Hostage of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  Then there’s my prey. Delaney. As the guard steps forward to inspect her, I wave him off, stepping forward myself. There’s something about this one that I can’t quite place, but it sets her apart from the rest. She’s been very still, and after a moment, I realize she’s been taking in everything around her — listening to our voices, stealing as many glances at our faces as she can. I feel a smile spreading across my face as I reach out and set my hands on her shoulders, squeezing her narrow frame gently as I start to run my hands down her sides, then to her hips. She’s at least observant, I’ll give her that. I let her blonde hair run through my fingers like strands of sunlight, twirling a lock around my finger.

  “What the hell could I possibly have in there?” she snaps, and I raise my eyebrows. Amusing little show of defiance. This one is more interesting than I thought. I give a smile as I take a handful of her hair a little more firmly, tugging it and forcing her to tilt her head back as I lean in to her.

  “My attention,” I reply in a low tone, and I can almost feel the shiver of excitement that runs up her back. I had to admit, this one had my attention from the moment I’d laid eyes on her. She was nearly a full foot shorter than me, with a narrow frame and crystal-blue eyes, the likes of which I’d never seen before in my travels. And those ruby-red lips of hers could drive a man wild. I wonder how many boys she’d captivated with that round face of hers, the slight upturn of her nose, and those soft cheeks. It was no wonder she was the leader of this little group.

  “You can have all our money,” she says, “even the credit cards, I swear we won’t call and cancel them. You can get whatever you want.” The men let out a light chuckle behind me, but I turn Delaney around, letting her look into my endless dark eyes that captivated her so easily just a few minutes ago, a smile on my face.

  “Sweet girl,” I say, crooking my finger and lifting her chin to raise her eyes to mine, “I think you’ve misunderstood what this is. But you’re right about one thing,” I say as I take out a long strip of black fabric from my pocket, extending it between my hands. I watch her eyes widen as I start to raise it to cover her vision. “I will get whatever I want from you.”

  Moments later, my men have done the same with the other girls, blindfolding their eyes and binding their hands behind them before we lead them into the back of the vans. We split the girls up, taking Delaney and Megan in one car, while Lyssa and Caitlin ride in the other. In each van, two men sit in the back with the girls to make sure they’re well-guarded. After the driver is seated in the front, I get in the back, sliding in close beside Delaney.

  “Get comfortable,” I whisper to her, my voice a low growl, “we have a long ride ahead of us.”

  She says nothing. I smile. I’m going to enjoy this little brat.

  “I-I think my uncle has a summer house around Seville,” I hear Megan speak up in her pathetic squeak for about the third or fourth time during the trip. “You can have that! I promise it’s worth a lot!”

  “I don’t think they’re interested, Megan,” Delaney says, and I can feel her tense a little against me. Her dim friend has been vocal the whole ride, trying to bargain for her freedom, while Delaney has been far more guarded. My presence next to her has helped guarantee that. While Megan is sitting alone, her guard watching her from the other side of the van, I hold Delaney’s restraints myself, a thumb hooked within them. As she speaks, I give her a tug, smiling at how easily I can control her. When she feels me tug, she tests her restraints again, and I pull her back a little more forcefully.

  “Believe me,” I say to Megan, “we’ll get something worthwhile out of you, but your summer homes won’t cut it.”

  “What will?” says Delaney, innocence in her voice. I pull her closer into me, letting her practically rest against my chest, and I bring my face to her ear to speak to her.

  “You’ll see that soon enough, chemo kargo,” I say, and she tightens her lips.

  After what feels like hours, the van starts to pull up the dirt path leading to our little retreat. It’s far from the public eye, concealed by mountains and woods that might have made our compound a perfect vacation spot. I glance up and out the front of the van, and I see our base of operations coming into view around the corner as the van rattles under us.

