Hostage Read online

  Hostage

  By

  Piper Stone

  Copyright © 2019 by Stormy Night Publications and Piper Stone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Stone, Piper

  Hostage

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Shutterstock/LightField Studios, Shutterstock/Tom Tom, Shutterstock/KDdesignphoto, Shutterstock/Serge Lee, and Shutterstock/NeonShot

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  More Stormy Night Books by Piper Stone

  Piper Stone Links

  Chapter One

  Carina

  “I’m going to shove my cock deep inside your sweet, little pussy, Miss Attorney. Then I’m going to flip you over and fuck you in the ass. And you know what?” the monster asked as he grinned, his dark eyes flashing rays of nothing but pure evil. “Then you’re going to beg me to do it again. And bitch, I take what I want. You will be mine.”

  Shuddering, I would never forget the promise made by the horrible freak of nature, the murderer I was prosecuting. I couldn’t help but look in his direction for the tenth time that day. This time, his grin told me everything.

  He would make good on his promise.

  Staring into the evil eyes of a monster isn’t all it’s cracked to be. Do I have a certain level of control? Absolutely, but I’m also no fool. The reputed mafia lord could have my life eliminated with a single phone call—even while his ass rotted in jail.

  Several of my colleagues had suggested that I fed off various criminal activities, hungering for a personal taste of the dark side. Maybe that was true, but this man and his penchant for murder was entirely different. I was trying to forge my way out of a black shadow. Admitting that had been difficult for me. Pushing every boundary was my usual manner. Now, I had to admit, I feared I was in over my head with no safety net.

  “Ms. Crawford. Are you ready with your closing statement?” Judge Allistair asked, his stern face reminding me that it was almost five o’clock, close to his standing hour for cocktails.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” I said as I rose from my chair, giving the monster’s attorney the sweetest smile I could manage. I had no idea how Michael Shapiro could stand defending a creep like Santana Dioletti, but it was obvious by his three-thousand-dollar suit and diamond studded Rolex that the man was paid very well.

  Hush money.

  Blood money.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” I allowed a perfectly timed pause, looking into every one of their eyes, before turning my gaze toward Santana.

  Santana tipped his head, narrowing his ink jet black eyes as he swept his gaze from my face to my breasts, his hunger evident by the way his chest rose and fell.

  I was able to keep my smile, turning my attention back to the jury. I refused to allow the man to get to me. “As I believe you’ll agree from the vast amount of unrefuted evidence that Santana Dioletti, also known as the Slicer for his preferred method of killing, should be found guilty on all counts of murder in the first degree.”

  I could tell Michael was chomping at the bit to object. Too bad, sucker.

  I moved closer to the jury, taking my time before issuing my final statement, holding up two of the most horrific photographs of the murder scenes. “Three. Innocent. Lives. Snuffed out. Murdered in cold blood. Stolen from their families. That’s all you need to know. Find. Him. Guilty.” I heard the single moan coming from one of the jury members just seconds before my heels clipped against the smooth, tile floor as I walked back to the table.

  Sometimes saying less meant so much more.

  There was no doubt what the jury was thinking.

  Evil.

  Monster.

  Killer.

  I was paid very well, my win rate at ninety-seven percent. This asshole was just another case, or at least he should be. I hated the fact he continued to terrify me. Maybe I should ask for a raise.

  Hazard pay.

  “Mr. Shapiro, please issue your final comments,” the judge stated.

  After sitting through the solid twenty minutes of Mr. Shapiro’s repetitive bullshit, the judge finally cleared his throat. There was no time for a rebuttal, but in truth, I didn’t need one.

  When the drama king was finished, taking his time and walking back to his seat next to Santana, I couldn’t help but lock eyes with the notorious Kingpin. He’d terrorized the entire southeast during the last ten years, his reign of terror splashed across the evening news on a regular basis. Even with a venue change to Baton Rouge, the mafia leader locked down in solitary confinement, he’d managed to continue running his New Orleans kingdom with an iron fist.

  The incidents of violence and bloodshed in the streets were rampant, and witnesses disappeared. There were reports he was expanding his territory, pissing off mafia families and other underground leaders. And the rumor mill? Fascinating but unsubstantiated. The Trust. The notion of a group of influential men controlling entire aspects of several countries left a horrible taste in my mouth. Still, if Santana had plans on cornering the Opioid and heroin markets, bringing more drugs into the United States, I would fight to the bitter end to convict his sorry ass.

  The monster held the same expression as he gazed at me, one of knowing.

  One of seducing.

  Mine...

  I swallowed, my mind shifting to the threats I’d received, including the single one in written form. While anonymous and devoid of fingerprints or other pointed evidence, I knew with absolute certainty who’d sent it.

  Santana would find a way one day to take what he believed belonged to him.

