Stolen By The Hitman: A Men Of Ruthless Corp Book

  Stolen By The Hitman

  A Men Of Ruthless Corp Book

  Jagger Cole

  Stolen By The Hitman

  Jagger Cole © 2021

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Cormar Covers | Editing by MJ Edits

  This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US copyright law.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Stolen By The Hitman

  A Special Present

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Men of Ruthless Corp

  Also by Jagger Cole

  About the Author

  Stolen By The Hitman

  Taking her was never the plan.

  Giving her up isn’t an option.

  * * *

  I’m a man with a certain set of strengths: brutality, precision, and the coldness to do whatever it takes to get the job done. It’s what made me an asset to the SEALS. Now, it’s what makes me an ideal killer for hire with Ruthless Corp.

  But my strengths are put to the test when she comes between me and a job. It’s supposed to be easy: kill the scummy old bastard of a target, take his priceless diamond necklace as payment.

  Except that’s a little hard to do, when those diamonds are locked without a key around Leah Hartley’s pretty little neck.

  She’s young and innocent, with curves so goddamn tempting that my hands ache to claim her. But she’s also something else now: mine. My captive. My prisoner until I can figure this mess out.

  There are forces hunting us down. They’re after the jewels and the both of us. But I’ll be damned if I give her up.

  There’s a key out there for the prize around her neck. But pretty soon, I don’t give a damn about the diamonds. I already have my prize.

  And she just might be the key to my broken, cold heart.

  A Special Present

  The Jagger Cole fans-only newsletter is the first place to hear about new releases, giveaways, and more! Sign up today to grab a free copy of Mr Big - an extra hot billionaire romance not available anywhere else!

  1

  Rourke

  She wasn’t supposed to be here.

  No one was. The target, a certain Terrance Rynsburger, was supposed to be alone. I grit my teeth, my eyes narrowing as they move between the portly man in his sixties and the absolutely stunning blonde girl standing next to him. But once my gaze lands on her, it’s impossible to look away.

  She’s gorgeous, young, and innocent—the kind of innocent a man like me has no business even looking at. But I can’t pull my eyes from her. She’s magnetic to me; dangerously so. Distractions can mean death on a job, even one as one-sided as this. Terry Rynsburger is as much a threat to me as field mouse is to a fucking tiger. But ignoring him is still dangerous. I know better. I’ve been trained better than this.

  But she’s fucking all of that up.

  I groan. He was supposed to be alone. I’ve cased Terry’s huge Pacific Heights home for two weeks. The sprawling San Francisco mansion in the thick of “Billionaires Row” is a fortress, standing tall next to homes belonging to the likes of Danielle Steel, the CEO of PayPal, and the guy who designed the fucking iPhone.

  But fortress or not, I’ve examined every detail of this place. I know every entrance and every exit. I know the rotation of his guards. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, the ideal moment to slip in and take him out.

  She’s thrown that off.

  This was supposed to be easy. Get in, put one through the back of Terry’s skull through the mouth so it looks like a suicide. Then take the diamond choker from the safe behind his desk as my payment and disappear. The client even supplied the combination for that safe. And when I did a test run last week, I made sure that combination worked.

  I grit my teeth. Goddamnit. This wasn’t supposed to go down this way. I turn my eyes to her and tense. It’s sort of hard to pull off a hit that looks like a suicide with a goddamn witness in the room.

  “Did she send you?!” Terry blurts. He’s moving back towards his desk. I somehow manage to pull my eyes from the utterly captivating girl standing near him and bring my gun up.

  “That’s far enough,” I grunt at the red-faced, sweaty billionaire.

  “I know it was her!” he squeals again, like a pig. “That bitch! That little cunt!”

  His hand darts back. Mine tightens, bracing for a weapon.

  “I’m not armed!” he blurts. “But I want to show you something.”

  “Slowly,” I growl thickly.

  He brings a hand up. My jaw grits. Fuck, there’s my payment. It’s called the Claimed Heiress—a diamond choker that once belonged to a shipping tycoon here in San Francisco. It’s also valued at two-point-four million dollars.

  “This what you’re after, asshole?!” Terry blurts. He looks frantic. Frantic people do irrational things.

  “Take it easy,” I mutter. My eyes slide back to the girl. She looks utterly terrified, standing there in that skirt-suit that fits her like a fucking glove. Office attire shouldn’t be that hot. The pencil skirt fits her like a second skin. The fitted blouse hugs every curve, and those towering black stilettos make the look even more enticing.

  The outfit is distracting. Her big blue eyes and plump, full lips are disorienting. But her being here at all is the biggest problem. Who the fuck is this girl?

  “This what you want? Huh? That why she sent you? To kill me and take this?!”

  Terry’s losing control and spiraling. He starts to move towards the girl.