  Once, this place was a Roman villa, an estate handed down from generations of landowners and eventually restored into a proper manor, complete with walls, vineyards, and gardens out front. I can practically picture the ritzy parties held here so long ago as I look upon the dilapidated, crumbling walls, the unruly beds of weeds that had once been gardens, and the remains of a cobblestone road leading into the place. The moonlight gave the place a haunting beauty. More importantly, the place was easily defensible, sitting on a hill that provided a stunning view of the Mediterranean, its high terraces and what remained of the walls making the place ideal for our operation.

  We come to a stop at last, and while Megan’s guard orders her to her feet, I simply pick up Delaney, and she gives a yelp as I carry her out of the van and hold her on her back in my arms, letting her legs dangle off to the side as she wiggles in her restraints.

  As the other van is unloaded, my sharp ears catch a bit of what Caitlin is saying to her guard as he guides her out of the van. “...I mean it, I’d make it worth your while, big guy.” There’s a telltale lilt to her voice that I know well in women. So Caitlin is the fiery one of this group. I don’t see in her the same guile I sense in Delaney, but she could be trouble.

  I smile down at my captive, giving her a light squeeze while I carry her towards the estate’s entrance, keeping out of earshot of the other girls. “Do you hear that? Your friend wants to play nice with my men. I’d warn her to be careful, if I were you,” I say, lowering my tone as I lift her a little closer to me, and I can see her jaw clenching. “I’m the leader of this unsavory band of mine. But if your friend tries to play with fire, she might find herself in over her head. Of course,” I add with a smile, “from the way you were talking to me earlier, I think you might like to play those dangerous games too, don’t you?”

  “Is that what this is about?” she says, and I’m amused to hear a sultry tone in her own voice this time. She’s adaptable, this one. “There are easier ways to have a good time, you know. We can still help with that.” She speaks boldly, but there’s color to her cheeks that tells me delightful things about the hidden desires of the girl in my arms.

  “As much as you’d like that, sykhaara,” I tease, not giving her so much as an inch just yet, “that’s not the case.” My men leading the blindfolded girls behind me, I carry Delaney into the manor, where one of my men I’d left behind opens the door for us and nods, smiling at our catch. He knows better than to speak, though. Better if our girls don’t know exactly how many of us there are.

  I carry her up a flight of stairs, glancing at the wide, open entryway to the villa. The interior is even more worn-down than the outside. From the inside, you’d never know you were standing in what was once a lavish estate. We take the girls to the wing that was once a guest hall, lined with modest rooms with the windows that overlook a cliffside, should any of them get any poorly-planned ideas about escaping.

  As the other men lead their women into their rooms, I carry Delaney into hers, closing the door behind me before setting her down on her feet, letting her steady herself before I remove her blindfold. She blinks, batting her long eyelashes as her eyes adjust to the lamplight. I smile at her as she regards me carefully, her mouth twisted in a frown as she starts to look around the place.

  “These are your quarters,” I explain, gesturing around. I follow her eyes to the cracked walls, their frescoes long-since faded, the high ceiling, the window, and the uncomfortable bed. Then she looks up at me, tugging at her wrist-bindings.

  “Untie me, please,” she asks, a slight whine in her voice, and I chuckle, ignoring her request.

  “You will stay here, and your door will be locked until we take you out,” I state, speaking slowl
y so she can catch every word. “If you behave yourself, little girl, then we might be kind and let you walk around the place of your own free will.” I step forward, looming over her, and I take pleasure in the shiver I see run through her as I set my hands on her shoulders. “But you aren’t used to behaving, are you? Look at you,” I say, glancing up and down her expensive outfit, the makeup that must have come from Paris itself. “Does your daddy make you pout to get what you want, or does he like to pamper his little princess?”

  She looks at me with shimmering eyes, a little color in her cheeks. Getting these rich girls hot is too easy. And with one so pretty as this, I find myself enjoying it more than usual.

  “Why does that matter to you?” she whispers.

  “It’ll tell me how quickly he’ll pay your ransom, of course,” I say, and Delaney’s eyes widen in understanding.

