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Authors: Natalie Dae and Sam Crescent

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BOOK: Forced Assassin
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“Please tell me why you’re taking me?” she asked.

“I just told you to be quiet.”

She decided to keep him talking. “Well, if you knew anything about me or most women in general you’d know that in high-tension situations we panic. Not only that, I’ve been known to talk a lot, so me being quiet isn’t really an option.” She rubbed her sweaty palms down her thighs.

She glanced over at him. He was so bloody handsome…and what was she doing thinking something like that in a situation like this?

That’s it, Fallan, start getting the hots for your kidnapper. Isn’t there a name for that type of thing?

Nothing good would come out of this experience. That knowledge hit her hard, and she filtered through her options. She couldn’t get out of the car—he’d child-locked it—and even if she could he was going too fast for her to get out without seriously hurting herself. But that didn’t matter, did it? Not when she risked being harmed in a worse way if she stayed with him.

Suddenly he swerved to miss another car coming in the opposite direction, flinging her against the door.

“Are you fucking insane?” she screamed.

“Be quiet.”

His demands were angering her by the second.

“Are you crazy? Did you just escape some loony bin and decided to pick on me?” She glared at him.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re being followed.”

Followed?
Fallan glanced behind her at what looked like a black van travelling at normal speed, nothing suspicious.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” she asked, reaching out to touch his temple, unable to stop the sarcasm filtering into her voice.

Do as he says and be quiet. You’ll get yourself in more trouble by pissing him off.

He caught her wrist in one movement. “Try anything and I can break your bones faster than you can think.” He applied a little pressure before he let her go.

“Ow. I was only trying to care.” She nursed her wrist and glared at him again.

“Don’t.”

He was constantly checking out the van in his rear-view mirror. She looked back and again saw no need to panic. It was just a van…with occupants who could help her…

Shaking her head, she turned away from him, releasing a long, heavy sigh.

So much for a wonderful time away.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I told you, my name is Fallan Jones and I work at Asda. I’m no one.”

“Here, take this.”

He handed her something heavy and metal. Turning it over, she glanced at the device in her hand and screamed.

“Are you fucking mental? That’s a gun!” She dropped it on the floor, at the same time realising she’d had the upper hand when she’d held it.
Shit.

Fallan no longer cared if she plunged to her death while leaping out of his moving vehicle. She had to get away from this man who was intent on scaring the shit out of her.

“Let me out, fucking let me out!” Pulling on the lever did no good. After a few seconds she gave up and decided to spend the entire journey glaring at him. Not a massive hardship, all things considered. Yes, he had a long scar down the side of his face but it didn’t detract from his gorgeousness.

“You’ve never seen a gun?” he asked.

“Last time I checked at work, we weren’t selling crap that could kill. Besides, with our high crime rate, I fail to see why selling guns for anyone and everyone to use would be productive to the nation.” 

“You really aren’t a killer, are you?”

“I don’t know about that. I accidentally killed my goldfish. I cried for weeks.”

He cursed and swerved as the black van overtook them. She watched it pass, hoping to catch the driver’s attention, but the windows were blacked out.

They drove for another few minutes. Fallan kept staring at him, refusing to look away. Every now and then he glanced over at her before returning his focus to the road.

“You know, you staring is distracting,” he said.

“Then keep your eyes on the road. Pretend I’m not here.”

“While you keep your eyes on me?”

“Look, pal, buddy, criminal—whatever you want to call yourself. I have no idea why the hell I’m here, what the hell you think I’ve done, but I’m certainly not who you think I am. And, while we’re at it, what’s your name?”

He ignored her.

“Please can I go home?”

“Bishop.”

Fallan frowned. “What does a chess piece have to do with this?”

“My name is Bishop.”

Oh. An unusual name, not that she could talk, but she doubted it was real. Not for a first name, anyway, and if it was, his parents had weird ideas.

“Whatever. Can I go home?”

“I don’t think home will be suitable for you.”

Fallan shook her head and gave up trying to reason with the man. She turned away and gave outside her full attention, thinking about the trip she’d been offered and the promised money coming after the treasure hunt.

