Chapter 3 Kidnapped Girl

Xander Vittorio POV

Papa pointed out Olga as she entered the club, and I memorized her outfit because I didn’t get a good look at her face. It all happened a little too fast.

Sitting in a car that’s parked by the side of the building, I watch as Marc Vincent lights a cigarette.

“Mama’s going to lose her shit when we come home with the girl,” I state the obvious.

“Luckily, that’s not my problem,” my brother mutters. “I’m going back to Puerto Prinsesa, Palawan Island’s as soon as we’re done with this job.”

I let out a sigh while scanning our surroundings. “I wish I could go with you.”

Princess Coastal Entertainment is a training school slash resort in Palawan for anyone in the criminal world. It’s the only neutral ground on the planet where we’re taught how to be assassins, smugglers, and anything else crime-related. Marc Vincent is learning everything regarding torturing, fighting, and shooting. I’ll go through the same course as him once I turn twenty-one.

“Just one more year.” Exhaling a puff of smoke, he glances at me. “The training is tough.”

“If you can do it, so can I.”

He nods while his eyes flit back to the nightclub’s entrance.

Silence falls between us, and we watch as people enter and exit the building.

Even though I’m not happy about kidnapping a girl, there’s nothing I can do about it. I was born into the Demonyo Gang. It’s been my entire life, and I always knew I’d fill some role in the organization as soon as I became an adult. It helps that I’m going through the training to be a Gang enforcer with Maryo.

Suddenly I’m ripped out of my thoughts when a girl matching Olga’s description comes darting out of the nightclub, heading straight for us.

“Shit,” Marc Vincent exclaims. “Grab her.”

I shove the car door open and run after her. The high heels she’s wearing slow her down, and I’m able to catch her before she can disappear around the side of the building.

Nervously, I keep looking around us for the guards while my arms lock around her. As I lift Olga off her feet, she cries, “I’m sorry. It was her idea.”

Hearing her speak in an English accent makes a frown form on my forehead, but having a job to do, I haul her to the car. Marc Vincent opens the backdoor, and I shove Olga inside.

“Jesus,” she hisses, shooting a glare my way.

After I slide in beside Olga, Marc Vincent starts the engine, and seconds later, we’re speeding away from the nightclub where Papa and Maryo will take care of the guards should they try to come after us.

I turn in the seat to glance out the back window to make sure we’re not being followed before I let out a breath of relief.

“That was easier than I thought,” I voice my thoughts to Marc Vincent, then my eyes lock on Olga.

Holy. Fucking. Christ.

The woman sitting next to me is so fucking beautiful, I can only stare at her for a solid minute. She has wavy light brown hair, and her eyes are a mixture of brown and green. Her features are delicate and innocent.

“Do you understand English?” she asks.

Olga is half-Russian, half-American. Born and bred.

This woman has a full English accent.

Fuck.

“What’s your name?” I ask, praying to all that’s holy I didn’t grab the wrong girl.

“Oh, thank God you speak English,” she lets out a relieved chuckle. “I’m Anya de Luna. Are you Olga’s guards?” She glances out the windows, then nervously brings her eyes back to me.

“What the fuck,” Marc Vincent snaps from behind the steering wheel.

Apprehension tightens the girl’s features. “This was her idea. She left the nightclub with her friends.” She glances out the window again. “You can drop me off right here.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter while quickly pulling my phone from my pocket. In Tagalog, I tell Marc Vincent, “Papatayin tayo ni Papa.”

“What are you doing?” Marc Vincent shakes his head as he turns the vehicle left up a random street. “Don’t call Papa. Let’s think of a plan.”

“Can you stop the car?” The girl…Anya is looking more anxious by the second.

I feel a twinge of panic because I wasn’t lying when I said Papa would kill us for the mistake. We had one job, and we fucked up.

My eyes snap to the girl’s face as I ask, “Where is Olga?”

She shrugs while gripping a backpack to her chest. “I don’t know. She left the club ten minutes before me.”

Suddenly there’s a crash of metal, our bodies are jarred, and the car spins to the side.

“Fucking Christ!,” Marc Vincent curses, trying to regain control of the vehicle.

Shock vibrates through me, and the air in my lungs bursts from my lips. Instinctively, I grab hold of Anya, who’s too stunned to make a sound. I’m slammed against the door, and as the car flips, there’s nothing I can do to stop us from being tossed around.

A faint peeping sound comes from Anya, and I feel her hands claw at my shirt. Pain rips through my left arm, and a moment later, everything stops. I hear the groaning of metal and something dripping.

What the fuck?

