Hitman's Captive: A Bad Boy Romance Read online

  Hitman’s Captive

  A Bad Boy Romance

  Lara Swann

  Copyright © 2016 Lara Swann

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue and everything else are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to people or events, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please note: This copy of Hitman’s Captive also contains a bonus book, HARD! This means that Hitman’s Captive ends approximately 45% into this book – but rest assured, Hitman’s Captive is a full-length 80,000 word novel.

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  Table of Contents

  A Note from Lara

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Mailing List

  BONUS BOOK: Hard – A Stepbrother Military Romance

  About the Author

  A Note from Lara

  As always, I want to thank all my Advance Readers and fans who’ve supported me through three(!) releases now. Your enthusiasm and interest keeps me writing, and I appreciate every message telling me how much you’ve loved the characters, the book, and anything else!

  I wouldn’t be here without you all, so thank you for supporting an independent author, and I hope you enjoy Leo and Alessa’s story.

  Chapter One

  Leo

  I stood silently in the bedroom of the luxury hotel suite, muted sounds from the corridor beyond only highlighting the quiet stillness around me as the smooth handles of the garrote hung easily by my side. Relaxed and unmoving against the wall like this, it was easy for my presence to fade into the overpriced furniture around me - my custom tailored suit certainly belonged, even if I didn’t.

  I’d let myself in with the housekeeper’s keycard two hours ago and I wasn’t expecting my target anytime soon, but I didn’t mind the waiting. Patience was part of the game, and this unnatural stillness was second nature to me. Born from a childhood on the streets spent hiding, waiting, disappearing - and then honed over years of practice as a killer for hire.

  A so-called hitman. Though that term had always struck me as too civilized. I preferred the cold, harsh truth of it.

  Killer. Assassin. Murderer.

  And anyone who couldn’t face those labels had no business doing what I did.

  Alone in this dim space, the movement and noise of hotel guests filtered through to me easily as they chatted and laughed, unpacked or moved around. Doors opened and closed.

  I’d always liked this - being so close to others’ lives and yet oddly detached from it all.

  A predator.

  Watching and listening. Waiting beyond the imagination of most people.

  It was probably why I still did it, long after I’d earned enough to live comfortably.

  I just couldn’t resist pitting my instincts and skills against different jobs. Testing and challenging to keep myself hard and fast and invincible.

  That, and I’d never known anything different. I knew who I was, what I was good at, and I sure as hell couldn’t picture myself as one of the innocent, naive people I preyed upon.

  A door opened nearby and I tensed in readiness, but it wasn’t this suite. The suite next door maybe - hopefully not - or a few doors down the hall. Standing in the bedroom instead of the main part of the suite made it a little harder to be sure, but I preferred having the extra few seconds to prepare. It meant I took the risk that my guy might not come through to the bedroom for a while, but I’d never known anyone to enter a hotel suite and not check out all the rooms immediately.

  And I quite liked catching them here - there was a natural alertness to entering a new place that would fade by the time they’d looked through the main room, and then they’d move on to the bedroom…where most people felt safe. There was something amusing about being the monster under the bed.

  My eyes - long ago adjusted to the dark interior of the room - flicked between the door beside me and the window opposite as I monitored the room’s only entry points. That was automatic after years of training, even if it was hardly necessary here - the window wasn’t going to be a threat unless someone wanted to try scaling sixty feet of sheer glass. And if they were doing that, I’d be more than happy to greet them after the climb.

  Somehow, I didn’t think my financial guru would be entering that way.

  Martin Feber was a boring, straightforward kind of guy. The only interesting thing he’d ever done was to sleep with another man’s wife - and since I was here to rectify that mistake, it probably would have been better for him if he’d stayed quiet and boring. So when he came back from his bankers’ conference tonight, I was pretty sure he’d walk straight through that door and never even notice the shadow waiting behind him.

  At least it made the job easy. No connections to gangs or mobs, so no retribution to worry about. No bodyguards and paranoia. No high security locations.

  Just a simple in-and-out. Good thing too, since this needed a quick turnaround - Martin was leaving NYC tomorrow, and my client had only engaged me a couple of days ago.

  Not the worst I’ve done, but I preferred to prepare properly. Get to know both client and target, track their movements as much as I can before I make the hit. This time I’d had to rely more heavily than I liked on another source for the information, timings and location that I’d needed.

  Luck had been with me though - it was a simple guy, simple job. Even the hotel’s security cameras happened to be down today, making it simplicity itself to walk through the hotel and slip into this room.

  The only irritation was the client’s insistence on making it look like a professional hit. I preferred a little more subtlety and to leave the who, what and how questions ambiguous. But it made sense for my client - it would be hard to trace this back to a simple jealous financial investor with a score to settle, and I think he was a little too attracted to the idea of fouling Martin’s reputation by implicating him in NYC’s underworld.

