“Didn’t have parents who liked to travel?” Sandro asks, raising an eyebrow with a smile. It’s a half-joke, I know, and I smile back. I’m not subtle about my distaste for tourists. It’s part of what’s made me so ‘energetic’ about my newfound passion here in Spain.
“You’ve been to the capital back home, Sandro? Tbilisi?”
“Of course.”
“On the outskirts of the city on the north side, there’s a slum that used to be both a home for the factory workers and a refuge for political refugees. Easy place to disappear, if you didn’t mind the rats and didn’t get too close to the open sewer lines. That’s where I grew up. My friends and I, we played on the rusted assembly lines of abandoned factories that no longer had a purpose after the fall of the Soviet Union.” I chuckle, thinking back to what seemed like a brighter time. “We’d have fights in the alleys behind what I think used to be a rug factory. They had a big fenced-in parking lot back there, so we could make ourselves a little arena.”
“Bunch of little thugs, you were,” Davit laughs.
“Oh, you’re one to talk — didn’t your parents raise you in a carnival?” Sandro chuckles back.
“Only for a few years,” Davit says modestly.
“We drove out the thugs, actually,” I say, putting my hands behind my head and smiling. “Our pack of boys hit our teen years and grew so vicious that even the petty criminals didn’t dare come around our turf. Wasn’t long before the mafia started scouting us out.”
“Any of them get left behind?” Sandro asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I say, a wistful tone behind the word. “Richer, younger families started to move in not long after I left — it started just after I was sent to prison, but before the war. Now, none of the poor families can afford the place anymore.”
The other men grunt their distaste. I know they’ve felt the sting of similar experiences. The rich do all they can to crowd the poor majority out of the world.
Eventually, after a few more minutes of reminiscing, we come to a stop on a dirt road in a forest and start taking sixty paces off the road to the east, coming to a small hole in the ground we’ve covered with brush. Sandro takes the spade I hand him, and he starts digging.
After a few minutes, as Davit and I stride around the area to make sure we’re not being watched, I hear the sound of Sandro’s spade hitting metal, and I stride over towards him. He brushes the rest of the dirt off a metal door we had put in, and he pulls out the key to the padlock on it to unlock our dead drop.
The padlock clicks open at the same time as I cock my gun, and with a dull ‘thud’ of my silenced pistol, Sandro’s lifeless body hits the ground unceremoniously, his blood on the tree in front of him, face buried in the dead drop hole.
Davit rushes over, eyes wide and looking around as he takes his gun out, looking for the attacker, but when he sees my raised pistol and the grave nod I give him, he understands, and his face goes ashen.
He knows not to question me, but I gesture to Sandro’s body. “Open his shirt.” Davit steps forward and obeys, and as he unbuttons Sandro’s shirt, his face blanches even more at the sight of the wire on his chest.
“Dampalo dzaghlo,” he curses through gritted teeth, standing up and punching a nearby tree, making his knuckles bleed. Davit has always been a hot-blooded one, like me.
I step forward, patting him on the shoulder briefly before ripping the wire off Sandro’s body and checking the recorder. “Cheap Spaniards couldn’t even spare the expense for a live feed — this is on an old tape recording.
I pull out a lighter and hold the flame to the device, letting it melt and warp, the film bursting into flame, destroying any and all evidence that Sandro planned to bring to whomever put him up to this.
“Can’t be INTERPOL, they would have a better budget than this,” Davit says after he regains his bearings. I nod in agreement.
“Bury the body here,” I say, gesturing a few feet away from the dead drop. “I’ll instruct our comrades to pick him up tomorrow night with the payload.” Davit nods as I feel my phone buzzing, and as he drags his friend’s body away, I put the phone to my ear.
“Yes?”
“Boss, we have a problem,” comes Ambrosi’s flustered voice over the phone.
“Just took care of one, I’d like to see you top it,” I say, glancing over to Davit.
