The Hitman's Property (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Book 2) Read online

  “Mi nuh saying mi kno nuhting, Liam…”

  “How much?” I repeated, my voice ice-cold. My patience was wearing thin.

  “Mi nuh kno…”

  “How much?” I slammed the trunk of the Porsche with my fist. The metal whined and dented inward, the paint coming away in flakes on my knuckles. A shock went up to my arm, but I hardly felt the pain. My fingers throbbed, but that didn’t matter to me either. I would’ve endured much worse than that to get Tess back. Tommy jumped back, eyeing me like an escaped animal, like something primal and dangerous that was on the verge of attacking.

  “Wah di raas! Wah di bumboclaat wrang wid yu! Yu a eediat?!” Tommy breathed. “Nuh mi lady, man! Nuh mi precious car!”

  “Fuck your car! Name the price!” I snapped.

  “One hundred thousand.” Tommy took in a deep breath. “

  “Done.”

  Tommy seemed to realize what he was doing. He shook his head and then blinked three times rapidly as if he was blinking away his disbelief.

  “A hundred grand on top of wah yuh aready owe mi mon?”

  “Are you bullshitting with me?” I said. “Do you think now is the time to fuck with me, Tommy? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Of course nuh, mon! Of course nuh! Mi was joking. One hundred grand all inna, of course.”

  “Of course,” I muttered. “Now, where is Zharkov?”

  “Mi ave been hearing whispas, mon. Eva since dat shit guh down at di Drunk Harpy, mi ave been hearing whispas.” Tommy leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Mi ave Russian friends, yuh si an dem been telling mi dis mon Zharkov ave been saying…”

  “Saying what!”

  “Dem ave been saying he got his hole back.”

  I clenched my fists so hard my palms ached.

  “And where is Zharkov?” I demanded. “Where the fuck is he! I’m not going to ask you again!”

  “Mi honestly nuh kno weh Zharkov is, Liam. But mi can tell yuh how to find di gyal. There be a club inna downtown New York call di Vibe. Yuh need to find dis club an ask fi di ‘red light special’. If di gyal ave been taken shi might ave been taken there. Even eff shi ave been there, sum'ady there wi kno weh shi at, mon.”

  “Red light special?” I ask. I needed to be absolutely sure. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

  “Yes.” Tommy flinches. “If di bounca kno yuh there to get ya dick wet they wi kno wat ‘red light special’ mean.”

  “The address,” I said, shaking with rage as an image upon image of those motherfuckers forcing Tess to do God knows what invaded my mind. I saw Tess bent over, face buried in the pillow, tears stifled as unfamiliar hands harshly grabbed her hair; and I saw men leaning over her, with hands on her ass cheeks, grunting and writhing and each taking their turn to…

  “The address, Tommy!” I roared, smashing my fist down on the Porsche again, leaving a dent twice the size of the last one.

  I was about to smash my fist down the third time when Tommy began reciting the address to the nightclub like a spell that would have the power to save his precious red-painted Porsche.

  11

  I drove two hundred and thirty miles, and I traveled the distance in just about four hours, my foot smashed on the pedal, zooming through traffic as though my anger and desire for vengeance propelled the car. I veered left and right, ignoring the looks that the other drivers gave me. Some swore, and their faces turned red with anger. Even more of them slammed their fists into their car horns as I sped down the road. I didn’t care. Tess was waiting, and I was not about to jeopardize her safety, and I was certainly not about to let her be killed―or worse.

  The nightclub Vibe was built into the side of an alleyway, and a trampled red carpet leading to double doors was open for the patrons to walk down as they lavishly announced their entrance to the evening’s festivities. The sun was setting, displaying an orange hue filled with dark purple, cerulean blue and crimson red over the skyline. A crowd of about twenty people lined up outside of the nightclub. The women wore short skirts and dresses with heels and small designer handbags that were flung over their shoulders. The men wore fitted shirts and trousers or jeans.

