Free Her Hollywood Hitman: A Dark Romantic Suspense by Imani King

should go down easy. We get access to his accounts, his contacts... We’re set. Art says he’s got money in the hundreds of millions. His pops was tied to the mob in New York, and Red brought all that money with him when the old man was killed. Art knew the guy. Nasty, dirty old cop.” The man chuckled. “It’ll be a huge boost for Art. He’s got nothin,” Al whispered to the other man. My stomach dropped. Had he just said ‘Art?’” It couldn’t be. I knew my father was a complete dick, but I couldn’t believe he’d involve me in this. Nausea hit me and I stifled a groan, burying my face in the hot plastic seat.

    “Fucking hell, man,” the short one said, “What if she’s awake?”

    “She’s not,” said Al. “Plus she wouldn’t be able to hear us anyway. Art says if we off the tall guy, boss’ll get access to the guy’s offshore accounts. Says it’s millions, maybe hundreds of millions. Who the fuck knows?”

    “Shit hasn’t gone down yet, and we ain’t gotten paid. But I think we’re good for it. Some kind of covered-up murder in New York. Boss says that Red guy knows about… you know…”

    “About what?” Al asked. “About the… thing with his ex-wife?”

    “Shut the hell up, Al. She’s gonna wake up. She ain’t need to know all this shit. Not if she’s the bait. Art’s ordered Red to take care of her, and he says Red will follow what he says to the ends of the earth.”

    “Let’s hope he fucking does. Art’s broke. We’re broke. We better fucking hope Red comes and falls right into this shit.” The van drifted on and on, and I felt myself drifting further and further from civilization. And further and further away from the only people I had left in my life.  

    My father, using me as a pawn. Red, bound for danger. My mother, long gone—and perhaps at the hands of my father.

    I lay there listening to the two men talk, the coil of fear winding tighter and tighter in my body. The scarf over my eyes smelled stale, like it had been sitting in a drawer for far too long. And like a good, smart girl, I kept quiet, my body humming with the knowledge I’d gained. They were thugs, and I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me, even if they had orders not to kill me… yet.

    Would they kill me anyway? I turned the thought over in my mind, another sick feeling rising in my gut.  

    The heat was starting to get to me, the walls of the van seeming to close in, the zip tie eating into my wrists. The wound in my head throbbed. The men hadn’t tended to it, and they weren’t about to be generous with any pain relief. Still, I kept quiet as they drove on. They were too stupid to figure out that my father would probably be displeased with my state, even if he had told them that it was okay to rough me up. I imagined him saying it and turned the words over in my mind.

    Rough her up a little. But don’t kill her. Not yet.

    Hot bile rose in my throat. I hadn’t even known my father had an issue with money. Was he broke? Was that even within the realm of possibility? A memory hit me, all at once. My father had met with the lawyers all day a week after my mother’s death. He had left his office in a rage, storming past me. There was no trust fund, they’d said. Not a penny to her name. The Hollywood Rose was destitute, and she had no estate to leave to her daughter.  

    Bitch, fucking bitch , he’d said. If he had thought about it for one moment, he might have realized that his daughter could hear him. But as usual, he didn’t give one single shit. But it wasn’t me this time. It wasn’t my mother.

    Red. Red was the target. Not me.  

    Red, his hands on my body. His eyes, sincere and searching. My pleasure, tumbling through me as surely as the sea hits shore.  

    Panic joined the nasty twisty feeling in my body. The men started talking again, apparently confident that I was deaf—or at least asleep.

    “Yeah, this one is tricky. It’s Art paying us back what he owes and