Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Read online

  Hitman: The Series

  Alexis Abbott

  Contents

  Owned by the Hitman

  Prologue – Ivan

  1. Katy

  2. Katy

  Sold to the Hitman

  1. Andrei

  2. Cassie

  3. Andrei

  4. Cassie

  5. Andrei

  6. Cassie

  7. Andrei

  8. Cassie

  9. Andrei

  10. Cassie

  11. Andrei

  12. Cassie

  13. Andrei

  14. Cassie

  15. Andrei

  16. Cassie

  17. Andrei

  18. Cassie

  19. Andrei

  20. Cassie

  21. Andrei

  22. Cassie

  23. Andrei

  24. Cassie

  Epilogue

  Saved by the Hitman

  1. Cherry

  2. Cherry

  3. Leon

  4. Cherry

  5. Leon

  6. Cherry

  7. Leon

  8. Cherry

  9. Cherry

  10. Leon

  11. Cherry

  12. Leon

  13. Cherry

  14. Leon

  15. Cherry

  16. Leon

  17. Cherry

  18. Leon

  19. Cherry

  20. Leon

  21. Cherry

  22. Leon

  23. Cherry

  Epilogue - Cherry

  Glossary

  Captive of the Hitman

  1. Mikhail

  2. Alicia

  3. Mikhail

  4. Alicia

  5. Mikhail

  6. Alicia

  7. Mikhail

  8. Alicia

  9. Mikhail

  10. Alicia

  11. Mikhail

  12. Alicia

  13. Mikhail

  14. Alicia

  15. Mikhail

  16. Alicia

  17. Mikhail

  18. Alicia

  19. Mikhail

  20. Alicia

  21. Mikhail

  22. Alicia

  23. Alicia

  Glossary

  Stolen from the Hitman

  Prologue

  1. Liv

  2. Liv

  3. Liv

  4. Liv

  5. Liv

  6. Max

  7. Liv

  8. Max

  9. Liv

  10. Max

  11. Liv

  12. Max

  13. Liv

  14. Max

  15. Liv

  16. Max

  17. Liv

  18. Max

  19. Liv

  20. Max

  21. Liv

  22. Max

  23. Liv

  24. Liv

  25. Max

  26. Liv

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Hostage of the Hitman

  Prologue

  1. Delaney

  2. Delaney

  3. Darios

  4. Delaney

  5. Darios

  6. Delaney

  7. Darios

  8. Delaney

  9. Darios

  10. Delaney

  11. Darios

  12. Delaney

  13. Darios

  14. Darios

  15. Delaney

  16. Delaney

  17. Darios

  18. Delaney

  19. Darios

  20. Delaney

  21. Darios

  22. Delaney

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Taken by the Hitman

  1. Konstantin

  2. Rosie

  3. Konstantin

  4. Rosie

  5. Konstantin

  6. Rosie

  7. Konstantin

  8. Rosie

  9. Konstantin

  10. Rosie

  11. Konstantin

  12. Rosie

  13. Konstantin

  14. Rosie

  15. Konstantin

  16. Rosie

  17. Konstantin

  18. Rosie

  19. Konstantin

  20. Rosie

  21. Konstantin

  22. Rosie

  Glossary

  Also by the Author

  About the Author

  Romance Novels to your Email

  © 2017 Pathforgers Publishing.

  All Rights Reserved. If you downloaded an illegal copy of this book and enjoyed it, please buy a legal copy. Either way you get to keep the eBook forever, but you’ll be encouraging me to continue writing and producing high quality fiction for you. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Wicked Good Covers. All cover art makes use of stock photography and all persons depicted are models.

  This book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only. All sexually active characters in this work are over 18. All sexual activity is between non-blood related, consenting adults. This is a work of fiction, and as such, does not encourage illegal or immoral activities that happen within.

  More information is available at Pathforgers Publishing.

  Content warnings: violence, murder, vigilante justice, sex slavery (no non-consent), stockholm syndrome

  Wordcount: 370,000 Words - 6 books + teaser

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  Owned by the Hitman

  Special Note

  Due to Amazon’s rules on exclusivity, Owned by the Hitman is unfortunately not available in this bundle. However, I’m happy to say that it is offered absolutely free to newsletter subscribers. You can get your free copy of Owned by the Hitman here: http://alexabbottauthor.com/newsletter/

  Description

  “You will be my woman for a year, servant to my whims and desires. I will not hurt you, unless you want me to.”

  I'm in deep to the Mafia. My father was the one who made the deal, and when I inherited his club, I also inherited his troubles.

  Ivan wants to save me, or so he says. More like he wants me to be his slave for a year. After the one-night stand I had with him, though, would that be so bad? With his impossibly hard body, and the way he always makes me scream...

  But he's still a monster. He's a criminal, and something so much worse.

