Stolen Jewel

By Alexis Abbott

We were never supposed to end up together.
She was the good girl, the one that got into Harvard Law on scholarships.
I'm the guy that bloodies his knuckles making sure my bosses never take the stand.
It wasn't my idea to kidnap her.
The way she chews her lower lip, the way she blinks when she lies to me, the scent of her perfume fills my every waking thought. The first order I've ever disobeyed is the one that might cost me my life, but it's the one that will save hers.
The entire world is after us, but her beautiful smile and delicious curves will fuel my fire. I just hope the heat doesn't consume us both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pathforgers Publishing
• Release date: Jun 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201236304

Alexis Abbott

Alexis Abbott is a Wall Street Journal & USA Today bestselling author who writes about bad boys protecting their girls! Pick up her books today if you can’t resist a bad boy who is a good man, and find yourself transported with super steamy sex, gritty suspense, and lots of romance.She lives in beautiful St. John's, NL, Canada with her amazing husband.

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Prologue - Stefan

I feel the hot, fresh droplets of Vlad’s blood spatter across my face like warm rain. I blink the red out of my eyes and watch the lines crack across the windshield like a spiderweb as my reflexes catch up to the fact that we’ve been shot. It’s a split-second realization that sends my body into battle mode. I smear a streak of blood down my face with my sleeve, my eyes taking in the bright scarlet stain. It doesn’t bother me. I’m no stranger to gore, and it’s not my blood. That’s the part that matters right now. My dominant hand reaches for my gun on instinct, knowing my reflexes are faster than my wounded companion’s. I thrust the weapon into his hands without a word, but he’s not so silent.

"Gavno," he curses through his teeth in pain as he clutches the bullet hole in his shoulder.

Then he notices the gun I’ve handed him and stubbornly pushes it away. He grabs his own weapon and thrusts his arm out the window to fire back at our attackers. Three more shots ring out into the night on the outskirts of the sleepy upstate suburb. They echo eerily in the dark. Vlad whips around to give me a look of disgust as he pulls his arm back inside.

Who in the fuck is this? Did someone get a tip?! he shouts back at me as I veer the vehicle in a sharp right turn. His blood-damp hand wraps around the grab handle to hold on around the tight curve.

We skid onto the exit ramp at a near-dangerous speed. I’m heading us toward the winding, lonely roads through the dark forest. If these people are looking for a bloodbath, we’re going to need a better battleground. We can’t have a firefight in the middle of town.

We’re carrying four hundred grand in cash, I growl at Vlad. It could be a cop for all we know. I told you this wasn’t going to go smoothly.

Shut the fuck up, he snarls before pushing his arm out the window to fire off two more blind rounds. His shots are answered with a rapid pop of bullets from the enemy.

Shit! he hisses.

Vlad recoils into the passenger seat, cradling a freshly bloody hand to his chest. He’s been shot again, and the gun clatters to the floor of the car while he clutches his injured fingers. I glance over at him to quickly assess the damage. Blood pours down his wrist and forearm, and he looks a little green in the face. Before I can say a word, a bullet from behind takes out the right rear view mirror. It bursts in a rain of shiny glass, and Vlad flinches away from the open window to avoid the falling shards.

Were we fucking set up? he blurts out angrily. It shouldn’t be like this!

I don’t reply to his panicked ranting. No time for that. I snatch up my gun in my right hand and quickly aim it using the left rear-view mirror. Once my eagle eyes have narrowed in on the spots of light coming from the vehicle tailing us, I fire off a couple of shots. I feel the power of the gun jolt through my muscles as I pull my arm back inside and glance back to see the carnage. One bullet glances off the top of the car into the darkened woods, but the other goes straight through one of the back windows, and I can hear a shout into the night air. I’ve hit someone, but they’re not slowing down. Yet.

Take the wheel with your good hand, I order Vlad in the level, but commanding voice I learned in basic training so long ago in my homeland. Now!

