I rolled my eyes dramatically and used the maneuver to check the end of the alley. It was a hundred feet away or more, but judging distance wasn’t my best skill. I could, however, mix a dirty martini in under thirty seconds. Something told me these guys weren’t interested in my bartending skills, though.
No way would I make it to the ends of the alleyway. Not alive, at least. I should have worn the stilettos. Then I’d have tall heels to blame for my lack of a getaway. Without them, I only had my poor running skills to trip myself up.
“What is it with you guys and your stereotypes.? This is America. We don’t discriminate here.”
It was obvious that Tall Asshole had been born in America but watched too many mob movies. His accent was Chicago and not the Chicago mob.
Growing up around the Grandmaster after he joined The Masters, I learned almost everything about mob life. Many people thought they were classic mob. The Masters’ gang was more a collection of evildoers than your traditional syndicate, though they were run much the same way.
Westley shielded me from many of the worst parts of gang life. That didn’t mean he didn’t make sure I knew how to fire a gun and defend myself. His bar was also the location of my current kidnapping.
I didn’t know every single thing about the inner workings of the empire, but the one thing Westley never hid from me was his overt annoyance at mob stereotypes. He said everybody always asked him which family he associated with as he climbed the ranks of the criminal empire.
We weren’t part of any family. The Richters were a conglomerate, mix-matched American family who had been here for generations. It wasn’t like learning how to be a criminal was something they only taught in Italy.
Westly hated that The Masters were considered part of the mob because he considered himself more of a pioneer—someone who bucked the trends and carved his own path. When he took over the gang, they were a ragged group of thugs, but he turned it into a gang to be rivaled by no other.
It sounded like a lot of bullshit to say he created a new mob family. Which was kind of right. Westley considered himself a new-age friendlier criminal, but since I was staring at the business end of a gun, he might be slightly delusional about the friendlier part.
Westley paid for my college and gave me a job at one of his bars to help me with spending money while I worked on my MBA at Northwestern. There was more than enough money to go around, but I wanted to pull my weight. Until these assholes showed up at the bar, I’d skated by without seeing actual violence.
Some people may have considered Westley a nuisance relative, but in reality, he wasn’t such a bad guy.
Rainman reached his hand out and stuck his disgusting fingers around my arm, giving me a jerk. There’s only one place they’d try to take me, the big black van at the end of the alleyway. If I went in, I’d probably never come out. At least not alive.
“No way, fucker. I’m not getting in your van.” Did they think I was stupid? No way did he have any puppies or candies in his vehicle.
I jerked my arm from his grasp and tried to form an escape route. The alleyway dead ended at the back of the tattoo parlor, which closed at nine. They were not any help. It had an opening at the other direction, but then I’d be running right toward a getaway vehicle. I’d locked the door to the bar. Otherwise, I’d escape that way and make a run to the front door or at least to the silent alarm. Standing in the empty alley, I was screwed.
And all of us saw it.
Still, I wasn’t out of options completely. If I made it far enough down the alley, I might scream loudly enough that someone else closing another bar might hear me. It was the only hope I had left.
I wasn’t a track star in high school because I was too busy running numbers for Westley to devote more time to after-school activities. But I had a feeling when it came to running for my life, I’d be able to gain more speed. Hopefully.
I stepped to my left, hoping the two men in front of me continued arguing over the best way to get me in the van and didn’t notice. Just as I turned my body in that direction, two more men slipped out of the van. They’d left the back door open. I didn’t know how many seats were in the vehicle, but I had a rough estimation there were now more men than seatbelts. They probably wouldn’t let me ride shotgun.
Shit.
“This is really going to piss off the Grandmaster,” I said. I hated calling him the Grandmaster. It was such a stupid and pretentious name. The organization called themselves The Masters as a ploy on master criminals. So dumb. Men. But I needed to invoke fear, and if they were dumb enough to fear someone with the name the Grandmaster, it wasn’t my fault for using it against them.
“If you just get in the van, we won’t hurt you.”
I laughed, but it sounded pretty humorless. Nothing was funny about getting kidnapped. “You might not hurt me, but the Grandmaster is definitely going to kill you.”
Rainman reached for me again and I jerked back before they grabbed hold.
Couldn’t a girl just enjoy a late-night shift where the tips were amazing despite working with the shadiest manager in the company? Plus, I just found out I had a paper due by the end of next week. I had enough problems on my plate at the current moment. I didn’t need to add kidnapping to the list. I didn’t have time to be kidnapped. I had deadlines.
And to make the day worse, I passed on the tetanus shot at my last doctor’s appointment. I mean, honestly, how often did a girl come into contact with a rusty nail or something? But now all I could think about was a dirty, dark dungeon where they’d put me in with all the creepy crawly things. In my mind, they were ancient vampire kidnappers who had a castle dungeon buried deep somewhere beneath the city. Chains were definitely involved and not the fun kind.
Fuck, I was under a lot of stress. You can’t blame a girl for her active imagination.
“All right, we’ve heard enough of your bullshit. Let’s go,” Tall Asshole said and charged at me with the gun held out. I braced for impact, but rather than shoot me or knock me to the ground, he wrapped his long arms around my middle and started dragging me toward the van. I kicked and squirmed, but his accomplice helped by taking my other side, and there wasn’t much I could do.
So I screamed.
The short one hit me in the back of the head. “Scream again and he’ll shoot you for real.”