  And yet I can't stop the tingling in my body every time I think of how he touched me, and those dark but delicious words rolling off his tongue, tinged with his Russian accent.

  He knows what I'll say, even before I do. "I'll take your offer."

  A full length Standalone Romantic Suspense novel. No Cliffhangers. Safe from cheating. Explicit language & swearing.

  Special Note

  Due to Amazon’s rules on exclusivity, Owned by the Hitman is unfortunately not available in this bundle. However, I’m happy to say that it is offered absolutely free to newsletter subscribers. You can get your free copy of Owned by the Hitman here: http://alexabbottauthor.com/newsletter/

  Prologue – Ivan

  Just one more hit, and the night is mine.

  Of course, that’s easily said. But a hit is not always easy. It takes calm and composure when the world is chaos, when any one little thing can go wrong and send the whole mess spiral
ling out of control. It takes control over your actions, a steady hand, the death of anxiety, because worry does you in every time.

  For those reasons, and more, amateurs tend to do a hit from far away. Or if they don’t have the equipment to snipe someone from a distance, they haul out a gun, fire like crazy, then run in a mad dash to get away.

  I’ve never done a sloppy hit like that, not about to start now.

  This guy I’m after is too good for that to work anyhow. He’s either always flanked by bodyguards, or in the middle of a crowd. I know this because I’ve been following him for weeks. Planning my move. He’s good, shakes things up, not much of a fixed schedule, but like all men with power, this guy has his vices. Vices he doesn’t even trust his own bodyguards to keep quiet.

  For the third time this week, I walk behind him as he makes his way through a busy crowd down the street. This guy -- a trumped up millionaire from Florida who made his fortune selling coke to college kids, who enforced his reign by brutally beating punks who couldn’t pay, and is now here in my city, offing people left and right -- he deserves to die.

  He’s balding, even though he’s only in his thirties. A life of constant paranoia will do that to you, stress you out. But at this point I’m just annoyed he’s dragged my ass around New York for weeks, doing my best to look inconspicuous, to blend in and not seem like I was watching. I’m sick of this shit stain, and ready to wipe him clean from the city.

  So as he slipped out the back of the Italian mob owned deli and heads through the crowds down a side alley, I’m grateful.

  I can finally end this.

  But the alleyway is barely five car lengths long, a gun won’t do here. No, I have to go in personal.

  My black shoes are shiny, fancy looking. But they’re quiet. And for a moment, we’re just two well-dressed men taking a shortcut to any passerby. But my window of opportunity is narrow.

  My heart skips a beat, and it’s like time slows.

  I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch.

  But I can’t hurry. Smooth steps, my hand reaching into my charcoal grey coat. And out comes the knife. It doesn’t gleam, doesn’t glisten. This one is a dull colour, but sharp. So sharp.

  I close in on my prey, but he’s a canny guy, and he detects me, his head twisting about.

  But I’m better than him. And it’s too damn late anyhow.

  His turn only helps me, and I grab him about the mouth, his cries silenced. Now I gotta end this fast, before some person on either side of the alleyway walks by and notices us.

  My knife slices through the air, and while I know it’ll make a mess of my coat, that’s the price to pay. The other options are too risky. I could stab him in the chest, but then he could block me, and though he’s stocky and overweight, he might have hidden strength that could mess up my blade’s arc.

  The throat? Fuck, that’s for amateurs. A killer like me knows when you slice a man’s throat open, it’s a noisy affair. Blood gurgling sounds would fill the alleyway, his dying cries drawing all sorts of attention.

  So instead, I go for the heart. Right between two of his ribs I plunge that blade, and I sink into his left ventricle. I know it, because I’ve done it before. Because I can feel the way the blade moves through that muscular flesh of a man’s heart.

  This thug tries to cry out, tries to struggle away, but my blade slices clear through the center of his heart and into the right atrium.

  He’s done.

  All that’s left to do is to shift his body beside the dumpster, into the pile of trash bags. I can’t rush, even though at this point every moment puts me at risk of being caught a murderer. I hold his mouth shut until he’s completely limp, then dump him among the garbage.

  Just another piece of trash.

  The knife’s no use to me now. I can never use it again, because it’d tie me to this killing, so I leave it in him. I look down and see that the blood spurt stained my grey overcoat, and that’s what I’d expected.

  Two grand down the drain.

  I slip the coat off me, casually, as if it was just getting too warm for it, and I carry on down the alleyway. I wrap the coat up with my gloves and dispose of both a few blocks down the road in a Salvation Army donation bin.

  They’ll probably wash the evidence clean and sell it to someone in no time.

  But I’m done now. Another cold kill finished.

  I need a drink and a woman.