“It’s the head girl — Delaney,” he says, and I feel my heart jump to my throat. “I left her in her room to get her lunch, and when I came back, she was gone — there’s a rope made of bedsheets leading out the window. She’s climbed down the cliffs.”
Fuck, I curse silently as my jaw clenches. “Stay calm. I’m on my way.”
It was a miracle we weren’t pulled over as I tore down the road, Davit clutching his seat nervously at my driving, but I’m not about to let this one slip through my fingers. It was a long drive out here, and by the time we’re approaching the villa, it’s nearly sunset.
“Think she’ll make it far?” Davit asks.
“Are you kidding?” I snort, despite my driving. “The pampered little girl couldn’t find her way in the city without help. I’m more worried she’ll die out in the wilderness, then there goes our pay for the month.”
“No doubt,” Davit agrees with a chuckle, “knowing the Americans, she’ll wander back to the villa after a few minutes of starting to sunburn.”
I smile, but there’s a greater worry in me. If she made it out of the compound, she’s put some thought into this — guard patrols have to be memorized, certain work has to be done quietly, when nobody is listening, she would have had to climb down the villa wall at a time when nobody would be walking about outside…I’m starting to suspect this Delaney girl is sharper than she let on. My smile becomes a little more genuine.
It’s been awhile since I’ve had a worthy game of cat and mouse to deal with. But I wonder how she will fare out in the cliffs? Maybe I ought to give her something of a head start before I go after her.
We pull up at the compound, and Davit gets out with me as Ambrosi steps up to greet us, his face flushed.
“I’ll deal with your punishment later,” I tell Ambrosi in a firm voice before he has time to ask where Sandro is. I figure it will make my point a little sharper. He starts to speak, but simply nods after a moment.
“Shall I organize a hunting party, sir?” Davit says, looking up at the setting sun. “I can have a score of men out here in an hour or so if you-”
“No,” I cut him off, slipping out of my jacket, handing it to Ambrosi, and rolling my sleeves up my thick forearms. “I will handle this myself. Tend to the other girls. Make sure word of this doesn’t get around.”
Davit blinks in disbelief, but then he nods, gesturing for Ambrosi to follow him. “Yes, Boss.”
Walking at a brisk pace, I head for the exit of the estate, around to the cliffs. It’s time for a little hike.
6
Delaney
I’ve never run so fast in my entire life, not even during cheerleading practice back when I was still focused on being the squad captain. I almost want to laugh for thinking the stakes had been high for me then, in comparison to what I’m dealing with now.
The full moon is rising overhead, a luminous orb gazing down at me ominously through the veil of dark tree branches high above me. Judging me for my terrible choices. Watching me fall apart. My breaths are coming raggedly now, the ache of fatigue in my legs reaching an unbearable pitch. I feel my lungs tightening up as I run out of stamina, every nerve in my body telling me to slow down, to stop.
I don’t know how long I’ve been running or how far I’ve gotten. I’m not even sure which direction I’ve been going this whole time. If only I had stayed in Girl Scouts as a child, maybe I would know how to follow the stars or the moon or something helpful. Maybe I wouldn’t be so terrified right now. Of course, I don’t think even the Girl Scouts could have prepared me for being kidnapped and held for ransom by a wickedly handsome criminal in a
foreign country. And I’m realizing now, to my surprise, that the woods outside Barcelona don’t look anything like the homey forests of my native Georgia.
Even the trees here loom menacingly around me, the cool earth underfoot tripping me left and right as I run. And I won’t be able to go on much longer at this pace. That is for certain.
Finally, my knees start to buckle underneath me and I give into the signals my body is desperately sending me, coming to a rough halt and collapsing clumsily in a pile of leaves. The air is shockingly cool considering the fact that it’s summertime, and despite how warm my body is from such extreme exertion, I can feel chill bumps rising up along my arms.
“Where the hell am I?” I mumble aloud, looking around in confused horror. I am starting to regret my spontaneous decision to just bust out of the villa and go gallivanting off into the night with no real idea of where I’m going. I can’t believe my own stupidity, thinking I could just pull a cinematic move like this. Knotting my bedsheets into a makeshift rope? Climbing down the outer wall of the villa like some action-film version of Rapunzel?