  My pistols pressed reassuringly inside my leather jacket as I walked to the line to be admitted. I looked to the entrance of the nightclub. A bouncer, a head shorter than me, the kind of man that I’d take with a backhand across the face, was slowly letting people in.

  I adjusted my jacket and marched to the door.

  “Woah, woah,” the bouncer sighed. He was bald and wearing a tight black T-shirt that displayed his muscular bodybuilder build. “Wait in line, man. Just like everyone else.”

  “Nah. Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” I replied and cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve been driving way too long. I need a drink.”

  The bouncer eyed me up and down, and I realized that I didn’t even think to change my blood-stained clothes. Luckily, I was wearing my leather jacket that disguised T-shirt.

  “Rough night?” The bouncer asked. “Looks like you’ve been in a fight for your life and you smell like shit.”

  “Something like that,” I replied.

  “Hmm.” The bouncer continued to analyze me. I was getting tired of his scrutiny.

  “‘Hmm’ what? Look, I don’t have time for this shit. I need to get in, and I need to get in now, I advised him.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I can’t let you in.”

  “You sure about that?” I opened my flap of the jacket, and the bouncer’s eyes went wide when he saw my pistol.

  The bouncer laughed uncomfortably, looking me up and down with his forehead creasing. He knew exactly what would happen if he tried to stop me and exactly how it would go down. He was already half backing away from me like he was getting ready to sprint down the street.

  “Hey, buddy,” a man shouted at me. I turned around and could that the man was about my height, but thin as a rake, wearing a tight-fitting brown suit with shiny black shoes. He had hipster hair, all gelled into some lame trendy style and wore black-framed glasses without lenses.

  I shook my head at him. If only this loser knew that what I was moments away from busting caps at everyone and blowing the nightclub away until I found Tess. This motherfucker had no idea how vicious that I would get until I had Tess back, secure, and safe inside of my arms.

  “Today is the not the day to fuck with me, man,” I said, my voice ice-cold, deadly, and serious. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew that I was fucking ready to take him off the face of the earth if it meant that I could get into this nightclub. I allowed my expression to grow even colder. “Are you sure that you want to start talking shit to me?” I made sure that my voice was bland. Calm, cold and collected because I wanted this fucker to know that I meant business.

  “There’s a line, asshole! You’re nobody special. You have to wait in line just like everyone else.” He looked like he dared me to dispute him.

  “There’s a line,” I agreed. “And now I’m at the front of it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the hipster, challenging him to do something, maybe to hit me or get one of his friends to try and fight me. But after a second he took a step back when he realized that I wasn’t going to back down for no man. He cleared his throat and removed his glasses like he wanted to start over and pretend that this conversation never happened.

  I turned back to the bouncer.

  “He’s right, you know,” the bouncer muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the music that blared from within the nightclub. “You can’t just push your way inside.”

  “I’m here the for the red light special,” I folded my arms and waited for the meaning of my words to kick in.

  I held my breath once the words were out. It all hinged on this moment. What if Tommy was lying and he actually knew where Tess or Zharkov was and would have told me the truth if I would have given him more money? What if there is no such thing as the “red light special” and this
was a setup? What if I have driven for hours for no damn reason?

  But the bouncer’s reaction told me everything that I needed to know. His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth fell open.

  “Ah, sure. Yes. Of, course.” he cleared his throat and started perspiring on his forehead.

  “Ah, yes,” I agreed. “Hurry the fuck up. I don’t have all day,” I responded. I meant business and I needed him to be quick about it. Tess was waiting, and I needed to get to her as soon as possible.

  “What’s your name?” he asked hurriedly.

  “Guest,” I spat. “What does it matter? Can I get the red light special or not?”

  “Yes, yes.” The bouncer looked me up and down again, but not with fear. Perhaps he was wondering to himself why someone who looked like me was involved in something so immoral and corrupt as the sex trade.

  Tess could be in there, I thought, horrified. Tess could be in there, and the bouncer is staring at me like a fucking spell has been cast on him.

