Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (15 page)

Felix meets my gaze, looking absolutely petrified. “I don’t know what we
can
do.”

I find myself enraged at his defeatist tone. He can’t possibly be considering just leaving Max to the wolves while we sit here and twiddle our thumbs. “Get your things. We’re going to find him and warn him before it’s too late,” I order him firmly.

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “But what if it’s already too late?”

“We don’t know that for sure, and I’ll be damned if I let something bad happen to him without even trying to help. He’s saved your ass and mine, and now it’s time to return the favor,” I declare, scooping up my jacket and purse, suddenly very grateful that Max had Felix bring me a change of my own clothes from the flat.

Felix hesitates a moment, but seeing the fire in my eyes, he finally sighs and relents.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

And I very well just might’ve signed our death certificates.

T
he manor
I arrive at is more of a villa, arranged in Roman fashion complete with weathered, ivy-covered walls and wafting gardens that seem to sing in the midday Parisian sunlight. The only thing marring the sight as I pull up to the side of the road not far from the entrance is the legion of guards patrolling the estate.

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?”

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 onto 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.

He smiles in return, and for several moments, we sit in a calm sort of silence. It’s not long before I can’t tame my nagging thoughts, though.

“What’s going to happen to Maggie?” I ask sadly, pulling my legs up into the seat and getting more comfortable. Max does his best to keep his expression neutral, but I can see the flicker of worry across his face.

“Nothing, provided I get to her soon enough. And I promise you I will. If what you heard them say is true and she’s already been sold, then she’s been moved to another facility to await the trade-off with her buyer. I won’t lie to you, Liv, if they’ve taken her to that last stop… her current conditions may not be good,” he relates to me, more openly than I expected.

“What do you mean? What will they do to her there?” I breathe, suddenly feeling terribly cold and depressed. I had hoped things would be better for her, not worse.

“Keep in mind that we do not know for sure if that’s where they’ve taken her. It has been a long, long time since I ran with that pack of wolves. Their methods may have changed,” Max says, clearly reluctant to share details. But I need to know, even if it hurts.

“Tell me what you know. Please,” I beg him, folding both my hands over his. He looks over at me and sighs. I can tell he wants to lie to protect me, and there’s a battle behind his beautiful eyes, but the truth wins out.

“Before a girl is handed off to her new master, she is taken to a place where she is kept separately from the others. Some of the brutes call it ‘finishing school.’ It is where she must be broken in, polished off and prepared for her new life,” he explains darkly.

“Broken in… how?” I press.

“The methods vary. Sometimes they starve her, refuse to let her sleep. This weakens her and makes her more pliant for the master, who is almost always looking for a malleable, soft girl who will do as she’s told. And if she retains any hint of spirit, any
iskra
, they will do whatever they deem necessary to break her. It is terrible, especially if the girl fights back,” Max describes, his voice heavy. I can tell it hurts him deeply to discuss this.

“Well, then maybe it is better that Maggie is already so quiet and obedient,” I assure the both us. “Besides, she’s a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll figure out their game and do whatever she has to do to survive.”

What I don’t say, what I’m really thinking, is that it will be unnecessary to try and break her because she’s already broken. She was inconsolable when we were trapped in that cell together, already falling apart beyond repair. Maggie was too afraid to even utter a coherent word, much less defy anything they asked of her.

“She will be alright,” Max says assuredly. “I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah,” I say to myself softly, my eyes feeling heavy. I am exhausted, and before long I manage to drift off to a fitful sleep.

* * *

W
hen I wake
, I’m being carried over the threshold into a little white Tudor-style cottage with brown trim and shutters. As my vision clears I realize that the sun is setting, and that we’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense green forest. This looks like a picturesque fairy-tale illustration, like we stepped right out of reality and into a children’s book. But it’s real — from the Spartan furnishings to the unmistakable, ominous call of an owl somewhere in the woods.

It’s terribly quiet here except for the sounds of birds and the trees bowing in the wind. There can’t be another soul out here for miles. Just the two of us. Alone.

Max takes me into a tiny bedroom and lays me down softly on the small wooden bed. The sheets are clean, to my surprise, and I wonder who Max has been paying to come all the way out here to maintain this place. I’m sure some lucky maid is making a fortune from it.

Thinking I’m still asleep, Max heads back out into the main room to make a few calls. He speaks in hushed tones, one call in French, another in Russian. I can’t make out a word of what’s being said, only that the news he receives can’t be good. He groans in frustration and I hear him lean against a wall heavily, defeated. I can’t keep up my charade any longer. I have to go to him.

I slide off the bed, careful not to mess up the crisp white sheets, and walk into the other room cautiously. Max is standing with his eyes closed and his arms folded over his chest. He looks like a tragic hero, a romantic prince thwarted by the villain one too many times. I want nothing more than to rush to him and melt into his arms, reassure him. There’s something about this place, so far from the bustling Parisian streets, like another world altogether. One inhabited by only two: Max and me.