He obeys without a second thought. I knew when I accepted this job that Vlad wasn’t going to be the smartest companion, but he isn’t totally off base. Like him, I have my suspicions that there must be a reason I’ve been getting assigned to more dangerous missions lately. Such as this current bloody disaster in progress.

But there’s no saying no when the Bratva gives you a job to do.

Vlad seizes the wheel with his remaining good hand as I try to aim another shot through the mirror, stabilizing my arm on the side of the car. I quickly shut my eyes when I see sparks from a ricocheting bullet, and Vlad curses in Russian. I let off another few rounds to force some space between us and our target. The bullet slows them down and they fall behind a short distance, just as I intended. My gun drops gently to my lap.

Reload for me, I order Vlad as I wrap my hands around the steering wheel again.

I lay on the gas, my heart racing and adrenaline pumping through my body as I pray that there are no patrols out along this route. This time of night, the roads are quiet, and a firefight won’t exactly help us blend in. I’m far off from the route I’d planned to take, and the cops my people bribed to keep the roads clear might not be in the know.

But there’s a more pressing threat: the guns firing repeatedly at us from behind.

You took us out on a straight fucking road, Stefan! Vlad protests angrily.

My hands grip the wheel tightly as I swerve the car back and forth from one side of the road to the other in an attempt to evade the volley of bullets being sprayed at us.

If this happens anywhere near town, we’re dead men, I reply simply, while he fumbles to get the bullets into my gun. He hands it back to me before going back to clutching his wounds.

You heard the boss, this has to be kept quiet, I add with a glance his way. He’s giving me a scathing glare, his hand gingerly folded into his chest.

How the fuck are we going to lose them then?! he snaps as he wraps his jacket around his injured hand to staunch the bleeding.

We aren’t, I answer brusquely.

I take aim behind me and fire.

As soon as my bullet strikes a front tire, it blows out entirely with a loud burst. Unable to offset the ruined balance, the pursuing car spins out. Tires and metal squeal across the rough asphalt. Barely a second later, I slam the brakes until I can use the handbrake and whip around, screeching to a halt. The pursuing car whirls past us so closely that Vlad cries out and ducks down in his seat, anticipating fire. While they’re still spinning, I throw the driver’s side door open and start to climb out. I hold a hand out to Vlad as he hastily fumbles for his gun.

Stay down, you’re hurt! I urge him as I take cover behind the hood of the company car. I take aim at the pursuant vehicle as it finally careens to a halt.

Fuck that! Vlad barks back in defiance, but I’ve already moved on from him. I have to focus on my target. These men are out for blood, and we can’t let them get away if we hope to ever rest easy at night again. They won’t stop unless we stop them.

I pop off a shot at the first man I see getting out with a weapon, and he instantly drops down while the remaining two thugs spill out the other side of the car. I hear gunshots from Vlad’s side of our car. I peer over to see him standing up and opening fire on our assailants, shouting obscenities while his injured hand bleeds on his shirt. The surviving passenger heads toward the back of the car while the driver mirrors me and takes cover behind the hood, but not before firing a shot back at Vlad.

When I don’t hear a grunt of pain from him, I know what has happened before his body even thumps to the ground a moment later. No use going to check. He’s dead.

My jaw clenches tightly. Like most of the ill-tempered men I get saddled with on jobs, Vlad was an impatient hothead likely to get himself killed out of careless bravado. I caught onto that within minutes of meeting the guy. Still, I hate being right. Few will mourn him, and I don’t have time to be one of them.

I drop onto my stomach, old reflexes as sharp as ever. I take aim, closing one dark eye as I fire off two precise shots. I feel the violent recoil in my wrist and hear the hiss of their punctured tires that tells me I’ve compromised their cover. Good. They shout curses as they leap to their feet and try to run.

Not so fast, I murmur.

I pop a third shot directly at the ankles of one man, dropping him to the ground with a bellow of agony. He rolls on the dirty asphalt with his knee pulled to his gut, moaning.

