Taken! 7-12 (Donald Wells' Taken! Series) Read online

  TAKEN! BOX SET – 7-12

  By

  DONALD WELLS

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  TAKEN! 7 – THE BRIDE

  TAKEN! 8 - GABBY

  TAKEN! 9 – THE HIT

  TAKEN! 10 – THE TEMPTRESS

  TAKEN! 11 – PREDATORS & PREY

  TAKEN! 12 – TWO CAN KEEP A SECRET...

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  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  About The Author

  Thank you!

  COPYRIGHT | TAKEN! – BOX SET -BOOKS 7-12 | Copyright © Donald Wells, 2013

  Further Reading: Taken! box set - books 13-18

  About the Author

  TAKEN! 7 – THE BRIDE

  They were back in Georgia, at the farm outside of Atlanta where they helped Sandra Jenkins and her daughter. The man that owned the farm was named George Carver. He was mid-thirties, of average height and size with dark hair and pale blue eyes. George sat out on the patio of his home, having drinks with Jessica White and her husband.

  They were keeping the promise they made to themselves in Vermont, the promise to slow down and work less. To that end, they were going to spend the next few weeks as guests at the farm, and also act as caretakers of the property while George went away on his honeymoon.

  They hadn’t met George’s fiancée yet, a woman named Lena, but she was soon to arrive and stay at the farm until the wedding.

  George held up a hand and began counting off.

  “One, the Rolls Royce, two, there was blood all over the barn, three, my run money was missing, four, two bullet-proof vests are gone, and five, there are also a few chickens missing. Now, it’s none of my business what you and Jessica do behind closed doors, but chickens? Now that’s kinky,”

  “The chickens were used as a distraction," he said. “Same thing with the car,”

  “But did you have to use the Rolls? I mean why not that old truck I use to pick up supplies?”

  Jessica laughed. “That old truck wouldn’t distract anyone, George, and besides, we paid to have everything fixed, didn’t we?”

  “He wouldn’t take the money,” he told his wife. “George still thinks he owes us, but I told him we’re even now.”

  “We’re not even, we’ll never be even, not after what you guys did for me, and I didn’t invite you here to bitch about the car anyway. I invited you here because I’m getting married and I want you guys to get to know Lena before the wedding.”

  “Congratulations again, George, and I can’t wait to meet the bride to be?” Jessica said.

  “She’ll be here any minute, and Lena is as beautiful as you are Jessica.”

  Jessica leaned over and kissed George on the cheek.

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  George’s phone rang and he answered it. “Hi baby, yeah they’re here and they can’t wait to meet you, we’re out on the patio, come and join us and we’ll grab your bags later.” George put his phone away and smiled. “She just arrived; she’s staying here until the wedding.”

  A few moments later, a woman walked out onto the patio. The dress she wore was tasteful and expensive and her wrists and neck gleamed with gold. Her makeup was understated, and she wore her long, dark hair up, in a tasteful swirl. She was tall and slim, but sensuous, and as George stated, beautiful. She and George shared a kiss and then she gazed over at them.

  As he stood to greet her, he noted that Lena took him in from head to toe, however the look was not one that a woman gives a man, but more like an appraisal, as if she were passing judgment.

  George made the introductions, and as Lena shook his hand, she smiled.

  “George tells me that you’re the toughest man he knows, why is that?” Lena asked, and revealed a Brooklyn accent.

  “I met George while we were in college; at the time, I paid my way through school by doing a little prize fighting.”

  George guffawed.

  “A ‘little prize fighting’ he calls it. Lena baby, you are talking to a three-time winner of the Ultimate Fighting Challenge. He once beat ten men in one night, one after the other, and this was back in the day when that sport had absolutely no rules. You should have seen him. He’d walk into the steel cage with that pretty boy face and his opponents just knew that they could take him, but after a few minutes, they were either unconscious or begging for someone to stop the fight.”

  “Interesting,” Lena said, and then she looked at Jessica. “George told me that you were a psychiatrist, he also said that you work with the FBI?”

  “I consult occasionally, but tell us, Lena, what kind of work do you do? George has told us little about you.”

  “I’m recently retired from a field of work that’s too boring to even think about. My plan now is to settle down here with George and grow old together.”

  They talked for nearly an hour, while sipping wine and nibbling on cheese. During a lull in the conversation, Jessica reached over and squeezed George’s hand.

  “George, Lena seems lovely; I’m so happy that you’ve found someone.”

  “Thanks Jessica, now why don’t we all go inside and have lunch?”

  As they rose from the patio table, Lena’s phone rang. She took it out and looked at it with apprehension, then, a moment later, she answered it.

  “...hello?”

  “Lena, it’s so nice to hear your voice. You do know who this is, don’t you?”

  It was a man's voice, and he spoke with a Russian accent.

  “Yes, but hold on for a second.”

  Lena covered the phone with her hand and smiled at everyone.

  “George, why don’t you take our friends inside and I’ll join you in a minute, this is my bank calling, something about a problem with my checking account.”

