Kidnapped By A Hitman [BoyxBoy] ✓

NEIL M. [14]

The first thing that woke me up wasn't my brain pounding onto my skull but instead the emptiness beside me where I assumed Matt was going to sleep but I am met with nothing when I outstretch my arm to look for the familiar black haired pretty boy. Imagine my confusion when I open my eyes slowly leaning on my elbow and realize there's no indication he even stayed here last night.

Something goes off from the back of my head scurrying myself off the bed forgetting how groggy I feel at the moment. I go straight to the door, the same door I saw Matt leave before I passed out; descending the small set of stairs I spot Frank behind his computer like nothing is wrong.

I storm my way to him clutching the side of my head, but I'm far too pissed off to care, "Frank you son of a bitch, where the hell is Matt?" Raising my voice made the pounding worse, a grunt tears out of the back of my throat. He doesn't even look up from the monitor, "He is where he belongs."

"What?" I growl under my breath, resisting the temptation to slam his fucking head into his computer but I know if I do I won't have anyone watching my back like he does. "He gave himself up to them. He said he didn't want to put you in more danger, he doesn't want to see you hurt anymore." His brown eyes flicker from the computer to me. I can tell he's telling the truth and that's because I know Matt—he's an idiot who worries too much.

In this case, he's fucking suicidal. He gave himself up to the Mafia, does he have any idea what they can do to him? I doubt it but because I don't know why the Mafia wants Matt so badly I can't say anything for sure and at the moment I'm too pissed. "And you let him? Why didn't you tell me? Instead, you go behind my back and fucking help him. He could be dead by now!" I'm so damn angry.

It boils in my veins and I have no idea what to do with it. My thigh begins to throb painfully, "He's not dead. Roman won't kill him." I glare at the man, "How do you know that?"

He shuts his mouth, eyes blank as he gazes at me then turns to the monitor in front of him as if it's much more interesting than our current conversation. I don't have the patience to play his little silent game or wait for him to answer me when he feels like it, "Answer my fucking question, Frank." I snap.

He sighs, closing his eyes then slouches back in his chair, "I looked into him after you found that tracking device in his wallet. What I found...it changed everything. He isn't who we think he is, his mother is actually dead."

I blink furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, "Dead? What the hell are you saying?" My head is scrambling all over the place trying to piece it together except I am met with nothing but fog. "His mother is dead, her sister adopted Matt."

"And?" I say. It doesn't really tell me much other than the fact the woman Matt thought is her mother is actually his aunt. "Matt's mother was Alec Roman's wife." I freeze.

My heart sinks to my stomach, reality smacking me on the face now that I see the clear picture of things. This entire time it's been staring at me in the face. How did I not see this? His soft raven hair is the same shade of black from Roman, his mesmerizing blue eyes exactly like his. The resemblance was all there yet I refuse to believe it's true.

I refused the possibility of the connection between Matt and Roman. "He's his son. That's why they've been hot on your trails this entire time but...I don't think he knows anything." At this point I'm not even listening to him anymore, staring off as I sink into my own thoughts.

Now that I'm facing the facts, I can't leave him there. I can't him there whether it's his home or not, I just can't leave him there with the bastard. Because that means he won. It means Roman got exactly what he wanted, and it won't be long before he comes after me again but this time he will kill me.

I curse under my breath, "Is Matt still wearing the tracker?" I stroll to the brown hair man, hovering over him to look at his computer while ignoring the dull ache on my thigh causing the muscles to stiffen and tremble. "Of course, he is. I've been tracking him ever since he's a few miles west; I already have the satellite feed to keep an eye on them until you woke up." I glance down at the man with a discontent frown.

"I want to punch you so fucking hard right now."

"Leave it for after you get him back and get rid of Roman this time." He replies dryly.

I roll my eyes walking to the set-up table, "Were you planning on telling me?" I question, opening the duffle bag Matt brought with him; I furrow my eyebrows when I see guns, magazines, pill bottles, small snack bars, aid kit, and two knives. It's like he was preparing some kind of hunt, "Which part? Matt is the son of a Mafia leader or making a plan behind your back?"

I have a gun right here, loaded, and I am tempted to blow his head off for his smartass responses. "Frank," I say in a warning tone. I hear him sigh behind me as I pick up a gun checking through the magazine, "I was planning to, but I didn't know how or when. Neil, Matt was the one who wanted to do this, I didn't think the kid had it in him to pull this off."

"I knew he had it in him since the moment I met him. It's stupid of you to doubt him."

"It's stupid of you to get attached to him. What are you going to do when you get him back? There's no point in getting him back home after this." I freeze; that's something I haven't thought of yet. Matt is adopted, and he doesn't know that he lives with cousins thinking they are his sibling; I don't know he's going to feel about this nor what he wants to do once he finds out.

I don't want this kind of life for Matt but there's no point for it now. He was born for it but instead given a completely different life away from this—whether it is meant to protect him or not, it's something inevitable. "I'll figure something out." I grit out in a hard tone.

"Well do it quick. You let Roman live once but if you do it again, you won't be able to protect Matt forever."

I say nothing in response. I know he's right. He's always right.

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