Springing back up to my feet, I take aim over the trunk of the car before the downed man’s partner even knows where I’ve moved to. The man on the ground spots me, our eyes locking in gaze as he glares at me with gritted teeth. He raises his good arm to take a quick, blind hip shot at me.

Unfortunately for him, I am faster.

Shooting him dead right then and there would have been quick and easy, but I shoot for his firing hand instead. He cries out in pain, and the gun goes skittering far enough away that I’m satisfied to turn my attention back to the other.

But I’m not sparing him out of mercy, and I only need one goon to question.

Darting through the cover of my car to the other end of it, I see the gunman take his eyes off of me long enough to let me get a shot in. I drop to a knee and take aim in the span of a second before firing a single, precise shot to his head. It fires clean through, leaving a perfect, smoking hole in its wake. He drops as quickly as Vlad did, like a heap of potatoes. But the victory goes uncelebrated. I can’t let my guard down yet. Keeping my gun raised at the ready, I stand up and cross the short distance between our cars toward the last wounded man.

Shit, I murmur when he comes into view around the car. He’s managed to crawl a few feet and leave a trail of blood that tells me he doesn’t have long to live.

He isn’t moving when I run up to his side, but he turns his head with a low, aching grunt to scowl up at me. He spits at me before I put my boot on his throat, aiming my gun at his stomach as I look him in the eye.

Who paid you to get yourself killed tonight? I ask him plainly in my gruff English that still carries a faint accent.

Fuck you, he hisses back, clutching his bleeding wrist and glaring up at me.

No use protecting your boss now. You’re a dead man, you don’t owe anyone anything anymore, I urge him.

"Could say the same for you, kozyol," he retorts in insult.

Wrenching all of his remaining strength, he whips a knife from his pocket and swings his arm up at me before I can say another word. But his reflexes are weak. In one smooth motion I sweep back away from the knife that comes arcing up toward me and his arm drops flat at his side. I’m finished with him.

With a single gunshot, I put him down for good.

The unsettling silence after a fight sinks in as the ringing in my ears fades. My jaw is still tight even though the immediate danger has passed. The natural sounds of the forest fall quiet for a bit, scared off by the gunshots they associate with humans.

It is not a peaceful silence.

It’s an ugly one, and I still don’t feel at ease when I put my weapon away and survey the scene. I step over the dead bodies, cautious not to get blood on my boots. Carefully searching the assassins’ car gives me no good lead as to who they were or who sent them. They got unlucky coming after the likes of me, but they weren’t stupid enough to leave a trail.

A familiar, deep sense of loneliness haunts me like a shadow. I try to ignore the unsettling sensation as I clean up the scene, only as much as is necessary. I don’t call my boss, not yet.

I haven’t ruled out the idea that this job was a trap meant for me, and if Brusilov had anything to do with this, I’d be exposing myself to another hit. This is the environment that has shaped me since I became a made man of the bratva. I was weaned on the constant paranoia, the violent nights and days full of as many vices as the city could offer me. I have grown up with the understanding that I must never let anyone get close enough to shoot me or soften my heart.

I know firsthand that all three of these men here are scum. But it’s little comfort. I am not proud of what I’ve had to do tonight. Once I’ve finished wiping down my fingerprints from the surfaces and making sure that both vehicles are too riddled with bullets to drive, I simply grab the duffel bag of money from the back of the car and sling it over my shoulder.

The scene is still bloody, but the point is that it’s now devoid of evidence of me. It looks plainly like a gang shootout that ended with deaths on both sides. An easy scene for the cops to sum up and tuck away into a drawer. I leave it for them like a gift as I stalk down the road into the night.

My eyes adjust to the dark while I catch my bearings, my internal GPS pinpointing my location. I have a good enough idea of where I am to get to somewhere I can hitchhike on foot. At my size and looks, I have nothing to fear on the road, and my precious cargo looks like innocent backpacking gear as long as I keep my cool.

