Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (21 page)

I
stand
in front of a floor-length silver mirror in the back alcove of a tiny historic chapel on the outskirts of Paris, surveying my own reflection in mingled astonishment and joy. I am nineteen years old as of one month ago, with my first semester abroad finally over. I take a deep, slow breath, blinking in disbelief at the way I look — so foreign to my own eyes.

Not much about my physical appearance has changed, of course. I still have the same long, wavy auburn hair and huge cinnamon-brown eyes. But right now my hair is parted down the center, the smooth waves decorated with a delicate crown of little white flowers. My eyes are wide and luminous, accented by expertly-applied smoky eye makeup and mascara, courtesy of my wonderful French makeup artist. There’s a deep, raspberry-red stain to my full lips, and they part to reveal a glittering and white, yet slightly anxious, smile.

I look beautiful in a way I never could have predicted. And more importantly, I actually feel beautiful — truly and unabashedly. It’s not the professional makeup job that’s caused my transformation, however. It’s the love which beats like a second heartbeat beside my own, filling me with light, making me glow.

It’s an appropriate look for a woman about to walk down the aisle.

My body is adorned in a gorgeous, pearly-white lace gown designed by Lili Hod, with a silky, scalloped swath of fabric draped from my breasts to dangle over my abdomen, smoothing out to a floor-length rippling skirt. The dress is much more expensive than my plane ticket here was, more expensive than my rent back at the flat I would have shared with Maggie, had I gotten the chance.

I am proud of her, though. Despite everything that had happened to her over the course of the semester, she didn’t cower in fear and shrink back into the smothering arms of her parents like I feared. Instead, she pulled a total one-eighty. After spending nearly a month in a hospital being treated for her extensive injuries both physical and psychological, she emerged standing tall and proud. The day before her release, she called me and asked for me to be the one who would pick her up, and not to tell her parents yet that the doctors were letting her out. She wanted to have a chance to breathe the free air and walk the streets of the city which had scarred her without her parents hovering around. So I obliged her happily, a little uncertain of what she would be like when she came walking out of the hospital.

To my relief and happiness, Maggie looked even better than she did when I first saw her on the campus green. She was still thinner than before, after the starvation under the thumb of the Chechens. Her cheeks were a little hollow, her hair slightly limp. But there is a sparkle in her eye now, a kindling of a powerful fire ignited by adversity. In fact, she is now bolder and more open than I am.

She leads a monthly therapy group for sexual assault and human trafficking survivors, in which she describes her trauma and helps others learn to cope with their own issues. On top of that, she also came back to school, like I did, and the two of us finished with new records in our category. She’s refused to let her parents yank her out of university and keep her holed up in some foreign fortress far away. She’s taken charge of her own life, realizing that if she could survive the experiences she’d had this year, she can probably do just about anything she sets her mind to.

We’ve become fast friends, and that’s why I asked her to be my maid of honor today.

All morning, she’s been by my side, chit-chatting excitedly with my makeup artist, Helene, and my mom, who came all the way from North Carolina to be here today. Of course, my mother has also had to split her time between tending to my bridal concerns and tending to my father’s nerves and emotions, as he is preparing to be the one walking me down the aisle.

Knowing how easily his emotional boat is rocked, I’m sure he’s spent most of the day weeping happy tears. I smile at the thought. I can’t wait to have him link arms with me and guide me down the flower-scattered aisle of this chapel, right into the arms of my prince.

I’m a little antsy because I haven’t been allowed to see Max all day. I know it’s only traditional for the bride to be hidden away from the groom until the ceremony, but I’ve gotten so attached to him that it feels odd not to be sharing every moment of this day with him by my side. Soon, though, we will be united in that most beautiful and sacred of ways, and I’ll never have to walk alone again.

Tears burn in my eyes and I blink them back, not wanting to ruin the perfect makeup job Helene did for me. We’ve really pulled out all the stops for this wedding. It is a small congregation of only our closest friends and family — mostly mine, since Max doesn’t have much by way of family… or friends. Except for one, whom I have invited unbeknownst to Max. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees the person I’ve asked to attend, someone he hasn’t seen in a very long time.

