedan. Locals know to avoid this place, but it isn’t uncommon for tourists to mistakenly head this way and be turned back with a kind but firm word.

  But the car I drive means something. My black sedan is one of my old vestiges of the Bratva, and to see one pull up means someone is here to do business.

  But as my eyes scan the men that I see, none of them look familiar. This isn’t so much of a surprise — I’ve been away from business for a very long time, and men in the rank and file come and go in the span of a year or less. Still it means I may have to do some fast talking. I grimace as some of the men at the gates eye my car. I’d much rather storm the place. Three quick shots would put those men down, and I could slip to cover before the rest even had a chance to react. Better yet, I could just wait until nightfall and scale the wall without any of the guards being the wiser.

  Any such dramatics, however, would put Maggie’s life at a terrible risk, especially if word of my actions rescuing Liv has gotten around.

  I feel a sudden sinking of my stomach as I think of her again, and I grip the steering wheel while almost unconsciously watching the guards’ patrol routes on the walls, keeping an eye out for weaknesses. What if Liv decides to abandon my protection and try to handle herself on her own? What if the fear of what I am drives her to do something foolish?

  I was trying to keep her safe, but opening up to her was a mistake that could very well put her in danger.

  I frown, shaking my head. She’s a smarter person than that, I know. But fear can make someone act against their better judgement, despite everything they know. Fear is something I like to think I have conquered long ago, after all the horror I’ve seen and endured, and after all that I’ve done, but I know better than to let my guard down.

  I step out of my car, and I can feel the eyes of everyone guarding the villa turning to me. From here on out, I’m a known man, however this goes down. I take out my phone to make sure it’s still off, just in case any of my old contacts I may meet in here have my number and decide to track me in the same way I’ve been tracking Liv and Maggie. Seeing it safely off, I take a few steps down the road towards the compound, making eye contact with the guards.

  But I haven’t taken more than a few steps before the sound of a roaring engine reaches my ears, and I turn to look down the opposite end of the road to see a car barreling down the street.

  Instinctively, my hand goes to my side where a gun is stored, and I step back to the car, my muscles poising as adrenaline starts to kick in. Did they get tipped off somehow? Are these friends of the men back at the apartment complex come to head me off?

  I swear under my breath as I hear voices coming from the villa. The men on the walls are at full attention now, and the guards at the doors are getting twitchy, their own hands moving to where I know concealed weapons to be held.

  Whatever is coming my way, it doesn’t seem to be expected. My fingers wrap around the handle of my pistol when the car comes screeching to a halt just a few feet from mine…

  ...and Liv jumps out of the passenger’s side, her eyes wide with alarm.

  “Max!” she hisses, rushing toward me, and I see Felix looking at me from inside the car on the driver’s side. I’m doubly surprised when she throws her arms around me briefly, and I stare at her, bewildered.

  “What are you doing here?!” I hiss a whisper back, glancing at the manor. “What if they recognize you?”

  “No time!” she snaps, gesturing wildly for me to get back into the driver’s seat of my car, “we need to go, now!” She wastes no time in slipping past me and getting into the passenger’s seat of my car, and I can only look between the cars, dumbfounded for a moment before nodding and moving over to the driver’s side of my car.

  I glance back at the villa and see a few of the guards chattering into phones, looking at us with furrowed brows, and I turn to call to Felix, “Split up!”

  He nods, and the moment I’m in my car, I turn the ignition and pull out of there, zipping down the road and turning right where Felix turns left at the earliest possible intersection as my eyes move to the rear-view mirror periodically.

  “What the hell just happened, Liv?” I ask her, trying to sound composed in what very well might have just blown my entire cover.

  “I just saved your life,” she says simply, trying to get a hold of her own breathing as she buckles her seatbelt. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know—those men and the men you saved me from aren’t Russian, Max. They’re Chechen.”

  My eyes widen in realization as I grip the steering wheel as we take another turn. It isn’t long before I notice a sedan with tinted windows on our tail, and I take another sharp turn into traffic, weaving in and out with expert ease.

  “Chechens?” I repeat, and realization dawns on me. “Of course. The Bratva didn’t reinitiate the slave trade after I drove them out, they must have known better than that. The Chechen just stepped in to fill the power vacuum when they had the chance.”

  “But I thought you knew that guy with the burn on his face?” Liv asked, her hands wringing her seatbelt idly.

  “I did,” I say gravely, “but he was a Chechen among the Russians when I knew him the first time. When the Chechens stepped in to take up the remains of the human trafficking ring, Boris must have been one of the key contacts they used to rebuild it. He must have known everything they’d want.”

  “And you would have been walking into your own execution the moment they recognized you at that manor,” says Liv, retrospective anxiety mingled with the relief in her brown eyes as we drive. After some clever maneuvering and turns through tangled neighbourhoods, I notice the sedan that had been following us isn’t there; we’ve shaken them.

  Liv notices my glancing back periodically, and she furrows her brow. “Will Felix be okay?”

