Hostage of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  “Isn’t he gonna be mad when he sees the bank statements?” Caitlin asks.

  I wave my hand dismissively. “Nah. Well, maybe. But either way, he never stays mad at me for long. And it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

  “That’s true,” Megan agrees.

  “Besides, it’s not like I bought four plane tickets. Just the two he told me to buy, for me and Caitlin,” I reply, shrugging. Luckily, Megan and Lyssa both also have wealthy parents who are too tied up in their own business to really care all that much about what their daughters get up to when they’re not looking. Caitlin’s parents are a little stricter, but they also trust me implicitly. It’s a skill I’ve honed over time — I can charm the pants off of anyone’s parents. All I have to do is pull the same act I do with my own dad, and people are falling over themselves to please me. I’m very good at convincing people I can be trusted — even if that’s a mistake.

  I should not be trusted.

  But nobody ever realizes that until it’s too late.

  As we’re reclining on our lounge chairs, sunning ourselves and chatting mindlessly, an exceptionally handsome guy saunters up to us, giving us an approving smirk and a once-over. I can tell instantly that he likes what he sees. And the feeling is mutual.

  “Buenos dias, bellas,” he greets us in Spanish, stopping in front of us with his hands on his hips.

  “Hola,” Lyssa breathes, her brown eyes wide with awe at this delicious hunk of man standing before us. I almost want to reach over and nudge her out of it. My friends aren’t quite as good at playing the ice queen as I am. Lyssa is the smart, athletic one, Megan is the sweet one, and Caitlin is the fire to my ice.

  Caitlin immediately sits up and fixes the guy with a smoldering gaze. She’s the most forward and aggressive of the group, for certain, and she will flirt with anything that moves. Biting her lip coyly, she replies in flawed Spanish, “Hey handsome, what’s up?”

  I can tell by the bewildered look on her face, Lyssa is blindsided to find out that she’s not the only one who knows a fair smattering of Spanish. I have to stifle a laugh. This is so typical. Of course Caitlin only puts her skills to use when there’s a hot piece of ass at stake.

  He asks us where we’re from, and I quickly tell him that we’re from the United States. The guy’s face lights up, both in response to my answer and to the fact that I am addressing him now.

  “Ah, I speak English,” he replies with a grin. “You girls are beautiful. Welcome to Barcelona. I hope you’re having a good time here.”

  “We are now,” I answer, lifting one eyebrow and blessing him with a faint smile.

  “I was wondering, would you all like to go to a rooftop party tonight?” the guy asks.

  “Oh my god, yes!” Megan bursts out. I give her a silencing glance.

  “What time?” Caitlin pipes up.

  “Fiesta starts around ten. If you give me your number I’ll text you the address,” he says, giving me a wink and grin. Muy suave, I think to myself.

  “You got it,” I reply, taking a pen out of my purse and then standing up to write my number on the guy’s hand. His eyes never leave my face. When I’m done, I look up to meet his gaze and he smiles broadly.

  “Excellent. See you tonight, chicas,” he says. “I’m Raúl, by the way.”

  “Delaney,” I answer, giving him a little wave as he swaggers away, glancing back at me over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd by the bar.

  Spinning around, I excitedly gesture for the girls to get up.

  “Finish your drinks, ladies. Sunbathing time is over. We got a party tonight! Looks like we have some shopping to do!” I announce brightly. The four of us chug our drinks, making sour faces in the process, then laughing at each other’s expression. After I walk over to the bar to pay the tab, we pack up our stuff and head up to the hotel suite to change into sundresses and hit the town for some retail therapy.

  We spend the next several hours traipsing down the beautiful, colorful streets of Barcelona, winding in and out of designer shops and vintage stores in search of the perfect ensembles for an evening out. With each of our credit cards in hand, we spare no expense, too brazen and excited to shy away from even the steepest price tags. The four of us are all accustomed to an exceptionally high standard of living back in Savannah, and it only seems fair that we follow that same path when overseas.