  At least the pay was more than enough to cover that inconvenience.

  Enough for me to start thinking about moving on, too. I’d been in NYC for long enough now - a few months, a dozen jobs or so, and my feet were getting itchy. People were starting to get to know me in certain circles, and that always made me wary. Maybe some thrived on their reputation and connections, but I preferred anonymity. I worked alone and I needed no one. It was better that way.

  Made me invaluable for some of my clients, too - I could disappear after a hit, with a solid guarantee that no one would be left behind to name me or recognize my kill.

  Yes, after this hit I’ll take a few days to relax - have a couple of well-earned drinks, enjoy a woman or two - and then I’ll start looking for another city.

  The sudden sound of a heavy hotel door opening cut off my thoughts, narrowing my focus to a single point. That door was this suite.

  It had started.

  The brief sound of voices made me frown as I readied myself, taking the garrote off my be
lt and gripping through thin leather gloves.

  My source had been sure that Martin wouldn’t invite colleagues back to the hotel - and I’d agreed with his assessment of the man. Still, there was always a risk. You could never be completely certain. This wouldn’t be a good day for Martin to break his usual pattern.

  The muted conversation stopped, and the door closed to silence. I took a small breath, every sense alert as I listened to the heavy footsteps in the room next to me. They came closer, and I felt a small amount of relief as the silence continued.

  The voices could have been another passing couple, which would make my target alone and easy. As he should be.

  The door opened beside me - that sudden movement at odds with the unnatural stillness I’d settled into, but the anticipation and readiness it prompted set my whole body on edge.

  Martin walked through it, not noticing me tucked against the wall behind him as he flicked on the light and moved forward to take in the large, four-poster bed.

  Exactly as predicted.

  He fit the profile I was expecting - a squat build, average height and perhaps a little overweight, though it was hard to tell from this angle. The suit he wore was nice enough, but I was amused to note that mine probably fit the clientele in this place better.

  Your average boring banker right there.

  I sized him up within the space of a second and made my move before he could turn to head back to the main room, darting forward on silent feet and raising the garrote. Practice and instinct had it around his neck and tightening before I could even think about it, and I felt the shock go through his body. He tried to turn his head to the side to avoid it, but I had his neck caught far too quickly for him to deflect me, and I was tightening it as he started trying to lash out.

  I avoided his blows with ease, even as I silently applauded both his reflexes and his obvious instinct to fight back. Most financial types had no idea what they were doing, with body parts flapping uselessly as they choked. Martin felt like he might have caused a little trouble for an amateur - enough to impress me, but nothing else. I wasn’t an amateur.

  The garrote cut off any noise from his opening mouth while I counted the seconds as his strength started to fade under me. That was one nice thing about the weapon, even if it did scream professional hitman - no noise, no mess.

  “Should’ve kept your pants zipped, Martin.” My voice was quiet, just a murmur in his ear as I delivered the message my client had insisted on. Such dramatics.

  Martin redoubled his struggles, even though his frenzied energy was weakening, and I chuckled silently to myself as I shook my head.

  Sure, now he regretted it.

  I’d never been able to understand how otherwise sensible people could let their vices override all good judgment. Women, riches, drugs, power. It was all the same.

  I might’ve enjoyed plenty of those things, but understanding moderation meant that I was still around to enjoy them - and nights like this just served to remind me of that.

  Watching Martin die only made me appreciate that the women I’d have later tonight would mean nothing more than a hot night of pleasure and passion.

  His body finally went limp, with just my strength holding him up as I kept the pressure around his throat and waited until I’d given it enough time to be sure.

  Then I lowered his body to the ground quietly, rolling him over and checking for any small flecks of blood that might have caught on me. Once I’d established that I was clean, I pressed my fingers deep enough into his neck to register his lack of pulse, even through the leather gloves I wore.

  His eyes were staring sightlessly up at me as I went through the standard motions. The dirty blond hair and broad face matched the photo I’d been shown, but as my eyes wandered over the body that was now fully displayed before me, I felt a slight flicker of unease.

  I reached for his wallet - my usual final check that everything was as it should be - while considering that. This had all gone exactly as I’d planned, and I should be pleased. But those instincts were all that had kept me alive for years, and that was enough to set me on edge.

  Then I pulled out a credit card and froze, my eyes on the name.

  Mr Viktor Kovalski.

  I immediately flicked through the other credit cards and ID, but they all said the same thing.

  Martin Feber was nowhere to be found.

  And I knew exactly who Viktor Kovalski was.

  The Russian mafia.