  “Oh, okay baby, but make it quick, huh?”

  “I will.”

  George opened the patio door and Jessica and her husband entered the home, as George was about to follow them inside, Lena called to him.

  “George?”

  He lifted a brow in inquiry. “Yeah?”

  “I love you; I really love you,”

  “I love you too, baby. Now hurry up and take care of your problem; I want my friends to get to know you better.”

  Lena nodded. “Goodbye,” After watching George go inside, she spoke into the phone again. “How did you find me?”

  “It was pure luck, bad luck for you, now listen, I’m parked out on the main road with three of my men and if you don’t come to me in the next ten minutes, we will come in and kill everyone in sight.”

  “I’ll come out,” Lena said.

  “Good girl,” said the voice, followed by the click of the call ending.

  Lena took a deep breath and then gazed in the direction of the house with a look of mournfulness. Afterward, she took a pen out of her purse and scribbled a message upon one of the cloth napkins. Next, she grabbed a small sharp knife off the table, a knife that George had been using to slice the brie they had eaten with their wine, and then she artfully hid it amidst her hair, taking great care to secure it.

  With a resigned sigh, she walked off the patio, around the house, and drove slowly out to the highway, where she would surrender herself to a man who wanted her dead.

  ***

  George read Lena’s hastily scrawled note for the tenth time, and it still said the same thing.

  I love you, but things are moving too fast and I need time to think.

  Don’t try to find me!

  Lena

  George fell back in his seat.

  “I should have known that a wo
man like her would never marry me. She’s so beautiful, and look at me, I’m a shmuck.”

  He bent down beside George’s chair.

  “Has she ever done anything like this before?”

  “No, but then, I’ve only known her for a few months. Oh, buddy what am I going to do? I love that girl; I can’t live without her.”

  “Where does Lena live? I’ll go and talk to her.”

  “It says in the note that I’m not to try and find her.”

  “You’re not going to see her, just me. I want to make sure that she’s all right.”

  George sat up straight in his chair.

  “What do you mean? You think that something’s happened to her?”

  He smiled. “No, not at all, but it won’t hurt to check on her, will it?”

  “No, and thanks, pal, and, and, please tell her that I love her.”

  ***

  After George gave him Lena’s address, Jessica walked him out to the car.

  “You think that something’s wrong, don’t you?”

  “Maybe, it’s just that Lena didn’t strike me as a woman afraid to speak her mind. If she thought George was rushing things, I think she would have just told him so.”

  Jessica kissed him on the lips.

  “Be careful.”

  “I will be, and look after George while I’m gone.”

  ***

  Inside a restaurant in Atlanta, Georgia, Lena sat in the corner of a booth. Seated across from her was Anatolii Ivanov, a crime boss from Brooklyn. Ivanov was a chubby man with sparse, reddish hair and thin lips, when he spoke, he revealed a thick Russian accent. Ivanov gestured over towards the bar, where six armed men stood at the ready.

  “Imagine how surprised I was when Fedor told me that he spotted you coming out of that dress shop in the mall. I had all but given up on finding you, but then, I’ve always been a lucky man.”

  “How did you get my number?” Lena said.

  “Fedor was very persuasive with the woman who runs the shop. She gave us not only your number but also your address, and from there we followed you to that farm.”

  “Why are you in Atlanta? If Gallo finds out you’re down here he’ll have you killed.”

  “Sergio Gallo is dead. The old man died of a heart attack three days ago, and now his idiot son, Renzo is running things. It’s the perfect time to take over his territory.”

  “With what? His crew outnumbers yours by at least three to one.”

  “True, but I’ve got the element of surprise. The old man’s funeral is today and Renzo insisted that everyone attend; they’ll all be standing out in the open, in the middle of a cemetery, with nowhere to run.”

  “So what? You’ll still be outnumbered and—” Lena stopped talking and looked back at the bar where Fedor stood, Fedor, who had a penchant for explosives. “You’re going to blow up the funeral? But what about the family, the children and wives?”

  Ivanov removed a remote detonator from his inside pocket.

  “How do you Americans say it? Collateral damage? It will be spectacular, and I’ll have a front row seat.”

  “Where’s the bomb hidden?”

  “Inside the casket, right under Gallo’s skinny dead butt.”

  Lena squinted at him.

  “Why are you telling me this, in fact, why am I still alive?”

  Ivanov smiled, revealing yellow teeth.

  “It’s a rare chance to brag, and despite the fact that you killed two of my men and ran off with my money, I’m still willing to take you back. You were the best hitter I ever had Lena. The targets never saw you coming. When a man thinks of a killer, he doesn’t picture a beautiful woman.”

  “And what about the man I’m with, if I come back, will you leave him alone?”

  “Yes, but only if you come back all the way, and this time, all the way includes my bed.”

  An involuntary look of disgust crossed Lena’s face, and caused Ivanov to smile.

  “You’ll learn to love me in time, and besides, you would have grown bored with farm life.”

  Lena hung her head in an attempt to hide the tears forming in her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t have been bored; I would have finally been happy.”