  “All rise.”

  The sudden noise somehow managed to give Santana an opportunity to wrap his hand around Michael’s pen. I watched in slow motion as he very deliberately wrote something on a piece of paper.

  Seconds later, I was forced to walk by the monster’s table just as officers attempted to lead him away.

  But the split second timing was just enough, the note lifted so only I was able to see. All time seemed to stand still, images of his most recent victims flashing in my mind’s eye in vivid detail. My stomach churned, the bile clawing into my intestines. If there was a God, he would make certain this animal fried.

  But the single word would forever burn into my mind.

  Mine...

  A cold shiver trickled all the way down the back of my legs, but the asshole wasn’t going to have a single opportunity to see me sweat. I had very personal reasons for wanting to see him taken down and I always made good on my promises.

  Especially to myself.

  His nod of respect was followed by shoving the note into his mouth, chewing the paper as if this was his last meal. Then he issued an animalistic howl, the eerie sound quite possibly the most terrifying threat to date.

  “Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” Judge Allistair
hissed. “Get him the hell out of here.”

  Santana managed to mouth the word one last time. Yet another promise to me, a sick reminder that he believed himself not only above the law, but the Devil himself.

  I walked out of the courtroom just as the sun began to set, holding my head high and pushing my way through the crowd of reporters. Only when I noticed a man standing across the street, his eyes covered in dark shades, did I take a deep breath, shaking like a freaking leaf. There was no doubt in my mind one of the Santana’s goons had been sent to scare me.

  Or capture me.

  Or kill me.

  Fuck him.

  The case was closed and in the jury’s hands. Thank God it was Friday, even though I couldn’t imagine the horrible weekend ahead for the seven men and five women on the jury. There was nothing more that I could do. This particular prosecution had taken two long months of preparation, three weeks of jury selection, and a full three weeks of testimony. I was exhausted.

  I was also over asshole criminals thinking they were unstoppable.

  And dear God, I needed a vacation, something I’d already mentioned to my boss. Twice. The pompous man was going to approve my request. Now, all I could hope for was a speedy verdict.

  Unless every jury member ended up dead.

  Taking several deep breaths, I grabbed my keys, heading straight for my car. The possibility of retaliation was high. Santana had never seen the inside of a prison, even though he’d been accused of murdering a solid twelve people during his tenure as Kingpin.

  Even my boss had suggested I stay in a safe house until after the trial. That wasn’t my style. I had two guns in my possession and knew exactly how to use them.

  My father had taught me well.

  “How about a drink?”

  The male voice came out of nowhere. Turning, I knocked headfirst into someone, falling directly against a massive chest. As I tumbled forward a hand snapped against the back of my neck, creating an instant slice of pain. “Shit.”

  “Oh, God, are you all right?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I attempted to steady myself. “Dan, you scared the hell out of me.” Dan Swift was the FBI agent who’d been vital in the capture of Santana. He also had a crush on me. One hand was still wrapped around my neck, the other holding my arm.

  Grinning, he eased me into a standing position. “Sorry about that. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, I’m...fine.” I rubbed my neck then slid my hand down my skirt, taking a deep breath. I scanned the area, still terrified one of Santana’s goons was waiting in the wings.

  “You’re certain?” he asked, grinning. “Would you like me to drive you home? Hey, maybe we could grab a bite to eat.”

  “You’re very sweet but I’ll be fine and I’m just going home and hiding under the covers.” He looked hurt, but at this point, I honestly didn’t care. The exhaustion was starting to settle in.

  “Well, maybe next week. Take care of yourself. You did good in there,” he muttered, lingering as if I’d change my mind.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a hard look, the kind that made certain he’d walk away. A boyfriend I didn’t need. “Hey, do you think the jurors will be okay?”

  He gripped my arm, giving me a reassuring nod. “Stop worrying. They’re well protected. Nothing is going to stop this conviction.”

  I watched him walk away, more hopeful than I had been. Then I sighed, forced to realize I was going home very much alone.

  Again.

  I’d always been told that I ran away from life and that one day I wouldn’t be able to run any longer.

  Troubles.

  Love.

  One day I’d have to confront my reflection in the mirror, facing the truth that all those ugly whispers were far too accurate, a telling of the various fears I’d yet to face.

  The Trust. I shuddered at the thought.

  But I’d run head long into this case, much as I had during my entire career, and I refused to back down to the asshole in any manner. Work had become my passion, burning deep within me. There was no time for a social life, even with a handsome FBI agent.

  My large collection of vibrators satisfied my every need.

  Well, almost.

  There was no slice and dice attempt on my life as I walked through the garage, but I locked the car doors within seconds, starting and revving the engine. I lowered my head, taking gulping breaths then turned the satellite radio on full blast. He can’t get to you. You’re going to be just fine. How many times had I mumbled the mantra? Enough the words should matter.