I want so badly to sweep away the musty cobwebs in the dark corners of his life, throw open the windows, and let the sun warm him once again. I am determined to bring joy into his world, show him what it feels like to live freely and happily, away from the tragedy and pain of his past. I cannot go back in time and rid his memory of such terrible events. I don’t have the power to eradicate the debts and strikes against him, and I know he will never truly forget the awful things he has seen and done. His past is his own, and I can’t change it. But his future… that rests in my hands. I am so excited to start this next chapter of our lives together, seeking the same bliss we have found in one another.

Still, I have to admit that I am somewhat grateful for his past, in that it has given us both a newfound strength. Especially for me. I will continue to regard the world around me with wonder and love, but I know now to be cautious. I can embrace life with wide open arms, provided that I have my eyes wide open and watching, as well.

And that is why, underneath the frilly, fragile lace of my wedding dress, there is a little sheathed knife strapped to my garter. I know now how important it is to always be prepared. Sometimes, in the pursuit of beautiful things, ugliness can still follow.

Suddenly, the door behind me creaks open and I don’t immediately turn around, expecting that it’s probably just my mom or Maggie coming back to fawn over my dress or give me an update on how the pre-ceremony is progressing. Maggie, for one, has been sneaking whispered tidbits back to me about how handsome and proud Max looks, how swimmingly he’s getting along with my father. I had been a little concerned about that at first, seeing as my dad is a little bit protective over me, and Max was originally in my life to be an authority figure and therefore, off-limits romantically speaking. And while Max is calm and hard to read, my dad is effervescent, wearing his emotions on his sleeve. But to my relief, they seem to click. Like opposite magnets. I’m elated.

Just as I’m turning around to ask Maggie if it’s almost time to get everybody into the pews for the ceremony, a hand clasps over my mouth, the words dying in my throat.

My eyes go wide as I glance around in horror, trying to figure out who is holding me. I know it can’t be my mother or Maggie, as the person behind me is much taller and broader than either of them, nearly dwarfing me by comparison. I glance up to the mirror and let out a strangled scream of realization.

It’s Will.

His lips are grinning, but there’s a cold, cruel glint in his eyes. He is just as handsome as before, but now I know to associate his attractive features with undeniable evil. He is a wolf in a Prince Charming costume. A villain with a hero’s face.

How the hell did he manage to slip in unnoticed? With so many people milling around, how in the world did he get to me? Especially with Max out there somewhere. But then I realize that apart from Maggie and Max, nobody here knows what he looks like. He’s wearing a black designer suit with a pale pink tie, perfectly matching my wedding color scheme.

As though he’s been watching me, planning this for months.

And I never even saw him coming.

Will leans down close to my ear, his breath tickling my neck and giving me goosebumps as I start to tremble, realizing just how dire this situation is. At any moment, Maggie or someone else could come in, putting them in danger along with me. And Maggie… if she sees him, there’s no telling how she will react. Sure, she’s stronger now than before, but I worry that even just seeing Will’s face might make her relapse into her former near-catatonic state. And if he hurts my mother…

“Don’t worry,
mon chou
, I don’t have eyes for anyone but you today,” he growls in my ear, sickly-sweet evil dripping with every cruel word, as if he can read my mind. “Now, I have arranged a getaway car for us. Consider it a chariot to take us away on a honeymoon, if you like.”

He roves one hand down over my breasts, groping its way back around to my ass. Will sucks in a deep, lewd inhale, closing his eyes as though he’s truly savoring the moment.

“I wonder… have you missed me as much as I have missed you?” he muses aloud, his raspy whisper sending shivers down my spine. “It’s true what they say, you know, about the one who got away. Once you get a little taste, you really never can let it go. And you,
mon amour
? You are the one who got away. But we are reunited again, aren’t we? Isn’t it poetic? Romantic, even?”

Will presses himself into me, his cock hard against my ass. I want to scream, but his hand is completely blocking my airway. And besides, I don’t doubt for one second that he has a gun on his person. If I scream, someone will come running. And finding us like this would surely end in that person’s demise. I can’t be responsible for anyone else being hurt on my account. No… the only thing I can do is obey. There’s too much at stake.