  With her tall, athletic frame, Lyssa decides on a flowy white dress to contrast attractively with her dark skin, accented with a thin, gold-chain necklace. She’s the girl who has it all: wealth, intellect, and confidence. She’s the girl I wanted to be, but never could, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as she struts around in her outfit.

  Megan picks out a romantic pale blue frock and a pair of shiny white-gold earrings for the night.

  “Caitlin, what are you thinking?” I ask, idly shuffling through a rack of glittery dresses which are a little too nightclubby for my taste. She holds up a sparkling, skin-tight gold mini-dress and black stiletto heels, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Oh my god, that would look incredible on you,” Megan gasps, her eyes wide.

  “It’s a little, um, flashy. Don’t you think?” Lyssa comments, shaking her head.

  “Well, duh. I’m not trying to blend in here, Lyssa. I want to stand out. I want every one of those sexy Spanish guys to check me out. Your girl’s gettin’ laid tonight, whatever it takes,” Caitlin laughs. I give her a nod of approval.

  “Looks good to me! You slut,” I add fondly.

  “Thanks,” she replies, giggling as she sashays back to the fitting rooms.

  “She’s going to look like my volleyball trophy in that gold dress,” Lyssa remarks, with a surprising dose of cattiness.

  “Oh, let her do her thing,” I scold her. “We’re here to have fun, not police each other’s outfits. If you wanna play the judge, you can help me out. I still don’t know what to wear.”

  Lyssa and Megan both light up at the chance to dress me. With my soft curves and nearly ethereal coloring, my friends are always excited to help me pick out clothes. I’m sure a lot of that has to do with the fact that I have subtly cultivated a sense of dominance over them. All three of my best friends are constantly vying for my attention in one way or another. In return, I look out for them and help them achieve the popularity they want. It’s a mutually-beneficial relationship.

  The girls all pitch in to help me find the perfect outfit, and we decide on a classic form-fitting black dress that falls to about mid-thigh, with a deep scoop neck that shows off an abundance of cleavage.

  With our purchases in hand, we go out for a victorious pre-party dinner at a swanky restaurant around the corner from our resort hotel. We order a round of delicious tapas, along with a pitcher of sangria to share. Laughing and chatting excitedly about the night ahead, two hours pass quickly and before we know it, it’s time for us to rush up to the suite and get changed for the night that will undoubtedly stand out in our memories for years to come.

  Finally, the hour has arrived.

  Adorned in our brand-new outfits, the four of us pile into a cab and ride to the address Raúl texted to me. The moon is well into her descent up into the velvety black sky above us and the four of us are awestruck by the romantic lighting and feel the streets in this part of town. We can hear the sounds of muffled music from far above, a party clearly going on atop the roof of this building. Exchanging excited grins, we all link arms and rush up the steps to the front entrance. A man with a thick beard and a halfway-unbuttoned shirt lets us in after I tell him Raúl sent us.

  “Elevator straight back. Go to rooftop,” he remarks in a rather bored voice.

  “Gracias,” Lyssa quips, nodding at him as we pass through.

  “This is amazing,” Megan gushes.

  “Everyone remain calm,” Caitlin hisses, but there’s a delighted grin on her face. We pile into the elevator and ride it all the way to the top, the pounding bass of the musi
c getting louder and louder as we ascend. When the doors open, we are greeted by an inundation of music, with a group of nine or ten guys all drinking and laughing together. When we walk out of the elevator, all heads turn, all eyes focusing on us.

  For a moment, an uncharacteristic shock of panic floods my system. But when the guys gesture for us to come on over, my nervousness fades. I remind myself that even though this may be a foreign country, boys are the same everywhere you go. And if there’s one thing I can definitely handle, it’s a group of horny boys.

  Especially when the alcohol is flowing freely.

  It’s not long before everyone is dancing to the pumping music, drinks in hand. It strikes me as a little odd that we are some of the only girls here, but when I note this to Caitlin, she quickly replies in an undertone, “That’s exactly the kind of ratio I like!”