  Ivanov placed a hand under her chin and raised her head up again.

  “I’ve things to check on, but when I come back, I want your answer.”

  And with those words, Ivanov left the table.

  ***

  Lena’s home was a well-maintained, split-level, in a quiet neighborhood about an hour’s drive from the farm. He parked his rental two blocks from the house and traveled there on foot, just in case.

  When he arrived there, he found two men ransacking it. He entered without being noticed and listened to them as they spoke to each other in Russian. They were searching for something, that much was obvious, as their destruction of Lena’s things seemed more like a hunt for something, rather than random carnage.

  When he entered the living room from the hallway, the men were holding opposite ends of a sofa as they tipped it over. The man on the right also held a knife, most likely in preparation to cut the backing away from the sofa.

  The two men immediately dropped the sofa and straightened up to stare at him.

  “Are you police?” The man with the knife asked in a Russian accent.

  “No, I’m a friend of Lena’s”

  “You’ve got bad timing friend,” the man said, as the other man slid his hand towards his jacket.

  The man with the knife spoke a quick spate of Russian to his friend and the man stopped reaching for his gun.

  “What did you say to him? Did you remind him that a gunshot would rouse the neighbors, and that then you’d have to stop your search?”

  The man squinted at him. “You speak Russian?”

  “No, but it’s logical. What about him, does he speak English?”

  “Not a word,”

  He said, “Then I suppose you’re the one that should remain conscious.” and rushed forward.

  His boldness took the man by surprise and he made a clumsy stab at him with the knife. He kicked the blade away with a scissor kick and then followed with a blow to the man’s throat as the second man grabbed him around the neck.

  He thrust an elbow back into the man’s ribcage and then flipped him over his shoulder to send him landing with a thud against the hardwood floor. Two kicks to the head followed and the man lay unconscious. Meanwhile, the man he had hit in the throat must have decided that a gun was just what he needed after all, since he was pulling one free from a holster on the back of his belt.

  He reached down and wrest the gun away and then struck the man across the cheek with the butt of it, opening a bloody gash and sending the man reeling to the floor, to lie beside his partner.

  After he found the gun on the second man, he bent over and picked up the knife. A second later, he ripped a window curtain down and then proceeded to cut it into strips. Once the two men were bound, he began questioning the English speaking one.

  “Who do you work for?”

  The man answered him with what he took to be a Russian curse, and so he reached over and sliced off the man’s left ear. The screaming had barely begun when he shoved a wad of curtain into the man’s mouth. He gave the man a minute to grow accustomed to the pain, and then he asked his question again.

  “Who do you work for?”

  He yanked the wet ball of fabric from the man’s mouth and the man simply stared at him with murderous eyes.

  After a shrug, he reached over and took hold of the man’s remaining ear.

  “Ivanov!” the man shouted. “I work for Anatolii Ivanov.”

  “Who is he and what does he want with Lena?”

  “He controls the drug trade in Sheepshead Bay and Brighton Beach, they are parts of Brooklyn. Lena was his best killer, but she betrayed him and steal from him and ran off, was pure luck that Ivanov found her here.”

  “How many people has Lena killed?”

&nb
sp; The man tried to shrug, but his bonds made the act difficult.

  “She must have killed dozens over the years. She learned how from her father; he was big-time killer with the Italians, and now Lena follows in feetsteps.”

  “The phrase is, ‘follows in footsteps.’ What were you looking for?”

  “Money, Lena take money when she run.”

  “And Ivanov thought that she would hide it here?”

  “No, but you must look, no?”

  “I guess. Where is Lena?”

  “If I tell you, will you let me go?”

  “If you don’t tell me I will kill you and then force your friend to take me where she is.”

  “But he does not speak English?”

  “When he wakes up and finds you dead, he’ll overcome the language barrier.”

  A moment passed as the man considered his options.

  “There is a restaurant called Oleg’s in Atlanta. Anatolii is using it as a base.”

  He kept staring at the man.

  “There’s something else, what is it?”

  “Anatolii, he is ruthless,”

  And then he told him about Ivanov’s plans for the Gallo funeral.

  He grabbed hold of the unconscious Russian and locked him in the hall closet, which he then secured with a heavy chair wedged under the knob. He walked back and helped the other man to his feet and headed for the back door. At the threshold to the kitchen, he warned the man to stay put and then returned to the living room. When he came back, he placed the severed ear inside the man’s side pocket.

  “A good surgeon can sew that back on.”

  The man nodded. “Da!”

  And off they went.

  ***

  Oleg’s restaurant sat back off the main drag and a wide alley separated it from the storefront to its right. The other shops in the immediate area were closed, since it was a Sunday, but light shone from Oleg’s, despite the CLOSED signs hanging in the windows.

  He pointed to the alley at the left of the restaurant, where a green Escalade was parked in front of a silver Lexus.

  “Which one is Ivanov’s car?”

  “The Cadillac.”

  “The restaurant, does it run the length of the alley?”

  “Yes, the back end is where they bring in the produce and meats.”