Letting out a groan, I shake my head before pushing myself up from where I’m laying partially over Anya.

I grip hold of the driver’s seat and sit up. I notice blood seeping from a gash on my left forearm, then my eyes dart to my brother, who’s slumped over the steering wheel. There’s a cut on his forehead and blood trickling from his mouth.

“Vincent!” Even though I intended to shout, his name is nothing but a hoarse whisper.

“God,” Anya whimpers, trying to sit up.

The doors are yanked open, and still dazed from the accident my reaction is delayed as I’m grabbed and hauled from the car.

When my arms are yanked behind my back, and someone starts to fasten zip ties around my wrists, I struggle, shaking my head again to rid myself of the fog left over from the accident.

This is an ambush.

I hear Anya cry.

As my eyes flick in her direction, I see men pulling her and Marc Vincent from the wreckage before a fist connects with my face, my muscles strain, but before I can do anything, another blow slams into my temple, and I lose consciousness.

Coming to it feels like I was hit by a train. My mouth is dry, and my head is heavy as I roll it to the side. There’s a dull throb in the side of my face.

What the fuck happened?

It doesn’t feel like a hangover, and my mind is too foggy to remember last night.

“Hey,” I hear a panicked female voice. “Wake up. God. Please wake up.”

My mind clears a little, and when I move my left arm, it throbs. I’ve had a broken arm before, so I know it’s not that bad.

Lying on my side, I pry my eyes open only to see a stained wall. It looks like there’s a spray of blood drops that dried ages ago.

Fuck!

“Wake up! Please,” the woman begs again.

I push through the last of the grogginess and manage to move into a sitting position.

“Thank God,” she whimpers before letting out a sob.

Turning my head in her direction, I stare for a moment before I recognize her, and all at once, the event of the ambush hits me. Jesus Christ. Our car was hit. Marc Vincent cursed as he tried to regain control of the spinning vehicle. We tossed around before being pulled from the wreckage.

“Fuck',” I mutter, realizing how serious this shitty situation is.

Marc Vincent!

My heartbeat speeds up, and I quickly glance around me, taking in every inch of the small, filthy room we seem to be locked in.

I try to remember the men who ambushed us but come up empty-handed.

I don’t know who has us.

Maybe another Gang retaliated?

“What’s your name?” Anya asks. “Do you think the other guards will look for us?”

Glancing around the empty room again, I see nothing but old blood stains. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Fuck, this is bad.

“Please talk to me,” Anya begs, her voice trembling.

My gaze swings back to her, and I shake my head. “Alexander.” My tongue flicks out to wet my dry lips. “My name is Xander.”

Anya’s features tighten, and I can see tears brimming in her eyes. Her outfit is ruffled, and the high heels she wore when I grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.

“How long have we been here?” I ask.

Her frightened gaze is locked on me. “A couple of hours.”

“Did you see what happened to my brother?”

“The guy driving the car?” When I nod, she shakes her head. “They put a bag over my head.”

“Fuck',” I curse again. Struggling to my feet, I walk to the door and test it to see whether it’s locked. The door doesn’t budge, and I let out a sigh. “Ano ngayon ang mangyari sa akin?.”

“I don’t understand Tagalog,” Anya whispers, her eyes still glued to me.

“I said fuck my life.” I take a deep breath while my hand skims over the spot where my gun should be tucked behind my back.

It would be the first thing they’d take. That’s why Anya doesn’t have her high heels. I also noticed my belt is gone. Anything that could be used as a weapon has been taken from us.

Dropping to my ass next to Anya, I rub a hand over my face.

“Do you know what happened?” she asks.

I let out a sigh, then explained, “We were supposed to grab Olga, but she one-upped us. My guess is her father’s behind the ambush.”

“Ambush?”

My eyes meet the innocent girl’s panicked gaze, and I wonder if she knows anything about the world I come from.

“You’re American or?” I ask.

She nods. “I’m Italian but here on vacation.”

I feel a twinge of pity in my chest. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re fucked,” I give it to her straight. There’s no time to sugarcoat our situation.

The quicker she braces for the hell coming our way, the better for her.

Her face pales, her eyes jumping nervously over my features. “What do you mean?”

“Ever heard of the Mafia Gang or Bratva?”

She shakes her head.

“The Mafia..Bratva?”

This time her eyes widen, and panic makes her breaths come faster.

“You got caught in a war.” I shake my head, and unable to lie to her, I say, “It’s going to get bad, but with a little luck, my father will find out where we are and come to get us.”

But that will take time, and in the meantime, we’ll be tortured.

That’s if they don’t execute us today.

Like I said, we’re fucked.

XXX