  I can’t exactly argue with her, seeing as every single man on this rooftop is blindingly handsome and a fantastic dancer. But they’re all fairly pedestrian in comparison to the guy standing in the corner, looking out over the city. Something about him draws me closer, makes me want to see him more clearly. But he’s spent most of the evening so far being standoffish, like he’s too good for this, too good for us.

  But nobody is too good for me.

  So once I’ve downed my third shot of rum, I saunter over to him, already assuming my usual wide-eyed ingénue persona. Generally, this is one of my most successful acts. Boys can never resist a girl they think they can dominate, a girl who looks like she needs to be corrupted.

  Little do they know, I’m the one pulling their strings.

  “Hola,” I say sweetly, taking a spot beside him, leaning on the railing. “What are you doing way over here?”

  The guy hesitates before looking down at me, as though he can’t be bothered. But I catch the little flicker in his eyes when he does meet my gaze. He’s interested, even if he doesn’t want to show it.

  “I doubt that’s any of your business,” the guy answers coolly, and the accent peppering his words isn’t Spanish, but I can’t quite place it. I’m a little taken aback by his words and the casual dismissal.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to bother you,” I reply, batting my eyelashes and biting my lip apologetically. “You just looked lonely.”

  “And you’re just the girl to change my mood, are you?” he says, turning to face me with a hint of a challenge in his expression. “You think just because you’re a pretty little thing, I’m just going to fall all over you, yes?”

  I’m stunned, the words falling dead in my throat.

  Then, the guy gives me a roguish, charming grin and holds out his hand for me to shake.

  “Darios. And you are?”

  “Delaney,” I answer, shaking his hand.

  “You look like you could use another drink,” he says. “What’s your poison, genatsvale?”

  “I’ve been doing rum shots,” I answer. He scoffs.

  “Not anymore,” Darios says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me toward the little makeshift bar area to pour me a drink, the contents of which I don’t even recognize. But when I sip it, I’m immediately shocked by a wave of warmth through my body.

  “What is this?” I ask innocently. But he merely gives me a bemused smirk and pulls me onto the dance floor, his hands sliding down to my waist. I never let anyone manhandle me quite like this — usually I need to be in control. But something about this guy has knocked me off-kilter. Something about his quietly powerful presence, his piercing dark eyes and sharp, handsome face… he looks like trouble, and I’m ready to give into it. For once.

  As we move together to the music, he pulls me closer, his muscular body sliding against mine while he leans down to gently brush his lips along the shell of my ear. A shiver travels down my spine and he laughs quietly, cruelly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

  Over the course of the night we dance this way, our bodies moving together in the balmy summer night, neither of us talking very much at all. We don’t need words. And I realized quickly that this guy isn’t like the boys back home. He’s older, more sophisticated… darker. He can’t be so easily manipulated by the flutter of my lashes or the sweetness of my voice. It’s admittedly a little frightening to think that I’m not the one with the upper hand, but at the same time, I can’t deny how exhilarating it feels to finally meet someone who challenges me.

  And he makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.

  My body is starting to tingle and feel weak, exhausted by the combination of jet lag, a busy day, and hours of dancing and drinking. I surrender control, letting Darios hold me up, his artful hands deftly guiding me around the dancefloor, gripping my waist and my hips with a sense of control I’ve never allowed anyone to hold over me.

  By the time the party is beginning to wind down, I’m more than ready to give up that most precious gift that I’ve been keeping secret and safe for years: my virginity. For even though I dated Brandon for years, and even though he pressured me incessantly to give it up, I never let him convince me. I’ve guarded my heart and my body obsessively all this time, but now… I want to let it go. It just feels right. And I know without a doubt that Darios is worthy.

  The music fades away and the men start packing up. Darios whispers in my ear, “You girls wait here while we take everything downstairs. Give us a few minutes and then come down. We’ll get the cars ready to go.”