The scene cleared, the deed done, I’m left with a long walk in silence. Plenty of time and space for my mind to fixate on the horrible things I’ve done-- and not just this evening.

I grow tired of the bloodshed I carry out for the bratva. Tired of doing the dirty work for rich old men who care nothing for the sharpshooters and brutes below them. Every night of work is a reminder of that, and a miles-long march in the dark for the sake of a cash delivery is sure as hell a reminder, too. A bag of money in exchange for human lives is a steep price, regardless of how contemptible the humans are. It’s one that stings with every step through the pine-fresh air as I approach the sound of cars on the interstate in the distance up ahead. Headlights and streetlights streak through the night, like a beacon leading me home.

Despite the bloodshed, tonight’s mission isn’t even the worst order I’m meant to carry out for the bratva. At least, so my superiors think. There is always a worse assignment, and if there is, they will find it.

After this, I’m tasked with kidnapping a young woman. The bosses are testing me to go lower, I know it. And they’ll regret pushing me so far.

Because I want out, and that girl will be the last soul I take in their name.

Jewel

Istand with my back pressed up against the slightly slimy wall across from the busy bar counter, blinking into the darkness. The dimly-lit cavern of the nightclub feels like an explosion of pure chaos all around me. Writhing bodies, drunken laughter, and rowdy conversations everywhere I turn. Men high-fiving over the heads of giggly, tipsy young women. Gaggles of sorority sisters mingle with droves of frat guys in their fuckboy finest. There’s a lot of people talking and dancing close, but I have a feeling there’s little real connection going on here. This place activates my flight-or-fight response, and right now, I’m definitely leaning toward flight. I want nothing more than to just get out of here as fast as I can, but unfortunately that’s the one thing I’m not able to do. Obligations led me to this place, but my shyness keeps me tethered to the sidelines. I realize, with a sigh, that I’m a literal wallflower.

I feel my heart pounding in my throat as the harsh, throbbing music of the club fills not just my head but my very bones, making me twinge in discomfort every few seconds. The pounding bass excites the crowd around me even more, buzzing under my feet like the earth is about to split open. I clutch my barely-touched vodka tonic and hope the tectonic plates aren’t about to open up and swallow me whole. Not that anyone would notice. Between the grim lighting, the strobes pulsing colored shafts of light around the room, and the clouds of smoke, I can barely breathe, much less see in a place like this.

It’s safe to say this not my scene. Not at all.

My head is already pounding even though I’ve only had a couple of typically watered-down mixed drinks. But I know it has nothing to do with the alcohol. I can hold my booze, but I’m less equipped for a pulsating crowd of horny strangers. I have no idea where Gina, my roommate and so-called best friend, is hiding. This is supposed to be a night of celebration, a chance to blow off steam after nonstop studying, but the party feels even more stressful than the law exams I just took.

I’m supposed to be relaxing and unwinding, which for me would usually involve some nicely-scented candles, soft mood music, a good book, and a bubble bath. Maybe a glass of champagne if I’m feeling frisky. But instead, I let myself get dragged out for celebratory drinks. This is not the vision I had in mind for how my first year in law school would end. Then again, nothing about law school has really lived up to my hopes so far.

Jewel! I hear shouted at me through the dense crowd, and when I look around wildly, I realize just how disoriented I am. Every turn of my head feels delayed, like my brain is sloshing around in pickling juices inside my skull. Before I can make heads or tails of the situation, a sweaty hand grabs my arm and I yelp in terror, sending a splash of my drink spilling to the sticky club floor. My shoulders relax ever so slightly as I recognize Gina standing in front of me.

I’m so sorry, I say abruptly, apologizing to her by reflex even though she’s the one who surprised me into spilling my drink.

She barely seems to clock my words.

"Girl where have you been?!" she asks with a big, drunken smile on her face.

Trying not to get trampled, I reply with a nervous laugh.