  They didn’t in the least.

  A wave of fear kept me on edge as I pulled out of the shadowed area, but even the mysterious man had disappeared.

  My instincts were something that had kept me out of harm’s way during several explosive cases, but with this one in particular, I was well aware of the horrific danger. The notion kept me peering into the rearview mirror every few seconds. There were no speeding cars, bumper huggers or massive dark SUV’s with blacked out windows following me.

  Still, I took another route home, forgetting about grabbing anything at the grocery store. I had enough wine and cheese for the night. That was all the sustenance I needed.

  For now.

  The thirty minute drive to my condo, which I was paying way too much for the sweeping views and topnotch protection, was the longest of my life. Twilight had fallen, leaving everything with an ominous appearance. At least there was a full moon cresting over the horizon.

  By the time I rolled into the very secure underground garage, the entire high-rise building safeguarded by security cameras and two guards, I was close to hyperventilating. After pulling into my reserved spot, I was finally able to breathe without whimpering.

  Some tough girl I turned out to be.

  Still cautious, I glanced out every window before exiting my BMW, the only real luxury I’d allowed since my promotion. Other than hearing a door being slammed, the echo popping through the dense space, there were no other sounds.

  There were also no creeping thugs, waiting to wrap duct tape around my mouth. Just simply a sea of expensive cars and concrete.

  Fifty paces to the elevator and I could pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

  The ping of the elevator was made me jump and I laughed when the doors opened, revealing a cold steel and very empty box. I took a deep breath, still slapping my hand on the close button as soon as I stepped in. I was safe for Christ’s sake. There was no boogeyman attempting to follow me, no monster ready to end my life.

  By the time I walked out onto my floor, my keys in hand, all I could think about was opening a fresh bottle of wine. I deserved a glass or three after the day I’d had.

  I locked the door behind me, lifting my middle finger before kicking off my shoes. I could wash away the wretchedness of the day and cuddle up in a blanket on the couch, finding some fabulous horror movie. A really scary one.

  Chuckling, I dropped my things and immediately headed for the kitchen, flicking on the television before grabbing a bottle of wine. Another newscast. Another reminder. I glared at the screen, the ugly images of the day’s court events splashing across like the circus was in town. The Channel 9 crew were recapping everything, including the man being transferred from the jail that morning. I almost dropped the wine glass as Santana looked directly into the camera.

  He was staring at me, undressing me. Longing for...me.

  “Jesus.” I couldn’t take anymore, turning off the remote before managing to open the wine. I ripped the cork into two pieces, finally shoving the second half into the bottle and pouring the glass to the rim. Several gulps did little to calm my nerves, so I took a few more, finally taking a deep breath then refilling.

  The stench of the fucker was all over me, as if his fingers had managed to caress every inch of my naked body. I couldn’t stand the thought, disgusted with the events of the day. Hell, the entire trial. The glass was firmly planted in my hand as I walked into the bedroom, fl
icking on a single light. The man’s power and influence would terrify me for weeks to come. Damn it. I certainly wouldn’t admit it outside of my own apartment, but I prayed to some God that Santana would be sent away for a very long time.

  Another gulp. Then a second. I managed to ease the glass onto my dresser then practically ripped off my suit jacket, throwing it across the room. The pin in my hair was second and as I tossed my hair back and forth, I was able to take several choppy breaths. My fingers were fumbling so badly that I finally yanked off the last button of my ridiculously expensive silk blouse that I’d spent way too much time selecting. Not too sexy. Not too conservative. All business.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  The second I turned, heading for the bathroom, I heard a noise. I made my living being extremely observant and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that someone was in my condo. I twisted my head, holding in my breath as I listened. There was no other way out of the bedroom and I’d left my phone in my purse, dumped by the front door. If I was right, I was in serious trouble. Very cautiously I tiptoed toward the nightstand, grabbing the gun I’d kept hidden away for this purpose alone. Holding the weapon in both hands, I inched toward the door, darting my head into the shadows. The kitchen light was still on and there were no obvious signs that I was right.

  I took another step into the living room, swinging my arms in both directions.

  Click!

  The bright light prevented me from seeing anything. I yelped, stumbling against the doorjamb. The pain shifting into my shoulder was no match for the terror skipping through every blood cell. “What? Who are you?” The gun was still in my hand, but other than a few mute shadows, my vision was clouded. “I have a gun. I suggest you get the hell out of here.”

  The dark chuckle sent shivers down my spine.

  Sensual.

  Knowing.

  “Hello, Carina. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in a more formal setting.”

  His deep baritone was gravelly, the kind of sensuous huskiness that every woman wanted to hear whispered into their ear. But this wasn’t about seduction.

  This was about murder.

  “I will shoot you.”