I should have known that trouble would follow me… even to the altar.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Will says slowly, grinding against me. “You and I are going to leave through that window over there, walk up the hill, and get into my car. You are not going to scream or make a single sound, or my men will rain bullets into that crowd of your most beloved friends and family, okay? And when we get back to headquarters, you and I will finally get the alone time we both so dearly deserve. You are precious merchandise, Olivia, but you’ve also been a very, very bad girl. I don’t think our buyers will want you unless I get you properly broken in. Besides, I need to rid you of the stench that filthy Ruskie left on your skin.”

He spits on the floor, and I feel tears prickling in my eyes. There is no way out. I have to do as I am told, even if it means losing everything that lies just beyond the door — the happy life, the beautiful future, the man of my dreams.

My past has caught up to me.

“Let’s go. Move,” he commands, dragging me away and pushing me out through the open window. He starts pulling me up the grassy hill overlooking the whole wedding party. I glance back in desperation, half-hoping and half-terrified that someone will see us. I want someone to save me, but I also know that there’s little chance anyone could save me at this point. I don’t think Max has his gun today, and I don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt.

But still, despite my obedience and silence, I hear a deep voice ring out across the pastoral scene. It’s Max.

“No!” he bellows, and I look back instinctively to see him at the window of the chapel, looking out. A split second later he disappears from view, obviously barreling through the crowded little church to get out and follow us.

People are starting to point and take notice of what’s going on, but by now we are already getting into the car, Will shoving me into the backseat, almost exactly the same way he did months ago when he captured me the first time.

T
he bullet wound
to my chest might have slowed me down, but I’ll be damned if it lets the bastards steal my Olivia from me again. Pain ripples through my torso and down my limbs, but I ignore it as adrenaline kicks in, and I push past the few guests who haven’t already started to panic.

Rain patters on my face as I tear out the old wooden doors of the chapel and down the wet stone steps. It’s said that rain is a sign of good luck on a wedding day. I say a quick prayer as I pass out the doors of the church that my fortunes save themselves for our married life. Today, all I will need is my skill.

I catch a glimpse of Will as he enters his car, another mobster shoving Liv into the back with him, and the car peels out into the road with two others following after. There’s a black sports car I arranged to be waiting for us at the bottom of the steps — it was going to be the chariot I whisked Liv away in after the ceremony, onto a better life. It still will be. The reception will just be a little more exciting, it seems.

Pushing more of the confused guests out of the way, I bound down the steps and vault into the vehicle, and a moment later, my car roars, smoke flaring up behind me to the sounds of gasps from the guests as I leave them in the dust on the trail of my bride.

Slavers never know when to stop. They never can. They cater to a beastly lust that seems bottomless in men, and putting this ring down for good will bring me nothing but the utmost satisfaction — not only because of what they are, but because of what they dare try to take from me.

The three cars are fast, and they’re past the point of regarding caution in any capacity. I wonder how long it will be before the police are on our tail, but I suspect we’ll be long gone before that’s a concern. I see the last car taking a sharp turn down the lane, and mere seconds later, I’m right behind it.

“
Mudak
,” I mutter under my breath as I realize the rear vehicle is putting on the brakes as we careen down a narrow road, pedestrians crying out in terror and a man on a bicycle leaping off and onto the sidewalk. The rear of the car swerves in my path as I try to get around, the small vehicles lining the road blocking our path as bumpers. I realize that there’s no way around him, and the two cars in the lead are quickly getting away.

I reach under my seat and pull out the gun I’d stowed there. There’s an alley coming up on my right — narrow, but it will have to do. Even at my own wedding day, I can’t seem to shake the old habits. I roll down the window, and the moment I reach the alley, I use the handbrake to screech to the side, aiming my gun and firing off two shots at the car in front of me before I blaze down the narrow alley. The pops I hear from the rear car’s tires tell me my shots landed true, and I smile as I smash through a trashcan in the alleyway, a terrified cat leaping up into a window to watch me fly by.