I rein in my composure in a matter of seconds, bringing me back from anxious to cool. It’s one of the many unofficial skills competing with my fellow law students has taught me so far. Like withstanding cutthroat criticism or recognizing when someone’s playing devil’s advocate just to mess with my head. Law school is a challenge in and of itself.

It’s getting kind of crazy in here, isn’t it? I add, hoping she’ll catch the hint that I’d like to get some air. Preferably air not contaminated with beer burps and vape clouds.

What? she says with a laugh as the music gets even louder, drowning out my voice. She cups her hand around her ear like a cartoon character and I lean in closer.

Want to step outside? I shout insistently over the music, a hint of hope in my tone. I pull back to clock her response, hoping she’ll take pity on me.

Oh no, there’s the eye-roll. No such luck.

We just got here! she protests, which is just plain wrong. We got here easily two hours ago; I’ve been keeping track and counting down the minutes until it’s a socially acceptable time to hightail it out of this chaos dungeon.

I think I need a breather, I insist.

Rather than giving me a real answer, she merely smirks and takes me by the arm. I let her guide me toward what I think is an exit, for one hopeful moment.

Until we get closer and I realize it’s just a cordoned-off outdoor area of the bar packed with just as many people and a circular fire pit glowing in the center. Still, at least there isn’t a claustrophobic beveled metal veiling over my head or music blaring in my ears. I feel a touch of relief as I breathe in the cool night air and tuck an unruly lock of chocolate-brown hair behind my ear. Gina guides me easily through the crowd to an unoccupied standing table, which I seize upon with gratitude, like a drowning sailor clinging to a life raft in the raging sea. I prop up my elbows and lean in, idly swirling the tiny black straw in my drink.

Here, if you don’t want to celebrate our exams like a normal person, Gina begins in a lightly teasing tone that still very much comes across as a subtle jab. Let’s take a break out here and finish these drinks before another round, huh?

The idea of downing another drink is the last thing on my mind right now, but if that’s the going exchange for a much-needed breather, so be it.

And hey, for real, she says, leaning forward in a softer tone and smiling at me as she takes my hand across the table. It’s sweaty, very sweaty, yet sincere. "Relax, Jewel. We just made it through our first year of law school, girl! You ought to chill and let that sink in!"

Her words are a little slurred, but damn, maybe Gina isn’t as drunk as I suspected.

I-I know, I’m sorry, I reply quickly.

Don’t apologize, she interrupts, and I nod. She tips back her drink.

Working up my fortitude, I remind her, I told you this just isn’t my kind of thing before we left. I force a feeble smile after a big gulp of my drink, welcoming the burn of liquid courage down my throat. But my twisted nerves don’t subside, not even with the vodka flooding my system.

I don’t know if getting tipsy is helping, I add.

Okay, how about this to cheer you up, she says with a mischievous smirk. She squeezes my hand and raises it up to prop our elbows on the table and interlace our fingers together. There’s a conspiratorial look on her pretty face.

She moves in close and lowers her voice to say, We’ve been standing here being all cute and shit for like, less than a minute, and there are no less than three people checking us out I’ve counted so far.

"Oh. Wait. Th-that is not good news, Gina," I stammer, my heart dropping.

She just grins back at me, pleased with herself. I glance over her shoulder around at the scattered crowd as subtly as I can, which isn’t very. Sure enough, out of the sea of college frat guys and other rich kid students in the bar, some eyes seem to be drawn our way.

I sense Gina is being modest, or at least experiencing the closest thing to modesty she can manage. I don’t hold it against her-- she’s a young, hot, flirty woman with nothing to hide. And her salmon-pink bodycon dress certainly doesn’t hide a thing. There’s more than enough of her curvy body on display for me to be sure she’s the one turning heads. Compared to my own flouncy baby-pink dress and powder-blue cardigan, especially.

I smile politely and sip more of my drink.

Do any of them look like they’re about to come over here?