Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance - Riley Rollins Page 0,15
the swirling lights all fade into a dull background buzz.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that someone's watching me from the side of the room. I turn my head just enough to see who it is without being obvious.
It's the club manager, Igor.
For some reason, it sends a shiver down my spine.
10
Havok
The club closes early the night of the stabbing, and it's just as well. I have a job to do tonight. A target to eliminate.
On nights like this, when I'm stalking a target through the city streets, I normally feel no emotion. No remorse. Nothing.
But tonight, I'm distracted. Penny has been weighing on my mind, bothering me all evening. Her vulnerability, with Igor running this new sex trade. And all the things she said to me today.
Some stupid fucking part of me wants to know her better. Not just to fuck her, not just to suck those beautiful fucking nipples until she begs for my cock, but to treat her real nice and find out what kind of girl she really is.
But the honest truth is, the idea absolutely fucking terrifies me. When you let people get too close, things get… messy. And complicated. I don't like making life complicated. Blood, sweat, cash, and cum, those are the currencies I deal in now. Like a machine. Life is simpler this way. No need to throw a monkey wrench into things.
Better to let her live her life, to keep her away from atrocities I commit. She can be the object of my jerk-off fantasies, and that way, we won't have to do the dangerous and fatal dance that I know would inevitably happen if we ever spent more than ten minutes in private together.
I just have to keep an eye on her, and if Igor sets his sights on her, then I'll figure out what the fuck to do.
Tonight, my target has a thirty-five thousand dollar bounty on his head. A Ukrainian who's stepping on the Bratva's toes, trying to set up a prostitution ring in West Ark.
The Bratva doesn't tolerate competition. West Ark is our town. It's not an open marketplace of competition and ideas. And when someone forgets that, we are more than happy to remind them.
It's past midnight, and my target has just stepped out of an office building downtown. My intelligence says he's going to walk to a parking garage four blocks down the street, get into a black Escalade SUV, and drive out of West Ark and back into New York City for the night.
But he's not going to make it out of the parking garage.
I follow him a block and a half behind, pursuing him quietly in the night. I'm wearing a black trench coat to stay dry in this miserable rain we've been having. My face is shrouded underneath a Russian military hat. And beneath my coat, my pistol rests against my hip, the silencer already screwed on.
I've always followed the money, and my conscience has never gotten in the way of that. Whether it's weapons smuggling, carrying out a hit, or extortion, there's always a good reason for it to happen. Nobody's hands are clean in this fucked-up world. And if a bad guy gets what he deserves, so what?
This human trafficking shit, though, it's wrong. And it's eating away at me, a constant distraction.
Across the street, my target walks into the parking garage. From a distance, I see him fumble with his wallet, probably searching for his parking voucher. There's no one in the security booth, and the streets are quiet. It's time to make my move.
Quietly, I cross the street, increasing my pace. I slip my right hand under my jacket, and feel the comforting custom ivory grip of my gun. Its cool, smooth surface helps bring me back to reality, and get my mind off of Penny, if only for a brief moment.
As I enter the parking garage, I see my target enter an elevator, the door closing behind him. If my intelligence is correct, he always parks on the top level.
I hustle up a concrete stairwell, beating the elevator to the top. Swiftly, I move across the gray concrete underfoot, until I'm standing right outside the elevator door. The indicator light shows the elevator at the floor beneath me…
...and then it dings cheerfully as I withdraw my gun from its holster. I train it on the metal door in front of me as the door slides open.