  Chapter Two

  Leo

  What the hell was Viktor Kovalski doing in Martin Feber’s hotel room?!

  The faint unease that had warned me something was wrong quickly shifted to full-fledged turmoil. My mind raced, trying to work out what had gone wrong - and how - as everything I thought I’d known about the last couple of days was turned on its head.

  As I was processing that, a slight movement made my gaze snap up…bringing me face to face with sudden, breathtaking beauty.

  Despite all my training and experience - despite everything that had just gone fucking wrong - for one long moment I was simply stunned as I looked at her.

  Large dark eyes stared back at me from a face framed by thick, lustrous hair. The dark locks curved and waved as they fell, lightly caressing the top of tempting cleavage and offering glimpses of delicate sun-kissed skin that momentarily threatened to undo me. She was wearing a skin-tight dress skimpy enough to reveal more than it covered, showing off the natural curves of her body in a way that challenged you to look.

  I’d enjoyed a lot of pretty women, but no one had ever managed to disarm me like she did in that brief moment. Then again, I’d never looked up to find a woman staring at me from over a dead Russian mafia boss, either.

  And with that thought, I was jerked back to reality, the sudden confusion of the situation breaking through my fog of disbelief at how badly my luck had turned. The beginning of panic frayed my nerves, and I felt myself perilously out of control - something I’d never allowed before. But I’d never had a hit go so fucking wrong.

  The whiskey glass she was carrying fell as shock and horror flickered over her face - a sudden motion that finally had my hard-won instincts returning in a flash, just in time to see her mouth start to open.

  I leapt over Viktor’s body and landed lightly on my feet next to her, spinning her around before she could blink and clamping a hand over her mouth, my body firm behind hers. One second later the concealed 9mm I carried beneath my belt was at her temple, cocked and ready.

  My stomach flipped unpleasantly, rebelling against the action and taking me by surprise.

  What the hell?! I suddenly had a fucking problem with killing someone?!

  I’d killed men all my life, but somehow this woman had me hesitating.

  She squirmed in my tight hold, making little noises muffled by my gloved hand - until I pressed the gun more firmly against her and she got the hint, subsiding as my heart beat at a mile-a-minute rate.

  I didn’t believe in chivalry. Any form of protect the weak and innocent went against everything my whole life had taught me. Or at least I’d been damn sure that it did.

  But I’d never actually threatened a woman before. I simply didn’t deal with them in my line of work. Hell, I’d never even been around one for longer than a fun, forgettable night. And it seemed to be screwing with my head.

  You should kill her. You know you should. Just do it and get out of here.

  Dozens of options flitted through my mind. She was a witness - she was the only one who could tie this suddenly very dangerous crime to me. I couldn’t let her go. The right answer was to kill her. It would be a messy, terrible job, but it would solve the big problem that had just emerged. If it had been a guy walking in on me, they’d already be dead.

  Kill her.

  Instead, I found myself growling into her ear.

  “Do you want to get out of here alive?”

  I turned her head so I could look into those wide, dark eyes as I said it, wanting h
er to know how serious I was.

  She froze against me before nodding, that terrified gaze giving me another moment of discomfort before I forced myself to focus on getting out of here. I simply didn’t have time for whatever fucked-up unease this was giving me - especially now I’d set us on a far more complicated course.

  “Then do exactly what I say. Understand?” I asked, my voice gruffer than usual from the stress.

  She nodded again, eyes never leaving mine. I could feel a slight tremor in her body, and wondered whether she was strong enough to go through with this. But whatever distress signs her body was giving, those deep eyes were clear - scared, emotional, but not panicking. And it wasn’t like I had much choice, not if I wasn’t going to kill her.

  “We’re going to walk out of here together - as if nothing has happened.” I waited a breath, but with the way she was fixated on me, there was no doubt she was paying attention. “I’m going to let you go now. Don’t make a sound.”

  Slowly, I lifted my hand from her mouth - but kept the gun pressed against her head. She seemed to take a deep breath, but she didn’t say or do anything.

  Some small part of me eased a little at that. At least she’d understood.

  I took a quick breath myself and glanced around the room. With everything that had gone wrong, I didn’t trust any of my assumptions and plans for how this was going to play out. I could admit that I didn’t know what the hell was going on here - and worse, I felt played.

  But I could deal with that later. Right now, I just had to get out of here - with the girl.

  Good thing you’ve always been good at improvising.

  I gave her a quick once over, frowning as the skimpy dress she was wearing struck me again. It was the sort of thing that had been made for private enjoyment, not public display - and despite far more pressing concerns, the idea of taking her out like that bothered me.

  “Do you have a jacket or coat?” I asked without thinking.

  There was a brief flicker of confusion on her face before she shook her head no.