  “Hey!” I clapped my hands in front of his face. “Snap out of it. Wake the fuck up! Can you help me or not?”

  “Okay. Yes, of course!” The bouncer forced a smile. He leaned in and lowered his voice even more. “Go the men’s bathroom. There’s two inside of the building. Go to the one at the back, behind the stage. On the second stool from the left, you’ll find a hidden door. Feel around the wall behind the toilet for the latch that you will have to pull to reveal the entrance.”

  I walked away from the bouncer immediately before giving the finger to the clueless hipster who was still in line and headed inside the club.

  My heart dropped when the music hit me. The crowd filled the dance floor, grinding, touching each other while high off of the alcohol, drugs and the potential for anonymous sex. People pressed their way into the bar, waving their credit cards, vying for the attention of the bartenders. The DJ’s multi-color lights flashed and flickered across the dance floor. I felt like I was in an overcrowded cesspool full of liquor-infused gyrating club goers who didn’t care about anything but getting off or getting higher in their pursuit of pleasure. The house music thumped and vibrated. It depressed me because you would expect a place like this to be less obvious so that the patrons could be discreet as they partook of their vices. But no, it seemed shit like this goes on right under everybody’s noses.

  It’s just a regular goddamn nightclub with a dirty, hidden secret, and everyone was oblivious to it but me.

  In the corner of the nightclub, a few young women sashayed in skimpy dresses wearing their finest adornments―pearls, gems and other glittering shit that was sewed into their scanty attire, attached to their silly shoes, or shimmering from the earrings or necklaces that they wore. They all looked the same, and none of them were Tess, but I could see them pass around a bag of white powder. A few women taking a break and doing some lines of cocaine wasn’t my concern.

  After a moment, I notice that men in business suits were watching me. At first, I thought that I was just being paranoid. But the more that I walked, the more I saw that I was attracting attention. One, two, three, four, five men watched me, taking note of my whereabouts and actions. They were all wearing black suits, and each of them was holding a walkie-talkie in their hands, talking into it as their eyes were trained on me. Fuck it, I thought. Let them watch. My pistols were with me, my rage was within me, and my desire to find Tess was a motivating force, simmering within me and providing all of the motivation that I needed to take these bastards down. Let these motherfuckers try and stop all of that. I was like an unstoppable locomotive, speeding towards my destination by the name of Tess. Come hell or high water, I would not be derailed from my agenda.

  Or maybe they work for the sex traffickers, I reflected as I watched the fuckers watch me in return. Maybe they were checking out their next buyer. Whatever it was, I couldn’t waste my time on it.

  When I reached the dance floor, which I had to walk across to get to the stage, and finally the bathroom, women started flirting with me. This has always been a problem with the ladies in nightclubs. They’re so damn drunk and horny that the second that they see a man like me―a man who looks like he can fuck and how to fuck well―they freak the hell out. They don’t know how to act because most men can’t handle them. Women know how to recognize a man that can fuck them so thoroughly that their legs shake and they can barely remember their own name by the time you get done beating up their pussy. I was talented in the sack; I could make any one of them come all over my cock and beg me to keep going until they couldn’t take it anymore. They could smell it on me. I knew it, and they knew it, too.

  One woman in a short, sparkling red dress with a face painted with so much makeup that I had no clue what she actually looked like, stumbled to me on high heels. She draped her hand on my chest, on my leather jacket, an inch from the grip of my pistol.

  “Mmm. You’re a big man. I love a man with muscles.” she shouted drunkenly, her voice barely audible over the music. “Do you have a girlfriend, sexy?”

  I took her wrist and removed her hand. “Yes,” I told her, and then lightly pushed her away. She swore at me. I don’t hear the word. I just saw the vicious twist of disgust on her face. And then she twirled onto the dance floor, searching for another dick to ride.

  Next, a woman in a leopard-print dress backed her ass into me and tried to grind it on my cock.

  “Goddamn,” I grunted, grabbing her by the waist and moving her aside. “Can’t a man walk in peace?”

