Captive of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel by Alexis Abbott, Alex Abbott Page B
Authors: Alexis Abbott, Alex Abbott
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there it is. This prick’s agonizing slowness finally pays off as he’s edging around a left turn. And I have him perfectly.
I speed up, smoke licking up from beneath the hood of this beautiful vehicle as I make out as if I’m going to rush the light. I swerve right, then left, and bam! The collision does the trick, my jury-rigging of the engine comes to fruition as the hood explodes, launching forward.
It’s a gambit, I know, but my handiwork never fails. And with the right angle and speed of impact, that metal hood hits just as I hope… well, almost. It strikes the old fuck in the head, leaving a deep gash in his forehead as he jerks away.
Panic breaks out, traffic backs up. But I’m unfazed by the impact, and I get out of the vehicle.
“Hey buddy, you okay?” I ask in my best American accent, closing in on the injured target.
He’s still sitting there, hurt pretty badly, blood gushing from his wound. But it’s not enough. I never half-ass things or leave them to chance.
“Oh shit, someone call an ambulance,” I say to the closest onlookers, making them back off and fumble with their smartphones. It gives me the time and space I need to get in close.
My target’s beady eyes lock onto me, and I can feel the hatred and anger there. But he’s very nearly crippled, his neck might’ve even broken. I reach in as if testing his pulse, but I’m feeling his spine.
Nope, not quite broken.
“Is he okay?” someone asks from a dozen feet behind me.
My leather-gloved hands take hold of that lousy prick’s neck and head, and I twist. The snapping noise is loud, and I hear someone at a distance cry, “What’s that?!” But I ignore it.
I release the limp man, let his head dangle loosely as I turn and begin to walk away.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, but my hearts not quite in the act. He’s just another slime ball who had it coming. I make my way into a nearby shopping complex, head toward the bathrooms before veering off, making my way through to exit out a side door.
The job’s done, and while there were unavoidable witnesses, I just look like someone who got into an accident and couldn’t handle it. I’ll be gone from this city in no time anyhow, and there is no trace of me in the car I was driving. I’ll be nothing more than a ghost of a memory after I head back to New York.
I’ll let Alicia know once I’m there.
As I peel off the bloody gloves and dispose of them in a trash can, my phone comes to life. I can’t ignore it, not with the way things are, so I slip it out of my pocket.
It’s Alicia.
I should turn it off, send her sweet self to my voicemail. Preserve a little memory, a glimpse of what I could have, if I were a different man, living a different life. But my gut won’t let me. I never ignore my gut instinct.
“Yes?” I answer, but the panicked heavy breathing I hear on the other side already tells me what I need to know: she’s in serious trouble.
14
Alicia
H earing his voice gives me a jolt of relief. I know he’s probably the last person in the world I should trust, but somehow, I know he’s going to protect me. And right now, I definitely need protection.
I don’t know what’s happening, not really, but everything in my bones is screaming at me that something is wrong. Maybe it’s my women’s intuition, or the fact that the bright light of day seems so eerie. Maybe it’s just that Eva’s come and checked in on me twice, and not just out of boredom. She says there’s nothing wrong, but there’s definitely something up, and whatever it is, I’m on edge. I’m not going to pretend that it’s all in my head like I did with Mr. Gallego.
I’m not going to pretend I can handle anything that comes my way. I know better than that now.
“Something’s wrong,” I manage as I peek out the window. All I can see are blue skies and lazy cars driving along, nothing out of the ordinary. So why is my gut screaming at me that I’m in danger?
I strain my
I speed up, smoke licking up from beneath the hood of this beautiful vehicle as I make out as if I’m going to rush the light. I swerve right, then left, and bam! The collision does the trick, my jury-rigging of the engine comes to fruition as the hood explodes, launching forward.
It’s a gambit, I know, but my handiwork never fails. And with the right angle and speed of impact, that metal hood hits just as I hope… well, almost. It strikes the old fuck in the head, leaving a deep gash in his forehead as he jerks away.
Panic breaks out, traffic backs up. But I’m unfazed by the impact, and I get out of the vehicle.
“Hey buddy, you okay?” I ask in my best American accent, closing in on the injured target.
He’s still sitting there, hurt pretty badly, blood gushing from his wound. But it’s not enough. I never half-ass things or leave them to chance.
“Oh shit, someone call an ambulance,” I say to the closest onlookers, making them back off and fumble with their smartphones. It gives me the time and space I need to get in close.
My target’s beady eyes lock onto me, and I can feel the hatred and anger there. But he’s very nearly crippled, his neck might’ve even broken. I reach in as if testing his pulse, but I’m feeling his spine.
Nope, not quite broken.
“Is he okay?” someone asks from a dozen feet behind me.
My leather-gloved hands take hold of that lousy prick’s neck and head, and I twist. The snapping noise is loud, and I hear someone at a distance cry, “What’s that?!” But I ignore it.
I release the limp man, let his head dangle loosely as I turn and begin to walk away.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, but my hearts not quite in the act. He’s just another slime ball who had it coming. I make my way into a nearby shopping complex, head toward the bathrooms before veering off, making my way through to exit out a side door.
The job’s done, and while there were unavoidable witnesses, I just look like someone who got into an accident and couldn’t handle it. I’ll be gone from this city in no time anyhow, and there is no trace of me in the car I was driving. I’ll be nothing more than a ghost of a memory after I head back to New York.
I’ll let Alicia know once I’m there.
As I peel off the bloody gloves and dispose of them in a trash can, my phone comes to life. I can’t ignore it, not with the way things are, so I slip it out of my pocket.
It’s Alicia.
I should turn it off, send her sweet self to my voicemail. Preserve a little memory, a glimpse of what I could have, if I were a different man, living a different life. But my gut won’t let me. I never ignore my gut instinct.
“Yes?” I answer, but the panicked heavy breathing I hear on the other side already tells me what I need to know: she’s in serious trouble.
14
Alicia
H earing his voice gives me a jolt of relief. I know he’s probably the last person in the world I should trust, but somehow, I know he’s going to protect me. And right now, I definitely need protection.
I don’t know what’s happening, not really, but everything in my bones is screaming at me that something is wrong. Maybe it’s my women’s intuition, or the fact that the bright light of day seems so eerie. Maybe it’s just that Eva’s come and checked in on me twice, and not just out of boredom. She says there’s nothing wrong, but there’s definitely something up, and whatever it is, I’m on edge. I’m not going to pretend that it’s all in my head like I did with Mr. Gallego.
I’m not going to pretend I can handle anything that comes my way. I know better than that now.
“Something’s wrong,” I manage as I peek out the window. All I can see are blue skies and lazy cars driving along, nothing out of the ordinary. So why is my gut screaming at me that I’m in danger?
I strain my
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