Claimed by the Hitman

Prologue

Branch Larsen raised the styrofoam cup of coffee to his lips. The coffee had gone cold, but he needed it. He figured he must’ve been averaging about two hours a night of sleep since he first got back to Denmark three weeks ago. He wanted it to feel familiar, the gray sky, the short, colorful buildings with triangular roofs surrounding the grand palace. But it had been fifteen years since Denmark had been his home. He was 19 then, and 34 now.

Every time a job brought him back, he breathed the clean air of the bay, listened to the patter of feet along the cobblestone walkways, and felt the rush of cyclists as they whizzed past him. “This isn’t home anymore” Branch had to tell himself. He lived in Los Angeles. Skyscrapers hundreds of feet in the air pierced the sunny skies. His pale Scandinavian complexion tanned. The American food and easy access to gyms helped him pack on a solid thirty pounds of muscle. It helped with his job. He was always quick, ever since he was a kid sneaking out of Gstaad with money Larz gave him to buy wine off campus and smuggle it back in after curfew. But he also needed to be strong.

Branch had never been as tall or broad as Larz, at least as kids. But his now domineering physique struck fear into his targets. Fear that left them frozen. And frozen, easy to kill.

As Branch sat in the small car, the pitter patter of the rain was like a lullaby, gently singing him to sleep. Just as he was about to lay his head down on the steering wheel his target walked into view. The young princess was smiling as she walked in the rain, holding her arms out with her palms facing up to feel the drops against her skin. She twirled around, sashaying her black tulle skirt which had a Ramones tee shirt tucked in. Her twirls were delicate and precise, even in black combat boots. Her long blonde hair bounced with her movements, and Branch found himself transfixed.

Must’ve been a fun night out with her friends.

But 3 AM wasn’t a safe time for a young woman to be dancing alone in the streets. And if she had spent the night partying instead of at her mother’s like she usually did, where was everyone else? Fara Madsen was a bit of a maverick. She was young and effervescent, of course she had a rich social life. But she refused to let security accompany her, as was royal protocol. In her younger years at Gstaad, she was almost like Branch. She was agile and sneaky, always giving the guards the slip to hang out in the boy’s dormitory with her friends or, like Branch, smuggle some wine to her room. It was always an incident when security lost track of her. And she reveled in the panic she created. As a young woman, her mother begrudgingly allowed her to forbid security from following her in public. After all, what was the point of them tagging along, if it was so easy for her to escape?

Her phone rang and she stopped twirling. Her hair was damp and smooth, framing her strong jaw, which gave a striking contrast to her delicate high cheekbones. She beamed as she spoke into the phone.

“Hey girly, yeah I’m pretty much at my mom’s. Thanks for checking, I had so much fun tonight. We have to do it again. Maybe in Winter, once it’s snowing. That would be magical…”

She chatted on into the phone as she fumbled for the old key that would unlock the back gate. And she was too distracted to notice the man lunging at her with a butcher’s knife.

Branch darted out of the car, the spell she cast over him broken by her being put in danger. He shoved his glock into the man’s lower back, causing him to fall to his knees in pain.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!” Branch shouted in the man’s ear, loud as thunder. Branch wrapped his arms in a chokehold around the man’s throat.

“NO ONE WILL EVER SEE YOU AGAIN IF YOU DON’T DO AS A SAY!” He felt the blood rushing to his head as he burned with rage. He strengthened his choke on the would be attacker’s throat as he took a few breaths.

“Now you listen here,” Branch was no longer screaming. His anger could boil over, but he kept it inside and whispered into the man’s ear.

“You know what I do for a living? I make problems disappear. And you know what you are right now? A problem. The kind I get paid big fuckin’ money to take care of. Now you, you’re scrawny,” he kept the pressure applied to the man’s windpipe. Fara watched doe-eyed. “You see,” Branch continued as if Fara wasn’t watching. “I can tell you’re not a very important man. When someone sends a guy like you, it’s because they know a guy like me is watching, and they don’t want to risk losing their best men. Now me, it’s different. I’m the best, and the princess is mine.”