  “You’re...you’re holding us hostage?” she breathes, and I can practically hear her heart beating faster.

  “I knew you were the smart one,” I tease, holding her chin with a thumb and forefinger pressing gently into those flushed cheeks, ever so gently. “Do you ever think about what that pretty body of yours is worth?” I say more than ask, letting a thumb brush over her lower lip. “If you’re as much of a brat to your daddy as you are with me, then you’d better hope he’s a forgiving man. Because I am not.”

  She swallows, her eyes full of fear as she tries to make herself unreadable. It’s almost pathetic. “They’ll pay,” she says, “I know they will. But if you do so much as lay a hand on us…”

  I laugh at that, taking her by the arm and guiding her to her bed and sitting her down, putting a knee on the mattress and looming over her sitting form, her chest rising and falling even more quickly than before.

  “What will happen? Do you think they’ll pay less? Will their precious princess be too sullied for them?” I lean into her, looking her in the eye as she leans back slowly. “That wouldn’t surprise me. You rich Americans are all the same. Think you’ve got the whole world wrapped around your pretty little finger,” I say, slipping my hand around to hers and untying them, then taking one of her hands in mine and lifting it between us, enveloping her smaller one in mine. “Because everything has a price tag to you, doesn’t it? Well, sykhaara, you have a price tag on yourself, now.”

  I pause to watch her reply, but she just stares up at me. Her thighs shift a little, trying to scoot back, but there’s more than that in the motion. I can easily see what effect I’m having on her, and I can’t say I’m not surprised. Girls might offer their body, but it’s out of fear and desperation. While Delaney obviously feels both those things, I can sense her genuine interest as well.

  “They’ll pay,” she finally repeats, quietly. “They’re my parents. They love me.”

  “We will see,” I muse, standing back up and stepping off the mattress, still glowering down at her. “But you know, you’re a pretty thing — and we haven’t sent out our demands just yet.” I reach out and take a lock of her golden hair in my fingers, twirling it around again, a wicked smile on my face. “Maybe I’ll keep you around as insurance to make sure the other girls are well behaved. Tell me, do you trust your friends enough for your life to be in their hands?”

  “Do you trust your men enough not to fall for us?” she replies, and I feel a grin on my face despite myself.

  “Oh, you’re a special kind of spoiled brat, aren’t you? No wonder the girls look up to you. Let me make something clear to you, then,” I say, my voice growing deadly serious. “You’re not in America anymore, Delaney. You’re in our world now.” I let my hard expression soften into a smirk. “But you’re an interesting one. Maybe I’ll keep you for myself, forget about the whole ransom altogether. You might just prove to be more valuable than your price tag. But we’ll have to do something about that attitude of yours, first,” I tease, letting her hair fall from my fingers as she does her best to keep it together. “A few hours ago, the idea of being mine seemed exciting to you. How about now?”

  I can tell that I’ve pushed her to the brink — exactly where I want her, though it tempts me sorely to push her just a little further.

  I step back, keeping my eyes on her as she pulls her legs up on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself as her gorgeous blue eyes watch me, a mix of emotions laced with terror in that expression.

  “Behave yourself, little girl,” I say, opening the door behind me, shooting her a wink as I start to step out into the hall. “If you don’t, I might have to come tie you down to that bed myself.”

  4

  Delaney

  This has to be a nightmare.

  As I lie in the uncomfortable bed in the corner of my aged holding cell, I stare up at the cracked ceiling and will myself to wake up. This cannot be happening. None of this can possibly be real. What has happened to me in the past thirty-six hours is the kind of thing I see in thrilling documentaries. Girls being captured by greedy, lascivious men and ransomed out for their parents’ cash. Girls being deceived, blinded by handsome faces, led directly into the waiting jaws of the shark. I can’t help but feel like we all walked the plank, somehow, like we’ve all made this choice ourselves.

  And we only have ourselves to blame, don’t we?