  “If there’s one thing Felix has excelled at besides his computer toys,” I say, leaning back and relaxing a little in my seat, “it’s running away. And I don’t mean that in a condescending manner — lesser men would have been dead long ago. I trust him to save his own skin. That said…”

  I pull out my phone and turn it on, calling Felix’s number and putting the phone to my ear as it starts to ring.

  “What are you doing?!” Liv exclaims, and I look around as though I’m about to run into a car.

  “Huh? What’s the matter?”

  “You can’t use the phone while you’re driving—especially not in European traffic, are you nuts?” Of all the things she could be concerned about today, safe driving is apparently top of her list.

  I give her a flat look and roll my eyes, but as she holds her gaze steady on me, adorably, genuinely concerned, I hand it over, and she puts it on speaker, holding it up with a satisfied look on her face. I narrow my eyes at her, but I can’t hide an affectionate smile as I do.

  “Hello? Max?” I hear Felix’s voice from the phone.

  “Felix,” I say, “thanks for the warning, I owe both of you my life.”

  “Yeah, sure, we’ll get some petit fours to celebrate, but what do we do about the murderous, sex-trafficking Chechens first?”

  “They’ve seen us and our cars,” I say, taking a deep breath as I consider just how bad things look right now, “so they know our faces and our license plates—I assume you’ve already shaken whomever was tailing you.”

  “Left ‘em in the dust five blocks ago, but they got a look at my tags, I’m sure.”

  “Right. It’s only a matter of time before they track us. My home isn’t safe anymore.”

  “Merde. Fine, I’ll go pay my grandmother a
visit, I guess. Keep me posted, though, she has a lovely kitchen that I’d rather not see get shot up by the mafia!”

  I tilt my head away from his shouting and reply in a bored tone, “You’ll be fine, Felix. But you can’t go anywhere that’s tied to you, or they’ll worm their way there. We’ll meet up with you when we know what the next step will be. For now, remember the safehouse I stashed you away at the first time you came to me?”

  “That old place? Is it still secure?”

  “Yes. Head there, and take a little comfort in the tremendous favor I owe you now.”

  “Don’t think I’ll forget,” he drones, “but will you be joining me?”

  “No,” I say firmly, “we need to remain separate.”

  “What? Max, where are you going—” but I tap the button to hang the phone up, ending the call before Liv puts the phone in her lap as she chews on her lip thoughtfully.

  “I’m guessing you don’t have a French grandmother we can go lie low with in the countryside, do you?” she asks carefully, and I smile a bit. After a pause, Liv tilts her head as if asking for more.

  “So if we aren’t going to your safe house,” she starts, “then where exactly are we heading?”

  19

  Liv

  I glance over at Max, whose knuckles are tensed and white over the steering wheel, his green eyes staring straight ahead. He’s right beside me physically, but mentally he’s in another realm entirely. I wish I could read his mind, see the racing train of thoughts in his head. Even though his expression is relatively serene — probably the result of years of training himself to be calm under duress — I know he’s in turmoil over what move to make next. There’s no doubt that I’m in over my head with this one, and I have no way of knowing whether this is too much for Max to handle, too.

  I get the impression that he’s dealt with far worse situations, but then again, what do I really know about him anyway? I know he’s a good man with good intentions. At least, I think he is. I hope. Everything he’s shown me thus far indicates to me that he’s not one of them.

  Although, knowing that he was part of that same sort of group once upon a time definitely chips away at my confidence in him just a little. It’s hard to comprehend how this beautiful, noble knight of a man could have ever walked along the dark side. And I know there are shades of gray here. Just how far into darkness did Max once dive? And for how long?

  And why? Was it just desperation? Did he ever enjoy this depravity?

  But now is not the time to ask such questions. I can see a tiny muscle twitching in Max’s strong jaw, and I want so badly to reach over to stroke his face to calm him. To reassure him that I trust him. To tell him I’m with him, no matter what.

  It surprises me just how strongly and assuredly I feel this way. After all, we barely know each other, at least by conventional standards. And we were never meant to fall into this kind of dynamic, were we? I was going to be his student and he my disciplined mentor. But now every little stepping stone of the life path I designed for myself is being overgrown with weeds, obscuring the destiny I once saw so clearly before.

  I haven’t talked to my parents in so long. I wonder if they worry about me. I’m sure they do. My mother is always worrying, always fussing over me. And my father, the easy crier, is probably distraught. I wonder if they’ve already contacted Interpol. Or maybe, just maybe, they’re just chalking up my reticence to a newfound independence and freedom as a college student. I can just hear my mother saying, “She’s a college girl now. A jetsetter! She doesn’t have time to text her mom and dad every five minutes. Let her live, Chuck!”

  I smile to myself a little sadly. I love them, of course, but I hope they have no idea what’s happening to me right now. I couldn’t bear the thought of shattering their hopes and dreams for me and my future. They couldn’t take it. I don’t even know how to tell them what has happened, and I’m afraid that if I do, they’ll take me back home, desperate for me to be away from this trauma.

