Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) Nicole Fox (unputdownable books TXT) 📖

“What did I just tell you?” I ask. “Now you have to stay like that until I get back.”

Her eyes start to water, but I straighten up and look at myself in the mirror. There’s a large bloodstain on my side that’s growing larger, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now. Instead, I zip up my jacket and grab the car keys, locking the door on the way out of the motel room. She’ll be all right while I finish this assignment.

***

Down in the parking lot, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Mr. X’s number. The phone rings three times before he picks up. There’s no response, just the sound of his heavy breathing.

“Evan is taken care of,” I reply.

“Get rid of him. Then come to the warehouse.” Then X hangs up the phone. A man of few words, as always. Not that I’m complaining. I don’t imagine we’d have much to talk about aside from me telling him where all the bodies are buried.

I pull out of the parking lot and head to a swampy marsh out of the way. The drive takes about forty-five minutes, but there’s no hurry anymore. The woman from the alley is safely secured at the hotel, Evan is dead, and, in just a few minutes, he won’t be my problem anymore. The sooner that happens, the better.

I don’t notice the pain in my side until I begin digging the hole for Evan, but I clench my jaw and work through the sting. This is the final task before I can collect my money and head back to the motel. I can tough this out and worry about fixing myself up later.

Evan’s body hits the soft dirt with a dull thud when I drop him into the hole. I pause to look at him. Death smoothed out the scared-shitless wrinkles in his forehead. In fact, he almost looks peaceful. Lucky bastard.

I don’t know what he did to piss Mr. X off, but in this line of business, I’ve learned not to question the men with money. I don’t need to know why someone is on their shit list. All I have to know is where they are and what the price is. Gripping the shovel again, I toss the dirt onto him. His face disappears.

Against my better judgment, my mind wanders back to the woman and the way she looked at me in the alley. It wasn’t just my imagination. I know that much for certain. Whatever happened between us, she felt it too. She felt that standstill sensation, the limbo where our eyes locked and for a moment, neither of us made a move.

She’s beautiful. There’s no point in denying that or pretending that I haven’t noticed. I’m not fucking blind. I’ve always been attracted to women with her features, especially the smattering of freckles that covers her nose and cheeks.

She’s feisty, too. Feistier than I expected. I like the fight in her, even if it made my next move harder.

She deserves better than the fate she’s going to get. Evan here was scum from the start. He knew the life he chose, and he knew the risks that came with it. But the girl ... she just walked down the wrong alley at the wrong time.

But it’s out of my hands now.

I return to my car and toss the shovel in the trunk. I have money waiting for me. After I receive my payment, I’ll worry about figuring out what to do with the woman in the motel. Until then, I can compartmentalize and breathe easier. Evan is dead and I’ll have my money soon.

That’s a good enough distraction for now.

Chapter Five

Lucy

My head is still pounding when the hazy fog of sleep finally disappears. I blink a few times, turning my head and immediately regretting it. The ache is worse than any bad hangover I had in college, and it almost makes me nauseous. I squeeze my eyes tight and take a slow breath, trying to talk myself through the pain. I would kill for an ibuprofen right now, but my oh-so-generous host doesn’t strike me as someone that will be particularly keen on running errands for me.

How the hell did I even get in this position?

Today was supposed to be simple. All I had to do was write a bit, then head to Rudy’s and fill in for my coworker. But then things took a left turn. Worse than that, actually.

I watched someone die today.

Just remembering that detail, the thick red glop painted on the wall, makes me want to puke again. One moment I could see the life in his eyes, and the next, it was gone, blown out through the back of his head. I want to kick myself. I should’ve been quiet. I should’ve stayed hidden, or run faster, or tried to hide. If I did, I wouldn’t be here, tied up in the bathroom like a pig awaiting slaughter.

I don’t know what he’s going to do to me, but I’ve heard these kinds of horror stories before on all my favorite true crime podcasts. Women like me don’t fare well when it comes to being kidnapped by murderous psychopaths. If I don’t act fast, I could very easily become the next victim people are talking about.

The idea of being killed—or worse—lights a fire inside of me. I have to get out. I can’t die like this. If I do, who’s going to take care of Nana? Who’s going to bring Konstantin to justice after what he did to my family? No, there’s no way that this is going to be the end of me.

I look around the bathroom for something that might help me. We’re in some kind of motel, I can tell that much. The little bottles of shampoo bear the logo, and the monogrammed towels are a dead giveaway as well. On the side of the bathtub, there’s a small razor, and my heart beats