  I can only nod, my mind fuzzy with alcohol and desire.

  My friends look to be in similar states of mind, all of them bleary-eyed but excited. Megan trudges over and rests her head on my shoulder. “This is the best night ever,” she says.

  “I think I might sleep with that guy I was dancing with,” Lyssa hisses.

  “We’re all getting laid tonight,” Caitlin remarks devilishly.

  Even me, I think to myself. After a few minutes, we head downstairs, all of us exhausted but spurred on by adrenaline and awe. When the elevator doors open and we step out into the quiet, dark lobby, nobody is in sight. For a moment, I wonder sadly if maybe the guys ditched us, after all.

  But then there’s a chorus of ominous clicks, a glint of light hitting metal in a complete circle around the four of us. “What the hell?” I whisper, looking around in confusion.

  From the darkness, all the men step forward holding guns, which are held straight out, aimed directly at the four of us. Darios walks a few steps closer until he stands directly in front of me. Giving me a terrifyingly handsome smile, he says, “We had a really good time with you girls tonight, but the party doesn’t have to end yet. In fact, we’re just going to switch venues. Follow us out, be quiet, behave yourselves, and nobody has to get hurt. Yet.”

  3

  Darios

  The next few minutes go like clockwork, exactly as we’ve done our business many a time before this group. A couple of the girls ask if this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny anymore, and one of them offers some paltry bit of money or jewelry to convince us to let them go as we herd them towards the vans we have parked around the corner.

  “Shut up, Megan,” snaps Caitlin as her ditzy friend tries to offer one of my men her necklace.

  “No, you don’t get it!” the bottle-blonde stammers, “th-this is Florentine gold, it’s probably worth more than your whole outfit, y’know? I-I’m sure you could buy whatever you wanted with it, like a ticket out of here or something!”

  “Hush, girl,” growls the man who’d been flirting with her all night, luring her into the trap we’d perfected laying for these spoiled Western girls. When we reach the vans, our guns concealed under our jackets, I line the girls up to face the vehicle.

  “Arms up, ladies,” I order, and they exchange nervous glances with one another before slowly putting their arms up. I give a nod to one of my men, who steps forward to start patting the girls down. It’s more and more likely that they carry concealed weapons or pepper spray these days, so it’s better to be safe. As he goes to work, I take a
moment to evaluate our catches of the night as I cross my arms, striding behind them thoughtfully, looming over the whole scene.

  I take it upon myself to remember the names of each one. That’s why we don’t take them right away. We get to know them first, intimately, disarm them and find out their personalities and weaknesses. Toying with them demands a level of familiarity, so it’s much easier to deal with them if I know a little about them, and my perceptiveness has never failed me. And as we marched the ladies to the van, my men gave me their reports on each of them. Caitlin is a strong-willed girl, just another spoiled daughter of some tycoon fighting off rivals. She whispers to my man as he pats her down, and he ignores her, finding the can of mace in her purse and stowing it. She might make a show of being hard to deal with, but she’ll break soon enough.

  Lyssa is the dark-skinned girl, and she seems more level-headed than some of the others. She rides the coattails of her parents’ wealth like all the rest, but I have a feeling that the longer she stays in our possession, the fiercer her resistance will grow. As she’s patted down, she’s very still, but I can see the tension in her, suppressing her fear. We might have to be careful with that one if her parents drag their feet.

  Caitlin is the brunette, the one who still hasn’t understood the gravity of the situation. She seems agitated more than afraid, as if she’s never come up against a problem that she couldn’t solve outright. She’s working the entire situation as if it’s a puzzle to solve.

  Megan was a delight for her seducer to toy with. She seems to have let her wits fall to the wayside in the daze of wealth she grew up around, because her mannerisms betray an airheadedness that makes her beautifully easy to manipulate. There are tears in her eyes as my man searches her. Still, we should ransom her off first. The parents of such a girl are more likely to jump at the chance of getting their precious ditz out of danger.