  I screw my eyes shut tightly, frantically trying to block out my surroundings. Maybe I was just in a coma or something and I would wake up any moment now and everything would be fine. I would be back at home in my luxurious four-poster bed.

  But when I open my eyes, my heart sinks. I’m still in this ancient ruin of a bedroom, surrounded by faded walls and that dank, musty smell. This place was probably once something terribly beautiful. Something worth preserving. But now it only holds distant echoes of its former beauty and vitality. Oh, and it holds me.

  I turn over in bed, fighting the sting of tears threatening to pool up in my eyes. I can’t give into that just yet. I’m tougher than this. I’m no average whiny spoiled rich girl from the States. Oh, no. These guys may think they’ve broken my spirit and crushed me down into some docile little mouse, and it may be better to let them think that for now, but I know I’m more than that. I’ve always been more than people bargain for when they first look at me. I’m deeper and stronger than the pretty, innocent face I wear lets on. And I’ll be damned if I let a pack of filthy horndog criminals cow me into silence and obedience.

  Still, it can’t hurt to let them believe they have won. I learned a long, long time ago that when people underestimate me, I should take it as a gift. I give people exactly what they expect, which lures them into a false sense of security, believing they’ve got me all figured out. It leaves them vulnerable to any surprises I have in store.

  It’s a technique I remember from a book I read as a kid — back when I was a giant nerd — Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. I distinctly recall the lines: Do what people expect; it’s what they’re able to see easiest and confirms their biases. It settles them into predictable responses, busying their minds while you wait for the right moment — the one they aren’t expecting.

  It’s been my mantra for years, as I grew into a newer, stronger person. A version of myself which reflects back exactly what people expect of me, playing so expertly into their stereotypes, that people have forgotten who I used to be. No one remembers the twelve-year-old Delaney who wore thick glasses and was painfully rejected by her first love in front of everyone. Now, I am powerful. I am self-assured. But I can play the damsel or the debutante with ease. I’m an actress, playing whichever role will benefit me most in any given situation. I can be whoever I need to be, at the drop of a hat.

  I ponder over Sun Tzu’s words as I curl up in bed, forcing myself not to dwell on the fact that I am outnumbered and overpowered here. I know there are at least ten men involved in this operation, and I’m not foolish enough to think there aren’t at least several more skulking around this old building quietly. I’m sure Darios wants me to feel like I have a chance. He wants to do the same thing to me that I’m doing
to him: he wants to make me underestimate him, even just a little bit.

  But I know by now how exactly to size up my enemies. Of course, throughout my experiences the majority of my “enemies” have been quite a bit more harmless. Mostly other girls who hoped to overthrow the Popular Girl Empire I’ve established for myself, and none of that can really help me now, can it?

  I’m not in Savannah anymore. I don’t have my legions of envious girls and lustful boys to help me here. All I have are my three closest friends, and my wits. And my friends are kept separately from me. In fact, I can’t even know for sure that they’re still in the building. This horrifying thought jolts me back to the present moment and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. This is my fault. I’m the one who suggested the four of us have a wild weekend in Spain without anyone’s knowledge or permission. I’m the one who paid for the room and the cab. I’m the one who led us directly into this death trap.

  I swallow hard, trying not to think about how much trouble I’ve caused.

  But god, if anything were to happen to any of my friends… it would be all my fault.

  “No,” I murmur aloud to myself. “I won’t let them hurt my friends any more than they already have. If I’m the one who got us into this mess, then I damn well ought to be the one who gets us back out again.”

  Just then, there’s a knock at my door and I gasp aloud, sitting up straight in bed with my heart hammering away in my chest. The door creaks open and I start instinctively backing away, sliding off the bed to stumble away into the back corner of the room. As if that small distance could possibly save me, anyway.

  A tall, dark male figure steps into the room and I immediately recognize his hulking frame: it’s Darios. He gives me a cool smile, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes when he sees me cowering in the corner. I inwardly slap myself for being so predictable. I’ve given him exactly what he wants — to see me break down and fear him.