I’m definitely going to die out here, aren’t I?
I don’t know if I’ve been running toward or away from civilization, but it certainly feels like the city of Barcelona is nowhere near here. All I can see is endless forest in every direction, like I’ve just been plucked up and unceremoniously dropped into the wilderness. I pull my knees in close to my chest, trying to calm the galloping beat of my heart. I’m stronger than this. I can’t let fear rule me this way. I’ll never survive unless I get a grip.
But with the night settling in like a thick black shroud around me, it’s hard to keep my thoughts from wandering down dark, calamitous paths. I can’t help but think back to that murderous glint in Darios’s eyes when he noticed the wire one of his men was wearing. I shudder to myself, wondering what kind of punishment the guy endured.
I have no doubt in my mind that Darios would kill someone who crossed him.
And that realization is enough to spur me back to my feet and keep going. If he was that intensely angry at one of his own cohorts, then there was no telling how furious he would be with someone like me for defying him. I could only imagine the hatred in his dark eyes as he wrapped his hands around my throat. Or would he simply shoot me? After all, he did spend our entire fake lunch date pointing a gun at me under the tablecloth. For all I know, he could be out here looking for me right now.
I have to keep moving if I want to live.
I trudge through the woods, my initial adrenaline rush tapering away as the agony in my bare feet starts to prickle at the edges of my consciousness. I almost wish I had brought my shoes with me, but I know I would not have gotten very far in heels. At the moment, going barefoot definitely feels like a mistake, as well. I glance down hesitantly and wince at the sight of my cut-up, bruised, filthy feet. Back home in Georgia I never would have dreamed of going without shoes. It’s disgusting. But it’s funny how quickly your perspective changes once you’re dropped into immediate danger.
If only I had my phone with me right now, I think to myself, I could try and dial someone’s number — anyone. But it dawns on me that my parents are undoubtedly in Europe by now, and they always buy disposable international devices instead of bringing their usual iPhones when they go on big trips like this one. So I wouldn’t know their new phone numbers anyway. I rack my brain, trying to think of who I would call if I had the chance. Besides, who could tell what lay beyond the edges of this deep, dark forest? Perhaps there was a public phone I could use. I could run into some business and beg to use their phone. But who would I call?
It hits me that the only people I ever call are my three closest friends, all of whom are currently in similar states of peril. Megan is presumably safe and sound with her parents now, but I’m sure the guards never gave her back her phone. And on top of that, I highly doubt her parents would ever let her get in contact with any of us again. I’m sure Darios’s men warned them not to try anything. I couldn’t tell what was being said at that table in the restaurant, but I know some threats were probably made, and the Reeces would know better than to try and make contact with any of us girls now. I feel a pang of pity for Megan, even though she’s the only one of us I know for sure is safe, because I know she must be feeling terrible knowing she can’t help us. She may be a bit dim-witted, but she’s very compassionate toward her friends.
And if I can’t call my friends and I can’t call my parents… well, that really only leaves one person: my now ex-boyfriend Brandon. My stomach churns at the thought of having to go crawling back to him for help. Even in this dark, morbid state I still loathe the idea of reaching out to him. He was the one who tried to convince me not to go to Europe this summer, with or without my parents. Brandon cited many reasons, each of them more insulting than the last.
“It’s too dangerous out there for someone like you,” he’d said, fixing me with that familiar condescending gaze. He continued, “What if you get separated from your parents? What if you get lost? Laney, sweetheart, you wouldn’t last five minutes alone in a foreign country. Besides, you would miss me too much. We’re supposed to be together forever, you know? And what kind of future wife of mine would simply run off to another country all summer? If you leave me here, I’ll be lonely and you know you will be, too. And when I get lonely I start looking around for someone else to make me feel better, if you know what I mean. It’s not my fault, it’s just the way guys are, honey.”
