Sold To The Hitman (Men of Ruthless Corp)

His dark hair looks grayer now, and the crow’s feet crowning his eyes deepen as he smiles.

“I do have a lot of questions. Starting with, where the fuck have you been?”

He stuffs a hand into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out two cigars. “Something personal came up.” He hands me a cigar and I take it.

“Personal?” I take the cutter from his hand and clip the tip.

He smirks like the Cheshire Cat, like everything is normal. Like he didn’t vanish for over ten years. “Yeah, personal.” He hands me the lighter after lighting his own cigar. “How’ve you been? Still working for Rogue?”

I shake my head as I light my cigar. “I’m retiring.”

“Rogue must have hated that news.”

I lift my shoulders in a slow shrug. “I guess. I’m trying to get my own thing going.”

“What’s that?”

“Herbs.”

“Like marijuana?”

I crack a grin at his assumption. “No, like herbs. Ya know, for cooking and shit.”

This makes Gunner nearly buckle over from laughter. “You always surprised me, Titan.”

I don’t laugh as I suck on the end of my cigar. “Why are you back?” I ask once he’s done laughing and the room’s gone quiet.

He puffs on his own cigar, stalling to answer. “I, too, started my own thing.”

“I hope it’s not selling women.”

Gunner’s piercing eyes sear into mine. He chuckles, like he’s trying to hide the fact that I just hit the nail on the head. “Nah, nothing like that. Actually, it’s complicated.”

“Care to uncomplicate it for me?” Should I tell him someone ordered a hit on him?

Should I tell him that his life is in danger? From me.

“Titan, you know I would if I could.” He stamps out his cigar in an ashtray on a nearby table. “It’s compli…”

I cut him off before he can finish the word, “Complicated. I got it.” But I have nothing.

Is he in trouble? Besides the obvious trouble of someone putting a hit out on him. “There’s a hit out on you, man.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles. “Who took the job?”

I don’t answer, and puff on my cigar, rolling it in my fingers while I do.

“Is it you?” he asks.

“It is.”

“Thought you were retiring.”

I stamp out the cigar and then stuff my hands in my pockets. “I am.”

He blinks at me, and it’s a fucked-up situation. I can’t even explain it.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I shake my head. “Rogue’s looking into it.”

Gunner stares at me with fire in his eyes. “Don’t bother. I think I already know.”

Fourteen

Blue

* * *

One thing I hate more than creepy men in a nightclub staring at me is being left in the dark. Titan and Gunner have been in the private room talking for what feels like ages. I can’t complain though because I was grateful he brought me upstairs with him. But the journalist in me is dying to get the scoop.

I lean against the wall and think about what Frank said about watching my back with Titan.

A part of me wonders how he even knew who Titan was. I didn’t tell him much, but when he said to watch my back, my skin prickled. I’m sure Frank is just watching out for me, making sure I’m not getting myself into trouble.

I’m also sure the moment they sold me to someone other than Steele in the club, he checked out everything he could on the man who bought me.

My cell pings in my pocket and I check the incoming message from Frank.

“Come meet me outside of the club.”

I told Frank to stay close but remain hidden. The fact he’s right outside the club makes me worry. I hope no one sees him.

I glance at the closed door and step away from it, needing to make sure Frank isn’t standing right outside in the view of any prying eyes. It could raise questions.

I rush down the stairs, ignoring all the stares from the other men employed by Steele and Gunner. The entrance to the club comes into view, and I cross the floor without anyone trying to stop me. I’m property. So as far as anyone knows, I’m Titan’s, and he’s the one who told me to go outside.

I rush through the doors and scan the parking lot.

A car in the distance blinks its headlights in my direction and I make my way over there with caution, wishing I had a weapon.

“Frank?” I ask as I head closer.

The hair at the back of my neck stands on end as I lean down to speak to the man behind the driver’s wheel. Something doesn’t feel right.

Why hasn’t he rolled down his window?

In a second, an arm has wrapped around me and a hand covers my mouth. I try to scream. I try to kick.

But I’m lifted off the ground and shoved into the back of a nearby white van.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice calls out as the door slams shut.