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

taking the rest for himself. He told the boss he was going to have us taken out, but he’d thought of a better solution. That Red asshole gave the boss an incredible beatdown back in the day, and apparently he’s become a thorn in Art’s side. Plus, he knows too damn much.”  

    “We’ll take care of that. He’s toast once he gets out to the desert.”  

    I moaned, trying to push the rag out of my mouth again. They kept using the same oily old rag over and over. I moaned again, trying to get their attention. I’d had enough of listening to them talk about a man I cared about, a man I wanted. The only person left in the world that I could maybe trust. Maybe if they took me to use the bathroom, I’d be able to kick one of them in the balls and disable him. Then I could make a run for it.  

    With a blindfold on, and a zip tie on my wrists. Yeah, right. None of that seemed right. I wouldn’t make it very far in whatever godforsaken inland hell we were in. The air was hot and dry, and the men had kept mentioning the desert. I imagined myself, fumbling around Joshua Tree or wherever the fuck we were going, trying to live off of my wits. Yeah, that probably wasn’t going to work. And then what about Red? What would I do? Try to find him and use rocks to kill the bad guys? I found myself wishing that I’d signed up for a survival course instead of pre-med classes. My Berkeley education and my Hollywood legacy didn’t make shit for difference out here. I’d die, even if I got away.  

    I thought of Red again ... his arms around me, his lips on mine. Even in the midst of this situation, he gave me a sense of calm. It was hard to explain why. He was a part of all this shit somehow, and it was because of his past that the men had taken me. That much was clear. There was some kind of exchange set up, and it all centered on Red and what he’d done or hadn’t done.  

    And my dad had set him up for it. It was a grotesque thought, but one that I had to face as a possibility. I heaved silently, pulling against the zip ties. If I vomited in this thing, it would all be over. The gag wouldn’t work out too well with any nausea. I’d just have to keep it pushed down and hidden away, like everything else in my life.

Red

    “Fucking Joshua Tree National Park, in the middle of fucking nowhere.” I passed the welcome sign for the fucking desert-ass park, swerving the Aston into the parking lot where I was supposed to meet the fuckers who took Gabi. I thought of her, too perfect for me. Too perfect to know the truth about her asshole father, the man who’d probably sent her off to that producer and didn’t give a shit what happened to her. It wasn’t fair, this life. And it hadn’t been fair to Gabi. I drove the Aston to the east end of the lot, listening to its comforting, throaty rumble. The assholes weren’t even there yet, hadn’t even shown their faces. I waited, watching as the sun set over the desert. Pink, yellow, and orange, mixing all together over the city and its crowded counties.  

    I felt unsettled as I sat and watched the road. Gabi had been taken on her way to see me. I thought back to Art’s face as he told me to go get his daughter. There were no tears. There was no emotion. He’d pointed to the case of money, and he’d tried to get me out of there as soon as possible.  

    Art Sanchez. I’d known him for more than ten years, and I’d done his dirty work in all that time. He’d dragged me across the country after my crime, and I’d borne witness to his. I was a bad kid, son of a dirty cop, raised among the mafioso. My father was a nasty man, friends with Art from way back. They were cut from the same cloth, but Art hadn’t given me any choice when it came to following him across the country. He knew my secret, and I ended up knowing his. More than he wanted me to know, more than he ever bargained for. We were valuable to each other, and I’d gotten myself into this damn mess.

    And Gabi,