Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman), Nicole Fox [best ebook reader for surface pro .txt] 📗

But seconds tick by and nothing changes. This is as real as it gets. I’m the prisoner of a hit man, and I just heard him say the name of the man who killed my parents.

What does he know about Abram? Is this man a client? Or could he possibly be the next hit?

Roman is a trained killer, and I’m in the business of stopping Konstantin from hurting more people the same way he hurt my parents. At the same time, Roman could be working with the man. What if Konstantin is behind this and he wants Roman to take me out so that nobody else will stop him?

These thoughts hit me a mile a minute, so hard that I almost don’t see Roman end the call and slide the phone back into his pocket. I feel the room closing on me, demanding that I make a choice.

Do I stop Roman before he gets the chance to hurt me, or do I wait it out and see if he can help me? Kill him or question him?

I clench the knife tighter in my hand.

Then the doorknob twists and Roman walks back in.

Chapter Six

Roman

I try to make my call as short as I can. It’s a simple job, one that might take a bit longer than usual, but I don’t mind it. Mr. X is paying more than twice what he would normally for this hit. Whoever this Konstantin man is, he’s pissed X off pretty bad. It’s a warning to anyone else not to cross him, I’m sure. Not that I need a warning. I know well enough what happens when he gets upset.

But there’s another problem waiting for me to take care of before the Konstantin hit. A feisty blonde problem on the other side of the motel room door.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and twist the doorknob.

For a brief moment as the door swings open, something feels very, very wrong. There’s a sense of tension lingering in the air. I learned long ago to trust my gut, and it just isn’t right in here.

The door opens fully and I scan the room on high alert. But everything is where it should be. Lucy sits on the bed, bouncing her knees like she’s anxious about something. For a heartbeat, I stay by the door, watching her stare at the television. She’s switched it to something other than the news. From the censored beeps and high-pitched fighting, it must be some trashy reality show.

When she finally pulls her gaze towards me, she smiles faintly and asks, “Was that about your next job?”

It’s unsettling how easily she can read me. I don’t like it. What makes this job easy for me is that not many people get under my skin. Not many people can decipher what I’m feeling. But this girl? She’s better at it than I’d like. Part of me wants to dump her off on the side of the road. When she aims those big blue eyes in my direction, it’s like staring at a mind reader.

“Yes,” I say. There’s no point in lying. She doesn’t know who I’m talking about. No harm in admitting that much.

“Oh.”

The silence between us is too much, and I drop down on the bed, a few feet away from her. The motion causes my injured side to throb, but I clench my jaw and grimace through the pain. I’ll worry about that later. Stitches are gonna be a bitch, but I’ll manage.

Lucy’s offer comes back to me. But I’ve never liked the idea of letting someone close enough to do damage to me. My entire career, I’ve made it a point to look after myself. No hospitals. No nurses. Involving those people only made things more complicated. All those questions, trying to figure out why I ended up on the table with stab wounds and someone else’s blood on my shirt? No thanks, hard pass.

But for the first time, I almost considered it. Lucy said she took care of her grandmother, and that makes me wonder why. Is the old woman disabled? Is that what Lucy does for a living? I know that story about her having a son is bullshit, but I didn’t doubt her when she mentioned her grandmother. The conviction in her voice was pure.

To be honest, most everything about her seems pure. Sure, the girl has a fighting spirit, but anyone with an iota of courage would do the same in this situation. What makes her different is that she didn’t run. She had plenty of chances to call for help but didn’t. She could’ve screamed. Attacked me. Jumped from the balcony and taken off running. All these escape routes, yet here she is, watching trash TV in this rundown hotel with me.

It’s fucking insane. That’s what it is.

I don’t get this girl, but part of me wants to. That’s what’s making this harder for me. I could kill her and be done with her. I wouldn’t have to worry about her snitching later on down the road. The only problem is, it feels like a sin. Like killing a dove. She’s a tiny thing, probably doesn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds. It wouldn’t take more than a few good hits to take her out.

But I don’t hurt women. I don’t kill women. That’s what makes this shit complicated. The logical, emotionless side says to make it quick and painless. A pillow over her head tonight. A lethal dose of something I keep in my glove compartment. Even just a bullet between the eyes. All swift, but all brutal. And yet, when it comes to Lucy, just looking at her in the wrong way feels too cruel.

Goddammit.

She interrupts my thoughts when she turns around and says, “I’m tired.”

I glance at the clock. It’s almost eleven at night. It’s been a long fucking day, but I’ve been in clean-up mode. I