How many times had her mother said nothing came in this world for free? She should have known.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said.

“I don’t feel like talking now.”

“I thought you said you talked a lot.”

Sighing, she turned back to him. “I talk to people I like, and, in the few minutes we’ve known each other, I’ve decided I don’t like you. Funny, that. I mean, I must have been nuts to think I could like someone who kidnapped me from the only chance I’ll get for having a weekend away anytime in the next decade. Thanks for that. Really appreciate it. Just do what you’ve got to do and then take me home. Hurt me, whatever, just get it over and done with. I bet you’re with that Frankie Lash bloke, aren’t you? He said if I looked in the bag it wouldn’t ‘bode well’ for me. Except I didn’t look in the bag—like I would after he’d said something like that—and I needed the ten grand he offered for playing in the treasure hunt.”

He widened his eyes and stared at her for a second or two. “Frankie Lash? Treasure hunt?”

“Yes. I had to put the bag on the trolley and—”

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I can’t take you home.”

“Whatever.”

“You say that a lot.”

“You know, for a man who keeps asking me to be quiet, you’re asking an awful lot of questions, which then makes me have to answer.”

Bishop went silent. Fallan smiled. Ten minutes in his company and she was already driving him crazy. If she kept this up, he’d be glad to dump her at the earliest opportunity.

A brief turn into a narrow lane and Bishop stopped the car and shut off the lights.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Bishop grabbed her jacket and slammed his lips on hers. The move was so unexpected Fallan didn’t respond. She struggled to get away from him, but, pressed up against the window as she was, she couldn’t move. He pushed his tongue through and, before she knew what was happening, she was kissing him back. He tasted good, but she was fucked if she’d let him just take what he wanted.

A knock on the window snapped them apart. She gasped, heart thumping wildly, and sat straight, her lips sore from his light stubble.

“If you speak, or scream, or do anything to fuck this up, I’ll kill you.” Bishop pressed a button and the window moved down, the squeaking noise loud against the sound of her breathing.

Licking her lips, she darted a glance at Bishop. His lips were shiny and looked as swollen as hers felt.

“What are you two doing here?” A policeman shone a torch on both of them.

She just had to speak out, to tell him she’d been taken against her will, but Bishop laid one hand on her thigh and squeezed. The officer obviously saw something else in the action as he snorted and directed the beam at Bishop.

“I’m sorry, Officer, but this fine woman at my side just agreed to be my wife, so we stopped and… Well, sorry, we shouldn’t have.”

Fallan widened her eyes, then smiled, even though it felt forced and fake. “What can I say, a
dangerous
-looking man is always someone I like being kissed by in a lane in the middle of nowhere when I’d much rather be home.”
Please let him realise what I mean, please…

Bishop squeezed her thigh harder.

“Well, move it on,” the officer said. “I don’t want to have to charge you two with indecent behaviour.” He slammed a palm on the roof then stepped back to wave them off.

Bishop closed the window, started the car and reversed out of the lane.

She stared at the officer, pleading with her eyes, but he only nodded then returned to his motorbike.

“What did I tell you?” Bishop asked.

“That if I said anything you’d—”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“I wasn’t aware I had one, but it seems I do, yes.”

“I saw the policeman pull up back there,” he said. “I needed to create a distraction and kissing you was the only thing I could come up with.”

“Oh,” she said, getting ready to give him a heavy dose of sarcasm, “and there was me thinking I was irresistible.”

“Be quiet.”

She obeyed this time. Several minutes later he pulled up alongside a river.

“Are you going to kill me? Dump me in there?” Despite her strong voice, she was panicking inside. She unbuckled her seatbelt and scrambled for the lock, knowing it was futile but going with her instincts.

Bishop placed his arm across her chest and pushed her back in her seat. The strength from his move terrified her.

“I don’t kill women after I’ve just kissed them. Besides, I don’t think you’re who I thought you were. But I still can’t take you home.”

