His Target: A Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  I fade away in the darkness as the cold grows outside, and the noise of traffic slows. The world is sleeping with me.

  But as always, some people never sleep. It hasn’t been more than a few hours before the sound of voices startles me awake. I open my eyes, not moving an inch as I listen closely to the sound.

  The voices are chuckling, amused by something, and I dread to find out what that something is. Maybe it’s me.

  My eyes open wider, taking in the darkness for some hint of movement. I remain still, terrified that I’ll be spotted if I do.

  I’m not frozen like I was last night, but my leg is tingling like it always does as I lay against the oil-stained concrete ground. There are people close-by, and their laughter isn’t the joyful type you find in the park in the middle of the day.

  Nobody good is out after midnight.

  I’m tempted to get up and make a run for it, but it sounds like the voices are too close, and there are many of them. I won’t have time to gather my things without alerting them to where I am. I won’t be able to move at all until they’re gone.

  I tilt my head up enough to see through the narrow spaces between the wooden boards that make up the ramp I’m under, and part of me wishes I hadn’t. Standing five feet away from my shelter is a line of six men, all ridiculously large and armed to the teeth. I’d almost think they were a swat team if not for the fact that they sport facial tattoos and have thick Russian accents.

  “Come out, woman. We want to play,” one of them says, his eyes meeting mine through the crack in the wood.

  A sickening jolt of adrenaline and dread surges through me. I can’t stop my heavy breathing now, not that it matters. Somehow, these men already know that I’m under the ramp. How the hell did they find me, and what do they want?

  I stay still, hoping that I’m dreaming this up. Maybe they’re speaking to someone else. Perhaps they will turn around and leave.

  But, of course, they don’t leave. They all take a step forward at the same time, like a shooting squad marching forward to take aim. I’m the victim, obviously, but why?

  I scramble backward, hunching in a crude squat as I anticipate their next move. One more step forward, and I’ll have no other option but to run. I don’t want to be caged in by a group of Russian thugs.

  Wait, wasn’t that weird guy in the grocery store also Russian?

  “Come out. We’d like to speak to you,” the leader of the group says, his words so thickly accented that I can barely understand them.

  “I have a gun,” I announce, my voice cracking as I attempt a weak bluff.

  “You should show me,” the man replies, and the others laugh.

  “Go away,” I yell. “Leave me alone.”

  The men laugh again, and I know that there’s nothing I can do but flee from them. I’m not going to make it out of here by being helpless. That’s the easiest way to ensure that this is the last night I get to enjoy before my life is changed forever.

  Or taken from me.

  I doubt these men will be gentle with whatever they’re planning to do with me. Just the thought of it makes my heart race even faster, pumping blood through my body and up to my ears so hard that it clouds my hearing.

  Another step forward by the line of men prompts me to bolt. I leave my possessions, the bookbag, and the little money I’ve managed to save up, and I get the fuck out of there.

  I spring out into the cold night air, my knees screaming at me from the sudden movement, and my leg tingling violently as I slam my foot down on the concrete with my first step.

  A hand slaps around my wrist before I’m able to take the next step, yanking me back and twisting my arm so aggressively that I have to turn my body so that it won’t pop from the socket. I let out a yelp from the pain and try to turn my body away, but it’s no use.

  The man pulls me toward him, and my body slams against his chest. All of a sudden, I’m surrounded by them. I’m in a little personal circle of hell, whether I deserve it or not. I’m trapped, and what comes next isn’t going to be pretty.

  I’ve never been so terrified for my life.

  “Pretty girl,” my captor grumbles, pushing my chin up as he squeezes my wrist harder.

  I lock eyes with him and spit in his face, expecting a reaction, maybe a backhanded slap.

  I’m horrified when he doesn’t even flinch.

  What’s worse, he licks his upper lip as my saliva rolls down the side of his nose, tasting my spit. He smiles at me, revealing two rows of small teeth, spaced apart as though he flosses with ropes. “Delicious,” he says with a laugh.

  I yank myself from him, and to my surprise, he releases me. I stumble back, bouncing off the chest of the man behind me. There’s nowhere for me to go. The circle is too tight, and the men are too large to let me escape.

  I want to skip time, to fast forward through this tragedy to the next day or the next week, if I’m still even alive. I don’t want to remember what happens tonight. I want to block it out and forget these men ever existed.

  “Who gets to go first?” one of them asks.

  I fold my arms over my chest, trying to shrink down so small in the circle that they can no longer see me.

  “I want to have her. Who says we can’t have fun before completing the mission?”

  “Shut up. Don’t talk about that in front of her,” the leader growls. “Are you fucking stupid?”

  “Sorry.”

  The leader places his hand on my shoulder, pushing me to my knees. I fall hard, bruising them both and wincing at the pain. I don’t have it in me to cry, but I would if I ever cried anymore. It seems that that part of me died while I was in the orphanage. I simply ran out of tears to give.

  “This dirty sweater can’t be comfortable,” the leader says, yanking the neck of my hoodie up and choking me with it.