  “Mr. Rynsburger, I need you to sit the fuck d—”

  “You want this?! How about now!”

  He bolts behind her. She gasps, paling as my gun follows him. But I quickly drop the barrel away from her. In one motion, Terry whips his arm around her, his hands flash, and suddenly, she gasps as he clasps the Heiress choker around her neck.

  I snarl. Fuck.

  “You know why they call it the Claimed Heiress, don’t you?” Terry crows gleefully.

  Unfortunately, I do. It’s called that because the damned thing doesn’t come off. It’s got a lock that was designed by one of the most famous clock-makers in prewar Europe. It’s un-pickable, and you can’t break it without destroying the whole thing. The Heiress has one key…

  “Oh I think you do know why, don’t you?” Terry swallows. He looks terrified, but he knows this is his only play. “One key, you prick,” he chuckles. “And I don’t have it.”

  I raise my gun up. Terry cowers behind her as she whimpers in fear. But I snarl and bring the gun away again.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Being cold and ruthless is how I’ve survived this long in life. First in the Navy with the SEALs, now as a killer for hire with Ruthless Corp. I don’t back down. I don’t blink. I don’t hesitate. But here I am doing all of those things, because of one pretty face.

  I start to move towards them.

&
nbsp; “What are you gonna do?!” he gasps. “Kill her? Cut her damn head off for it?!”

  I push past the girl, grab Terry, and whirl to slam him into a chair.

  “You’re going to unlock it. Now.”

  He smiles weakly. “No can do.”

  I push the gun into his face. “Yes, can do.”

  Terry whimpers. “I really don’t have it. T-the key, I mean,” he blurts.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I really don’t!” He chokes. “B-b-but she does!” He gasps. “That bitch who hired you!”

  I frown.

  “Laura, right?” That’s who sent you to kill me, isn’t it? Wanted you to make it look like a suicide, too, I bet?”

  My jaw grits. I don’t like this.

  “She has the key! She’s playing you, pal! She wants you to kill me, then you’ll go to her for the key because we both know that necklace is worth half its value without it. When you go asking for it, she’ll kill you and take it.”

  He grins winningly at me. “But, guess no one’s taking it now. Not unless you want to put a bullet in her pretty little head.” He nods at the girl. When my eyes turn to her, she pales.

  I know what I should do. The cold, heartless monster in me that was honed in war would do what I need to do. Kill the girl, kill this asshole, go get my goddamn key, and then it’s early retirement.

  My eyes close for a second.

  Except I know I can’t do that. Not her. Not with the way those big blue eyes look at me. Not the way the scent of her hair that I can even get from here makes my skin tingle. And not with the way those soft curves beg for my hands to grab ahold and never let go.

  I’m not killing her; I think grimly to myself.

  I’m taking her. Her and the necklace.

  I hiss as I jam the gun against Terry’s neck. I reach back for the zip-ties in my back pocket and slip them over his shaking hands. Then I tie his wrists against the arms of the chair.

  “What he fuck are you—!”

  “I took a job, and I don’t ever not finish a job I started,” I snap. Before he can blurt anything else, I grab a gag from my back pocket, jam it in his piggy mouth, and tie it behind his head.

  “So you’re staying here, right where I can find you. We’re going to figure out which of you is fucking with me. And then, either way,” I lean down, my eyes narrowing. “I’m going to put a bullet in you.”

  Terry pales. I stand back and tap the earpiece in my ear. “You with me Mags?”

  “Loud and clear,” Maggie, my eyes and ears at her computer in the van downstairs, drawls in her Kentucky accent. I hear her drag on a cigarette and scowl.

  “Thought I told you to quit those fucking things,” I grunt quietly.

  “Thought I told you I’m old enough to not take orders from a kid like you,” my five-foot-nothing, grey-haired, mid-sixties back-up grunts.

  I sigh. “I need you to babysit.”

  Her breath sucks in. “Who?”

  “The target.”

  Maggie groans. “Rourke, honey, you’re supposed to shoot the target.”

  I glance at Terry.

  “Plans have changed. He’s tied up, but I need you up here. I’ll come down and let you through the cut in the back security fence, by the park. And Mags?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Bring a gun.”

  “You know I will,” she mutters. “Where am I headed when I get inside?”

  “We’re with him in the study, but—”

  “I’m sorry, who the hell is we?”

  I wince. “I have…” my eyes slide to her and my voice lowers. “Company.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs, Mags. I gotta run.”

  I click my audio off and turn to the girl. My eyes drag over her, greedily. Hungrily. She swallows, her tongue slipping out to wet her full, soft lips.

  “I—I just work here!” she blurts, trembling.

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Please!” she gasps. “I don’t want any trouble!”