  Even as I pushed these women away, I saw the men in suits, watching and talking into their walkie talkies, giving me the side eye and hoping that I didn’t notice.

  It was like the nightclub itself was conspiring against me as I reached the back.

  I’m almost through the crowd―the grinding, sweating, pulsing, high and drunk crowd―when a woman wearing nothing but hot pink booty shorts and a black bra dances over to me, wiggling her ass like there was a booty shaking contest going on and she was determined to win first prize. She wiggled in and tried to back it into me, just as the woman in the leopard dress had done. I jumped aside, away from her, and carried on walking. I could feel myself getting frustrated by the minute because I was on a mission. But the woman wouldn’t leave me alone and kept after me, trailing me, wiggling, and shaking her ass like she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t interested. I stepped aside a second time—and for a second time, she followed me, acting like she was extra thirsty for some dick.

  Then she began to block my way, still bending over and shaking her ass, gyrating and leaving nothing to the imagination. She looked maybe eighteen, smoky eyes and an exaggerated open mouth like she was on the verge of cumming and wanted me to fall for her bullshit peep show. I noticed that her eyes were dilated; this bitch was high off of God knows what and all that I wanted to do was scream at her to get the fuck out of my way. I took her by the shoulders and shifted her aside. She seemed to think that I was making a pass at her. When I took her by the shoulders, she went to lean in, her eyes fluttering open and closed, and her lips pursed for a kiss.

  I leaned into her ear so that she can hear me. “Look! I’m not fucking interested. I have a girl already. So, I suggest you back the fuck off!” I shouted over the music.

  Then I lifted her and swiveled, placing her behind me, and fled toward the bathroom.

  I skirted around the stage and finally made it to the men’s bathroom. It was grimy, with dirty walls and a stained floor. Wet toilet paper was strewn across the place like a Halloween prank gone wrong. I could see used needles, condom wrappers and drug residue on the floor, and it reminded me of home. For some reason, that made me sad.

  I entered the second stall from the left and locked the door behind me. Okay, I thought. Not long now, Tess. Just wait awhile longer. I’ll get you. I’ll do any damn thing that I have to, and I’ll get to you. And then nobody will ever hurt you again. I swear my life on it.

  I felt around on the wall behind the toilet, my hand mois
t with water (with what I hope was water) until I pressed into a soft area. I pushed it harder. There was a click, and then the entire wall―including the toilet―opened outward. I had to jump back to avoid being crushed. When the wall creaked to a halt, a regular-looking wooden door was revealed. The only odd thing about it was the small slot in the top, which could be open and closed as it slid left to right for quick conversations.

  I knocked on the door, feeling anger rise inside of me. Right here, in a regular nightclub in downtown New York, under the noses of countless people was a sex trafficking den. Mothers, sisters, daughters and wives were being victimized. Women were being bought, sold and traded like meat. The door didn’t make the usual knocking sound. Instead, it was dull thump-thump. The door was padded on the other side, clearly sound-proofed.

  The slot at the top opened, and cautious eyes peered through, bloodshot the eyes dark and leery.

  “What do you want?” a voice wheezed.

  “I’m here for the red light special,” I answered.

  “Who sent you?”

  “The fucking tooth fairy. Why does it matter? I’m here for the special and I can pay.”

  “Show me.”

  I reached into my pocket and took out a wad of bills, flicked through them, and returned them to my wallet. The man nodded―at least, his eyes shifted up and down―and then the door opened inward. The man was short and slim, his nose bright red, and his hands shaking.

  I shuffled in, and the man slammed the door behind me and then slid the slot shut. The corridor was long, narrow and seemed to stretch on and on. Candles were set into the walls, flickering with low light. The man tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and faced him, looking down on him and trying to obscure my aggression. His face was drawn, his eyes sallow, and his cheeks were drained of color. His lips were thin and dry, and his hair was wiry and fell to his shoulders. He looked sick and unhealthy, like one of those addicts in that crack house that Samson and I had invaded so long ago. What kind of drugs was this bastard on? I thought.