  I cough, running my hands up to the collar and pulling at it, trying to get some air into my throat as he cuts into my windpipe. He shakes me, causing my head to slip through the hole as he pulls it harder.

  He pulls the entire hoodie off of me and tosses it back over his head, laughing as I fall to my knees again, collapsing onto my hands in the tight circle. My head is nearly touching the steel toe boots of the man in front of me.

  “Get up and let us see you,” the leader commands.

  I try to get my footing to stand up straight, but I’m trembling so badly that my legs don’t want to hold my weight. It’s freezing without my hoodie, and I’m so fucking helpless that I don’t even have a glimmer of hope to escape. I wonder if I should just go limp and leave my life up to fate.

  I thought I was a fighter, the young woman who was too tough to be broken, even when the world threw everything horrible her way. I thought that I could withstand the terrors of sleeping on the streets and that one day I could find a better way to live.

  But it seems that even the hardest fighter loses a match eventually. For some, it means the head-hanging embarrassment of going home without the trophy. For me, it means violation at the hands of armed thugs, and quite likely, death.

  God, if I had just been a thief, dropping down a rung on the social ladder, I could’ve been safe in a jail cell. It’s fucked up to think that criminals will receive better treatment than I will. Sometimes, freedom comes with an unbearable price.

  I struggle to get to my feet like the leader of the Russian thugs wants me to do, and I’m met with two hands on my forearms, pulling me up like a doll to be displayed to his colleagues. Now, I’m worse than litter. I’m a puppet for a group of sickos.

  I allow myself to go limp, for my body to give up in the hands of this man. I know what will happen next. I just hope that by being complacent, like a dead animal in the street, they’ll leave me alone once they’ve had their fun.

  I just hope that I don’t die. That’s all I can ask for now.

  But as the man behind me reaches his hand down to my pants, the sound of a gunshot makes everyone jump. His grip loosens on my arms, and I take my o
pportunity to break from his control, diving through the open legs of the man in front of me, tumbling across the rough ground, scraping and bloodying my arms as I flee.

  I’m free.

  Chapter Eight

  Zeno

  I had to spell it out for Boris and the clown squad that he employs, and they still managed to make this into something it was never supposed to be. Alexia’s life is worth too much to have a bunch of thugs have their way with her before she comes into my possession. I had to pull the trigger sooner than I thought, and now my plan is threatening to come unraveled.

  I stand in at the end of the road, gun full of blanks in my hand as Alexia runs toward me from the group. I’m sure she’ll try to run right past me, but I can’t let that happen. I must complete the mock rescue, or this will all have been for nothing.

  I wave my hand at her to come to me, but in reality, I’m telling the thugs I’ve frightened to run after her. I hope they understand that, despite their clowning, the mission is still on.

  They seem to get the picture quickly, rushing after Alexia as she corrects her trajectory so that she’ll be able to run past me.

  Once she reaches me, I turn with her, trying to run alongside her even as she attempts to escape me. I turn the gun around to Boris’s group, firing another blank at them to remind Alexia that I’m on her side.

  She doesn’t even look at me. Instead, her eyes stare straight ahead, driven by a wild animalistic instinct to escape from her attackers. Maybe if they hadn’t traumatized her, she wouldn’t be so keen on getting away without me.

  “Who are those men?” I yell, feigning ignorance as I keep the pace beside her.

  She ignores me.

  “Hello?” I ask, firing another shot behind me as we turn onto a public road.

  “Leave me alone,” she shouts back, trying again to avoid me.

  “Hey, I’m protecting you,” I reply, firing off another shot to drive in my point.

  “I don’t need a protector,” she says. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

  We’re approaching my car, and if I’m going to convince her to go with me, I need to do it quickly. The thugs are still chasing us, easily closing in as Alexia starts to slow down. She doesn’t have the energy to keep this up, which I can use to my advantage.

  “They’re catching up to us,” I say, trying to sound worried. “My car is parked down here. Let’s go.”

  I begin to stray from Alexia, and to my surprise and satisfaction, she follows me. She must know that she won’t get very far on her own. I wouldn’t want to be chased by those thugs either, especially not as a young woman along.

  I race to my car, firing the last several shots in my gun toward the armed men, who have conveniently not pulled a single weapon on us. This might work out according to my plan after all, but I’m still going to need to have a chat with Boris about the conduct of his men. The mafia should have more honor than that.

  The yellow rear lights flash on my car as I click the button on my key fob to unlock the doors. I jump behind Alexia, making sure that she doesn’t rush past the car as we arrive at it. To my delight, she yanks open the door and hops into the passenger’s seat.

  I move around the car, giving our pursuers a signal wave to back off, and jump into the driver’s seat. I’m enveloped by the scent of my stale cigar, ashed out in the tray, and the new smell of a peculiar young woman called Alexia.

  “Go,” she yells at me, her eyes wide with fright.

  I almost forgot. I switch my expression back to that of pretend panic as I start the car and shift us into drive. Slamming down on the gas pedal, I make a show of peeling out into the street, sweeping Alexia off to the safety of my hideout a few miles out of town. To be honest, she’s safer with me than she is on the streets.

  That’s until I kill her, of course.

