Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(69)

“Well, what’s stopping you from having some fun the boss won’t notice?” the man says with a lewd lilt to his voice that makes my grip my knife tighter.

“Are you fucking serious? He’s still fuming over the loss of that one bitch the Russian stole. So much as an extra stain on that filthy shirt of hers, and he’ll have our balls.”

I’ve heard enough, and I glance over at the dumpster. There’s a rotting wood palette sitting beside it, and quietly as I can, I pick it up and toss it over the top of the dumpster, making it clatter in among the garbage with enough noise that a cat goes running out from behind the dumpster and into the fields.

“The fuck was that?” one of the men inside says after a pause.

“Fucking cats. I’ll get it,” he says, and I’m already crouching under the window when I hear it slide open.

“Psst! Fuck off, you overgrown rats!” he shouts, leaning out to brandish his beer bottle at the dumpster. In a swift motion, I reach up and yank him out the window, plunging my knife into the back of his neck the moment he hits the ground.

“Adrik?” the other man cries, rushing forward in time for me to rise to my feet as I whip my pistol out, pointing it directly at his wide-eyed face and pulling the trigger before he has time to get a word out.

Both bodies crumple to the ground within seconds of each other, I hop into the window and ready my gun. I’m on bought time now.

At the far end of the hall, I can see a set of stairs leading down, and I have no time to waste; even if there are others in the building, I can’t risk them getting away with Maggie, so I head swiftly down the hallway, weapon raised. I don’t know how many people are lying in wait in this building. Back in the old days, there would have been far more, but I suspect this Chechen ring is just getting started. Otherwise, security would be much, much tighter. That, and there would be more girls here than I alone could rescue.

Besides, even though I’m out of this life, I’d have heard if the ring was in full operation. It’s impossible to keep things quiet from the one person in the city who knows what to be looking for in the news reports.

I reach the steps, descending them quickly, rounding a final corner with my gun out before laying eyes on what looks like a heavy metal door, a security panel to the left of it. Drawing out the cardkey, I watch the light flash green as the lock pops open and it opens with a loud creak. I wince, knowing that any element of surprise I have left is gone, but the whimper I hear from the other side of the door is doubly heart-wrenching.

The room I step into is a long and windowless hallway, all stained concrete. There are what look like cells lined up on both sides of the room, each one with a steel door on the front with nothing but a slat to push food and water through. I hurry down the hall, my eyes moving from cell to cell. Each one appears empty, save for one near the entrance. Nevertheless, I make a sweep of the room to make sure there are no other prisoners before I move to the one occupied cell and slide open the barred door.

Immediately, the young woman inside bursts into tears at the sight of me, and I step forward as Maggie buries her face in her hands.

I kneel down and speak softly to her. “Maggie. Maggie, look up, it’s me — I’m here to get you out of here.”

“Please, I-” she sobs before turning her tearstained face up to me, and as recognition dawns on her slowly, as if she’s waking up from a nightmare, she bursts into tears all over again. I allow her to wrap her arms around my neck and cry into my shoulder. “M-m-monsieur P-”

“Breathe, Maggie,” I assure her, stroking her back comfortingly, and my heart wells up with sorrow for the young woman in my arms. I dearly wish I could say this is the first time I’ve encountered a woman in her condition. And I dearly wish she’d be the last. But all I can do now is everything in my power to rescue her.

“We...we tried to go to a party and…” she gasps between sobs, trying to explain herself, but I shush her softly as I look around the room at her conditions.

“I know everything, Maggie. I’m here to end all this.” The light in the cell is out of reach, but still flickering noisily. The concrete here is rough, and it would be painful to the touch if I weren’t wearing thick clothes. Maggie’s torn and stained clothing is thin, though, a remnant of her night out. And there’s no bed in here. All of it clearly amounts to means of sleep deprivation — torture.

“Liv,” she gasps, looking panicked again, “Olivia, she was with me, have you-”

“She’s safe,” I say with a smile, helping Maggie to her feet as she puts her hands to her mouth in shock and gratitude.