  1

  Katy

  I can't bring myself to listen to another word the guy sitting next to me is saying, and I have to restrain every muscle to hold back the impulse to throw my drink in his face.

  We're sitting in the VIP lounge of my own club, and not even the lavish orange tapestries my father decorated the round room with can distract me from the yuppies seated around me. They're a bunch of businessmen, and they rented the suite for the evening, so it's my duty as the Amber Room's owner to stop in for a chat.

  Of course, that was before I realized these sleazebags are trying to buy the place out.

  I know I don't look like the most intimidating person in the world.

  My one-piece dress hugs my frame, sleek and black in the lounge's pale light, and my rich brown hair spills down over my shoulder in curls. The pearls wrapped around my wrist slide down my arm as I twirl my hair around my fingers.

  At this point, that's all I can do to contain my agitation.

  My dress feels hot, and the small room feels even smaller than it is with these creeps crowding it.

  "So," the guy leaning uncomfortably close to me drones on, "if you consider the property values' change over the past few years, Ms. Foss — can I call you Katy? — there's a clear downward trend for establishments like this one, possibly thanks to mob activity."

  "Uh-huh," I mutter dismissively, standing up and attempting to excuse myself silently.

  "So there really isn't a better time to sell while you still can, and if you would just take a look at our offer—”

  I'm already halfway to the door.

  "Of course, gentlemen," I wave my hand, resisting the urge to refer to them as 'stooges,' "leave the paperwork on the table. I'll have a few drinks brought your way, hm? Do enjoy the evening, and don't be a stranger to the dance floor, won't you?"

  I hear a couple of them trying to get a word in edgewise, but I'm already out the door and heading down the short hallway to the club floor, to my relief.

  The nerve of them.

  Ever since I inherited this night club from my father, it's been more and more trouble. I'd had to learn the ropes of managing the place to keep it from going under in the first few months.

  Between staffing and accounting, it's a wonder I even have the time to entertain patrons like the suits in the VIP room behind me.

  I certainly haven't had the time to redecorate the place.

  The Amber Room. Dad had been going for a nod to all the local Russians, I guess. He once showed me a picture of some Tsar’s famous palace in St. Petersburg that had an amber look about it. I push the door to the crowded dance floor open and get a reminder of his artistic vision yet again.

  The place looks like a furnace.

  Marigold-colored tapestries hang from the walls of the rectangular room, and the floodlights along the walls cast an amber light across the dance floor. Tawny booths line the side walls, and two couches stand on the elevated platform I step out onto.

  The bar is at the far end of the room, near the exit. Between me and the stiff drink I desperately need, there's a sea of patrons dancing to the thrumming music the DJ is playing.

  I plunge into the crowd without a seconds thought and navigate the floor with ease.

  There are eyes on me as I make my way to the bar, I can feel them. They don't last long, though. I have an air of authority to the way I walk. I made sure to learn that walk early on.

  It was the only way to not get swept up in the noise of the crowd. I don't get lost in it, I keep above it.

  But the baggage of this plac
e gets heavy.

  I reach the bar and get the bartender's attention, holding up two fingers. She nods and promptly starts to pour my Jameson. It's a little quieter here, thanks to the room's acoustics.

  Natalie, the bartender, knows what the look on my face means: a drink, right now.

  "Everything alright, boss?" she chimes, sliding the drink over to me, happy for the break from the regular patrons.

  I take a drink in response. "The VIPs are realty sharks. Nothing unusual."

  She frowns, glancing towards the lounge door.

  "Fuckers. Well hey, take it easy the rest of the night, eh? You've been working your ass off all week, you could use a little unwinding."

  That gets a smirk from me. "Yeah? And do what, sit at home worrying about this place?"

  Natalie rolls her eyes. "I dunno, but I know who might have a few ideas."

  "Oh? Who's that?"

  "The stud who walked in while I was pouring your drink and hasn't taken his eyes off you since."

  I flutter my eyes as I process what she just said, and before I can say "Wait—!" Natalie moves off to see to another patron, a wicked smirk on her face.

  I turn my eyes towards the club entrance to brace myself for whoever she was talking about.

  There are at least half a dozen men making their way into the club, but that's normal at this time of night. But amid the douches in popped collars tracking in the smell of too much cologne, there's one figure towering over the rest, and the dark blue eyes that catch my gaze tell me he's the one Natalie meant.

  My heart jumped in my chest, but not because I was taken by the looks of the stranger. I turn my head before getting a better look at him beyond his tight-fitting gray suit and a teal tie.

  For all I know, he could be a friend of one of the jerks in the lounge showing up late to the party. In fact, I decide that's exactly what he is.

  I shoot Natalie a rueful look, to which she rolls her eyes with a playful smirk before I down the rest of my drink and spin around on the barstool to get up and make my way onto the dance floor, the clicking of my heels muffled by the music.