  “Well, that’s also a shame,” I growl.

  Before she can react, I’m storming across the room to her. She shrieks as I grab her and throw her over my shoulder.

  “Cause trouble just found you.”

  2

  Leah

  His muscles clench and coil against me as he jogs down the back staircase. His big hands dig into my skin, and my heart pulses heavily. I want to scream, and yet I don’t. Maybe I’m scared of what he’d do if I did. Or maybe I know it wouldn’t do any good—that he’d silence me before any help ever came for me.

  And yet maybe also, I’m just so glad to be out of that room.

  Before this insanity—before the huge man with the tattoo and the piercing eyes and the gun barged in, I thought it was finally going to happen. I thought Terry was really going to just do what he’s been hinting at for months.

  I know that’s why he had me stay late tonight. It’s why he never paid me last paycheck period. It’s all part of his manipulations and mind games. It’s not enough to be richer than God for a man like him. He has to own people. He has to have control.

  I knew the personal assistant job to one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco was too good to be true. I was right. On a resume, sure, PA-ing for Terrance Rynsburger looks incredible. Not to mention the connections it would give me. The job was every business major’s dream.

  Except Terrance Rynsburger is a nightmare. A predator. First it was my work dress code; how he thought pants were outdated. I acquiesced. He thought jackets looked manly, I said okay. Then the skirts needed to be shorter. I needed to “look sexy” to compliment him on business meetings.

  But I needed the job, and he all but threatened to fire me if I didn’t go along with his requests. So I did. And then, the touching started.

  First it was hands on my shoulder that lingered too long. Then it was a hand at the small of my back that would make me wince and retch inside. Or the times I just happened to “walk in on him” changing, even though he’d just called me in to his office.

  I almost quit so many times, but the connections and the opportunities were too good. The money was too good. And San Francisco is so fucking expensive. So is school. So I stayed.

  But then, the web got even more tangled.

  Terrance was having me organize his cloud storage—putting files into the right places, cleaning things up, that sort of thing. But when I was doing that, from my own computer, I stumbled onto, well… something I shouldn’t have.

  I wasn’t snooping, and it’s not like I was looking for anything like this. But the folder of documents, contracts, maps, schedules, and contact lists was labeled “2010 Tax Returns”. I looked into it just to double check before I deleted it, and that’s when I saw what I almost wish I could unsee.

  Terrance isn’t just the founder and CEO of RynsTech Industries. His money doesn’t just come from his massive stock holdings and trading portfolio.

  He’s a predator: a real, actual predator.

  It turns out, Terrance’s extremely lucrative side-hustle was—is—trafficking girls from third world countries for the purposes of forced prostitution. I remember realizing the gravity of what I was reading in that file folder and almost vomiting. Terry’s been using his shipping contacts and reputation with international port authorities to smuggle in women.

  I wanted to run. I wanted to go to the police, or just never show up to work again. But not ten minutes after I slammed my laptop shut in horror, there was a knock on my front door. And that’s how I met my first FBI agent: Special Agent Kim Morales.

  Apparently, they’ve had their eyes on Terry. And by accessing those files from my own computer, suddenly, I was their way in. That was scary enough. But when Agent Morales smiled thinly and told me flatly that I was now being labeled as an accomplice, I knew what real fear was.

  They didn’t care that it was obvious I had nothing to do with Terry’s horrible side-hustle. There was no plead
ing or crying to change their minds. In fact, they knew I wasn’t. But I was the weak link in his walls. By threatening me, they could force me to go back into that office every day to spy for them.

  And that’s what I’ve been doing, for two horrible months. So not only am I dealing with Terry being a creepy, lecherous boss, but I’m dealing with the FBI breathing down my neck for information on him.

  Last month, Terry suggested we get dinner. When I said no, my job load doubled. And I couldn’t say shit. Last week, he brought me into the office and locked the door. He told me it took dedication and loyalty to “make it” in the business world and started to undo his pants. I was only saved by a frantic phone call from one of his business partners.

  Agent Morales and her team, by the way, didn’t care about the incident in the slightest when I told them.

  But tonight, when he told me to stay late, and when I saw the guards purposely leave this floor? My heart sank. My body curled in on itself. I knew I should have run or quit. But I showed up anyways. He showed me that stupid necklace and told me he wanted to see me wearing it—it and nothing else. That’s exactly the point when this man barged in.

  I tremble against the broad shoulder. But whoever he is, the man who’s slung me over his shoulder like a caveman is no savior. This isn’t my hero. This is out of the frying pan and into the fire. Because now I’m being fucking kidnapped.

  “Please,” I whisper.

  “Don’t speak,” he grunts.

  My mouth shuts. His hands tighten on me. I hate myself for liking that—for liking the way his hand feels on me.