Needless to say, I had broken up with him almost immediately. After approximately four years of dating. The look on his face when I told him it was over almost made up for the fact that he had just insulted my competence and threatened to cheat on me in one fell swoop. I don’t think he ever expected me to dump him. Brandon truly believed the lie, the persona I’d created; that I was a waifish damsel just waiting to be bossed around and manipulated by some buttoned-up prince charming for the rest of my happily ever after. Hell, everyone else assumed the two of us would get married straight out of high school, too. We were prom king and queen. We were Danny and Sandy. We were everybody’s favorite high school sweethearts.
And I threw it all away in an instant.
I don’t regret it, even now. My crush on Brandon at thirteen had dissipated around age fifteen when I realized he was just a regular, generic douchebag with an exceptionally handsome face. Boys like him were a dime a dozen, but it suited my purposes to keep him around for a while. Not only did I get to coast by on his own popularity status, but I gained access to the entire football team, which in turn gave me the chance to infiltrate the cheerleading squad and become the captain. And once I reached that position, there was no turning back.
I was in. No, more than that; I was it.
Of course, none of that makes much of a difference now that I’m darting barefoot through the wilds of Catalonia with a probable serial murderer hot on my trail. My alpha hot girl status can’t make me run any faster or figure out which direction I’m supposed to go.
As I bolt through the trees, trying to ignore the sharp needles of pain in my feet, I realize that now the thing I have hidden from the world for years is the one thing that might actually help me survive out here: my wits. I have spent the last six years of my life burying my mind, playing dumb, acting the innocent, and now I have to remember who I used to be. It’s time to shed my fake identity and be real, for once. It’s the only hope I have for getting out of this alive.
7
Darios
I breathe deeply, looking out over the rocks that descend into more forest toward the coast. My eyes scan the tops of the trees, looking for signs of movement down in the shadowy forest. I wonder how much fear must be racking the poor girl’s mind, out here alone in the forest with naught but the howling of wolves to keep her company.
I don’t plan to lose my catch out here. Not tonight, not to the wilderness. There’s something nagging at the back of my mind, though, something more than the simple urg
e to take back a young lady who’s worth her weight in gold. I find myself thinking about her safety out here. She’s a small woman, and she would be out of her element on the best of days in the woods of her own homeland. From her immaculately styled hair to her polished nails, she’s a pampered girl who’s never had to worry about such things, but there’s some cunning in her I haven’t seen in the others. And she was not content to stick around like a sheep at the villa.
I can’t ignore the fact that Delaney planned this escape, short-sighted though it was. She didn’t just run at the first chance she got, there was some real thought that went into this escape attempt. And if I can’t find her soon, she might just succeed.
I snort as I stride across the cliff, keeping my eyes alert. Why do I feel protective over such a brat? Nevertheless, I have no plans of letting her outwit me tonight.
After what feels like hours, my eyes catch a flash of blonde darting through the trees, her hair betraying her in the full moon’s light. I smile. I can see the way she’s going — whether she knows it or not, she’s running through an old hunter’s trail. Deer had been chased down that trail for centuries if not millennia by huntsmen. I was amused at the thought of me as the huntsman, her my prey.
I move quickly, running up ahead of the path to cut her off. Every now and then, I spot her moving through the woods. She looks terrified, and she keeps looking over her shoulder at the faintest snap of a twig. With good reason. The dangers of the woods at night were not to be taken lightly by seasoned woodsmen, much less foolish little girls who can’t find their way out of a crowded mall without guidance.
The cliff starts to get lower after I pass her, eventually leveling off to the same elevation as Delaney, and I can hear her footsteps and panicked breathing getting closer. Good that I’m finding her when I am — much longer out alone like this, and she’d descend into panic. It’s already nearly pitch-black out here, save for the spots where the moonlight shines through the forest canopy. I get down low to the ground as I near the path, and I take cover by a fallen tree near where I suspect she’s coming.
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 79