My car exits the alley into oncoming traffic. All around me, petrified motorists honk and jerk their wheels away as I surge upstream, gathering speed rapidly, and to my left, I soon start to catch flashes of the other two cars the next street over. But I won’t be trapped in the back again.

In a matter of seconds, the road curves into where the other two are heading, and my tires screech as I turn into traffic after them, driving parallel with the rear car. I have a clear shot at Will’s car, but I can’t risk hurting Liv. And damn it all, Will knows that.

But the next moment, I look over to my left as I realize the rear car is turning into me, and the side of the car collides with mine, sparks flying, and I lower my head as gunshots ring out a moment later from their passenger’s side. I pop up and fire back, and I hear one of them curse as the gunman’s blood gets on the driver, his face falling forward onto the dashboard. Both cars take a sharp turn, and my car zips by, just missing it. Once again, I tear around the block to see them heading for a road that leads out of the city, back into the country, towards the
Domaniale d’Armainvilliers
in the southeast.

Once we’re out of the sea of buildings, the damage to the rear car is more obvious, and I make a mental note to see about getting a new car to replace this one. It’s a shame. I’d looked forward to giving Liv this car, but scratch marks and bullet holes just won’t do.

But the open road affords too much exposure for their comfort, and before I can get a shot in on the rear car’s tires, they take a turn into a sleepy suburb between the city and the forest, and we find ourselves racing through a sea of upscale houses with ample fencing.

Dogs bark at our passing, and a few of the joggers start getting on cell phones and climbing house fences for safety as we approach. I see the two cars heading for a narrower road up ahead, but I’m not about to let that happen. Accelerating, I get up beside the rear car and waste no time in ramming into the side of it, feeling glass shards from their window pierce my arm.

“
Ruskie svin’ya
!” I hear the growl from the other car, and I steer the car sharply to the left, silencing the man as the car collides with a telephone pole, leaving it behind as I blaze past after the car driven by Will: the car bearing my bride.

In the rear-view mirror, I see the car in the back looking half-melted around the telephone pole, smoke rising from it, and I turn my attention back to the front, where I realize Will is taking the nearest road off into the forest, onto a dirt path leading through thick foliage.

My face sours into a grimace. This isn’t an accident — I’m driving right into whatever they have planned, and I know it. But I’m going to press on.

I’ve taken a bullet for a student I hardly know. For Liv, I’d give my life.

For a moment, I see her in the back of the car, and my heart leaps into my throat. I want to blow out the brains of every man in that car with her, and I will. But one wrong shot, one slight movement at the wrong time could make the unthinkable happen, so I have to stay my weapon. My blood boils as I see the man holding her down bring his hand across her face, though, and I raise my weapon and let out a shot that takes off the left side-mirror. I can almost feel Will flinch, and it gives me a special pleasure.

Then the man in the back leans out the side window with an Uzi in hand, and I nearly have to drive off the road to avoid the spray of bullets that flies out. We drive towards a pair of thick trees, and I brace myself to go off-road when the man is suddenly jerked back into the car, and I realize Liv has got a hold of them, and they’re grappling in the backseat.

My whole body tenses at the sight, fraught with concern for her. I’ve started to train her well, but if she angers the men too much, I wouldn’t put it past them to do something drastic before reaching their destination. I’m so concerned with the sight that I don’t fully notice his sudden acceleration, and it’s too late when I notice the man by the side of the road rolling a small, round, metal object into the road in front of me.

I feel fire under me as the grenade goes off below the car, glass shattering all around and smoke and dirt billowing up in every direction as my ears are deafened to a harsh ringing. Bits and pieces of the car go flying, and the driver’s side door is lost, leaving the smoke-filled air to fan the flames within the vehicle as I charge forward.

In truth, the pain hardly registers with me. I feel it like a thought in the back of my mind, but I’m so driven by adrenaline towards my goal. Up ahead, I have just enough time to see Will’s car coming to a halt before another grenade goes off in front of me, sending up another wave of smoke and dirt, and the sound of metal clinking tells me bullets are peppering the vehicle like a thousand angry wasps, and there’s a burning sensation under my feet.