Fallan raised her hand and slapped him across the face. “Don’t you dare talk to me as though what you’ve done is nothing. I haven’t done anything wrong, and you can tell that to Frankie Lash. I did what he said and I want my ten grand.” She rubbed her palm, which stung and felt like it was going to bruise.

He ran his fingers over the spot she’d slapped then cursed, getting out of the car.

Taking a deep breath, Fallan watched him stand by the river, her nerves jumping all over the place. It was cold now that the heater wasn’t on.

“Go out there and talk to him,” she whispered.

The worst he could do was throw her in the river. Unless he had another gun on him. It reminded her of the one on the floor and she picked it up and got out of the car on his side. The deathtrap in her hands was heavy and scary to hold.

“You’ve brought a friend with you,” he said, without turning to face her.

She lifted the gun. The heavy weight made her hands shake. “I don’t want to die.”

He turned round. “You really think you can use that?”

“You don’t know who I am.” If he thought she was someone else she may as well act like it.

“Yes, I do. You’re Fallan Jones, shelf-filler for Asda.” With each word he moved closer and closer until he stood with his chest pressed against the business end of the gun.

He was right, she didn’t even know if she could use it. Could she take a life even with the threat to her own?

Bishop grabbed her arm, took the gun and spun her around with her back to his chest. He pointed the gun at her temple.

“What are you doing?” she cried, legs almost giving out on her.

“Pointing a gun at someone gets questions answered. Now tell me about this trip.”

She felt sick, didn’t know if she’d be able to speak, but she’d give it a damn good try. “I got it through the post. Some kind of special treasure hunt game. No one playing was to talk about it and you got paid ten grand once you’d been on the weekend, delivered the bag, and returned home. I was visited by someone who ordered me not to look in the bag, said if I did it wouldn’t go down too well and I wouldn’t qualify for the money. Frankie Lash, he said his name was, and that I’d need to remember that name if I didn’t follow the rules because he wasn’t called Lash for nothing.” All the secrets she knew she shouldn’t be telling came spilling out. She’d lose the money now if that Lash man found out.

“Who else spoke to you?”

“Only Frankie. He was scary as hell, even though he smiled and acted nicely. I knew I shouldn’t have agreed once I met him, but… I need the money… I don’t want to die. Please. I only thought it was a bit of fun.”

Tears streamed, and the very real knowledge that this guy pointing a gun at her could end her life within seconds slammed into her.

I’m going to be sick…

“Just so you know, I don’t kill women unless they’re on my list. Congratulations, Fallan Jones, this is your lucky day.” He kissed her cheek and let her go. “Oh, and by the way, this isn’t loaded. You wouldn’t have killed anyone.” Bishop tucked the gun inside his jacket.

Fallan’s temper spiked. “You bastard. Threatening me and doing that.”

She lunged forward, intent on scratching his face, pummelling him with her fists, anything to hurt him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the car.

“I suggest you get in the car because you’re not out of the clear yet. You have Mr Lash to worry about. He’s…an undesirable man.
He’d
kill you without a second’s thought.”

Fallan didn’t argue. Her life and safety were now in this man’s hands.

 

* * * *

 

Some time later, Fallan sat at a table in a kitchen. She didn’t know where it was. Bishop had blindfolded her for the journey. Once they’d arrived here, he’d chained her hands to the seat back. Shaking her head, she thought about her life again. What had she done wrong? Was this all part of the holiday resort test? Some new addition she wasn’t aware of? Was it their way of getting out of paying her the ten grand? If she spilled, she didn’t get it? Were all the other players going through the same thing?

“Okay, we’re going to start again. Name?” he asked.

“Mickey Mouse,” she mumbled, then, seeing the dark look he gave her, said, “Fallan Jones.”

“Occupation?”

“Drug dealer.”
Stop it!

“Fallan, I know this must be annoying to you but just try to give me the right answers. I know you’ve told me this before, but I have to make sure you really are who you say you are.”

She glared at him, lips pressed together.

He sighed. “I tell you what, I’ll find out for myself.”

BOOK: Forced Assassin
9.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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