  And I don’t want to go. I don’t want to completely walk off the path, and more than that... I don’t want to leave Max. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable, and has protected me through the worst night’s sleep I’ve ever had, and that might not seem like a lot, but it formed a fast connection between us.

  Besides, there’s a full-blown crisis blooming dangerously all around me, and I have enough to worry about in the here and now. First of all, where is Maggie? I still don’t know if she’s even alive or dead. With what little I know of these slaver assholes, it could go either way. It probably depends on whether things worked out with her “buyer.” I shudder at the thought of my new friend being traded away like some luxury good. Like she’s just a pretty thing to use and abuse until she drops dead.

  And to think… that was very nearly my fate, too.

  I can’t allow myself to believe that Maggie is dead, even though I doubt her life is preferable at the moment. I desperately hope that whatever filthy man purchased her isn’t abusing her too harshly. I feel sick at the thought of her being mistreated. Maggie is so sheltered and soft — how would she ever survive?

  I wonder if her parents have any idea what’s going on. I know they’d probably have the money and power to save her, if anyone did. But then again, I don’t think these guys would so easily give her up just for the sake of money. I get the feeling that this goes beyond a simple pay-off, that there’s something more sinister. Like they do this for the thrill. Or because they just flat-out hate women. And if they were so happy to torture me before, when I was just a vulnerable, helpless girl in their clutches, how much worse would it get now that they’ve seen me with Max? Now that they know I’m an accomplice? An active opponent?

  “We’re going away,” Max says suddenly, shaking me from my thoughts.

  “Where?” I ask quietly, peering over the console at the side of his smooth face. His expression still reveals nothing about his state of mind, and his even tone doesn’t offer much either. I wish he would do something — anything — to indicate what he’s feeling.

  “A different safe house I have used in the past,” he answers simply.

  “For how long?” I question, feeling a little nauseous. I still don’t have my phone or any of my stuff. And I remember what Felix said about his own time at a safe house years ago — no computer, no going out. No nothing.

  “I can’t answer that,” Max says reluctantly. He glances over at me as the car turns round a corner. There’s a soft pleading light to his gaze. “You have to trust me.”

  “I do,” I reply quickly. And I know it to be true. I trust him, implicitly, with my life. He’s earned that, at least. “Is Felix going to be okay?”

  A smile twitches at Max’s lips. “I think so. He’s more resilient than his looks would have you think. He knows the drill. Don’t worry about him.”

  “And what about us?” I press, biting my lip.

  The hint of a smile dissipates instantly. “We’re going to get through this. I won’t let anything happen to you, Liv.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this,” I burst out suddenly, the dam of emotions having broken open to allow a flood of pent-up guilt and shame. “If not for me, none of this would have happened. Maggie would be okay. We’d all just be at the university doing exactly what we were supposed to do.”

  Max’s arm reaches over the console, his hand landing on my knee gently. I recoil at the soft touch, my jumpiness betraying how scared I really am. He gives me a pained, broken look.

  “Do not blame yourself for this. It isn’t your fault. The blame rests elsewhere — with me, with those Chechen thugs, but not with you. Liv. You have to understand: these men are veterans of the trade. They know exactly what to do. You never stood a chance,” he explains.

  I feel a lump forming in my throat. “If I had just stayed in that night… if I had listened to my instincts…”

  “He would have only found another way to ensnare you,” Max breaks in, shaking his head as he pulls the car ont
o a busy highway. I realize vaguely that we’ve been driving for quite some time, with Paris falling away behind us in the rear-view mirror.

  “I just wish I had been smarter. I-I should have known better,” I murmur.

  “No, Liv. You are the victim here. You and Maggie. The guilt cannot be placed on the victim. You did not choose for this to happen to you,” he says firmly, his hand finding mine and giving it a squeeze. I nod, gulping back the tears threatening to fall. I have to be strong now.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, forcing myself to change the subject.

  “A small house I own out in the countryside,” he answers. “It’s off the books, untraceable for now. We will stay there until I can determine our next move. It will be a few hours’ drive, so if you want to rest, go ahead.”

  I feel an untameable tingle at his phrasing: our next move. Not his. Ours. As though he trusts me, considers me a worthy partner, despite all the trouble I’ve caused. I have to admit that the sentiment spurs my self-confidence.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep at the moment,” I confess honestly. My nerves are still aflame and my whole body is tensed up. “There’s a lot running through my mind right now.”

  “I understand. But try, if you can. You’ve been through quite a lot, malyutka,” Max says gently, and I’m amazed at the tenderness in his voice. It still shocks me how sharply this version of Maksim Pavlenko contrasts with the stiff, intimidating man I met back in the States. It occurs to me that Boris called me the same word in Russian that Max just used, but with none of the sneering. It doesn’t hurt when he says it. It’s not an insult in his voice.

  “What does that word mean? Malyutka?” I ask, sounding out the foreign word crudely.

  “Ah, the closest in English is ‘little one’,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed by having to tell me, but I can’t help but smile a little. It’s a strange word, but the way he says it makes my heart pitter-patter.