  “Fucking bastards,” Alexia growls, twisting around in her seat and throwing up her middle finger as we make our escape.

  “Indeed,” I mutter. I’m not pleased with their behavior, but the performance was convincing enough, and my plan is back on track.

  Alexia sinks back down in her seat, immediately fiddling with the air conditioning vents in front of her. I flip on the warm air, becoming aware that she must be freezing in just a tank top. Her nipples are poking out like diamonds.

  “Thanks,” she says, holding up her pale fingers to the vent. They look like wax from the cold.

  “Do you need that hotter?” I ask, turning the knob to the air conditioning as she leans into the vents.

  “Yes, as hot as you can,” she replies.

  I turn it to the max setting, already starting to sweat in my suit as she soaks up the warmth. I’m tempted to roll the window down on my side, but her comfort is of the utmost importance. The more comfortable she is, the more likely that we can do this in a way that doesn’t require me to keep her chained up in my basement for weeks.

  I’m not beyond doing something to that measure, but I’d like to avoid it.

  “You know those guys?” Alexia asks once her fascination with the hot air starts to fade.

  “The guys who chased you?” I ask, pretending to be just as clueless as she is.

  “Of course,” she snaps, frowning at me. “Who are they?”

  I slow down as we hit traffic. “I don’t know. I was just out for a walk when I heard the commotion.”

  “A walk?”

  I nod. “It’s good to get some fresh air. I’m a bit of an insomniac.”

  She laughs. “Well, you’d better stay inside in this fucking city. All the crazies come out at night.”

  “True,” I reply. “I’m just glad I was able to rescue you.”

  She squints at me, looking me up and down as I attempt to focus on the road ahead. I’m trying not to look too suspicious.

  “Are you sure you don’t know them?” she asks.

  “Why would I know them?” I ask.

  “Because you’re from Russia, aren’t you?” she asks.

  I shrug. “There are a lot of Russians in Portland.”

  “I never met any until today,” she replies.

  Damn, Alexia isn’t going to trust me that easily, and my story doesn’t have much to stand on. Maybe I should’ve waited a few days to flesh this out properly before I came for her, but there isn’t much I can do about it now.

  “Well, truthfully, I’m not from Portland,” I say. “There are more Russians in California.”

  “Oh?” She leans toward me. “You’re planning on going back there?”

  “To Cali or Russia?” I ask with a chuckle. I’d never go back to Russia.

  “Cali.”

  “Yes, I’m going back there eventually. Once I finish some business here.”

  “Can you take me with you?” she blurts, staring at me with the widest eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman. They sparkle with the purest intent – grey, with flecks of silver.

  I glance over to her, taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm. I thought she didn’t trust me.

  “I can take you there. Why do you want to go?”

  “It’s warmer,” she answers, sinking back into her seat. “The Portland winter is going to kill me, unless some asshole does that first, of course.”

  That asshole is me.

  I smile. “Well, I think I can help you out, then. My name is Zeno, your personal guardian.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks, a frown overtaking her lovely face again. “Are you a pimp or something?”

  I laugh at the notion. “No, dear. I’m a businessman. You see the suit?”

  She nods.

  “I wear this shit every day, and they pay me to do little else.”

  “Jeez, I’d kill to be in your position,” she replies – an ironic choice of words.

  “I’m just lucky to have a nice life. I assume you’re homeless or something.”

  “Something like that,” she replies. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to my place. It’s on the edge
of the city. You know, hotels downtown are just too expensive.”

  “You look rich.”

  I shrug. “Appearances are for business.”

  “So, you’re not rich? Your car is pretty nice.”

  “Appearances.”

  “So, your business is just being fake, then?”

  I shrug. “Kind of, yes.”

  She laughs. “What a load of bullshit. I’m glad I never had a job.”

  “You’d rather be on the streets?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  She falls silent, easily stumped by my challenge. “I guess not,” she replies after a moment.

  “Neither would I. And honestly, I’d like to help you out if you’d let me.”

  “But why?” she asks.

  I can already hear the suspicion creeping back into her voice.

  “Well, because I–”

  “Hey! Aren’t you that guy who was following me today?” she says, cutting me off.

  “I was at work, so no,” I reply, trying to keep my cool.

  She jabs a finger toward me, raising her voice. “Same fucking suit and everything.”

  “Everyone wears suits to work. They all look the same,” I try to reason.

  “I don’t believe you. Why are you following me, and what’s up with all these Russian guys?”

  My hands grip the steering wheel so hard that they threaten to tear off the smooth leather covering. I take a deep breath and flash a concerned smile. “Are you alright? Did they hit you in the head or something?”

  “I’m not crazy,” she replies, but that turns her down a notch.

  “You’re not on drugs or anything?” I ask, turning the accusations toward her.

  “I don’t do drugs,” she says, crossing her arms and glaring at me. “I would never do that. Just because I’m homeless doesn’t mean I’m a druggy.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask, switching the topic to throw her off.

  “You don’t need to know that,” she grumbles.

  “So, you’re too fucked up to remember your own name?”

  “Alexia,” she shouts, causing my right ear to ring.