A relative of Mancini, she probably grew up in a palace. Sure, her house in North Dakota was small and cozy, but after doing some digging into her life there, I found that she owned it outright, which in this day and age was a feat for someone as young as her.
Ebasi!Youth, Poppy had that alright. We were eleven years apart.
Yet another reason she was likely disgusted at my idea. Because that was what I saw tonight. And like an idiot, I kept talking even when she shook like a leaf with barely contained laughter. When she gasped to hide the hilarity. When her eyes bulged with mirth, and blood rushed to make her face bright red. She tried to hide her reaction, but it was there. My proposal, which I put a lot of thought into, was laughable to her.
Going into the locker room, I cranked the water to cold and stepped under the pelting, icy rain. It did little to help me regain control. The need to fight surged through every fiber of my being. A true fight, one where I was locked in mortal combat with another, and the outcome was uncertain. Facing someone for sport in the basement of Nosh wasn’t going to cut it, just like brutalizing the punching bag wouldn’t.
I slammed off the water, swiped a towel over my head, and hurried to change.
Rayko caught me just as I plucked my keys. His eyes landed on the switchblade open in my palm.
There was a pause where he stared at the knife. I vibrated with a lethal energy, ready to shove him out of the doorway. But then his shoulders slumped.
“I know a spot where we can pick off some scumbags,” he sighed. “Come on, I’ll drive.”
I tossed him the keys.
Once we were in the car, sliding through the nocturnal traffic that consisted mostly of truckers, Rayko rubbed his chin. “I take it the girl didn’t accept.”
The knife spun through my fingers, a dangerous dance I’d mastered. “That’s right.”
“Pity,” he mused. “I liked her.”
An overwhelming rush of anger shot through me. I lunged for him, bringing the point of my knife to his neck. The suddenness made him swerve, the speedometer dipping below eighty.
“Fuck, boss! Do you want to get us killed?” Rayko shouted, ducking around me to keep his eyes on the road.
“Youlikeher?” I dug the tip of the blade into his throat. “You fucking like her!”
“Yeah, I think she’s good for you. She’s friendly,” he panted, straining to drive, while under the very real threat of death. “It will be a pity when we bury her.”
A muscle ticked in my jaw.
Oh, I get it now.
He wasn’t after her for himself, but still—
“There will be no silencing her,” I snarled, sliding the sharp edge along his jaw to prove my point. “She is to remain unharmed.”
“Message received,” Rayko gulped.
I sat back in my seat.
The car ducked off the highway as the driver rubbed his neck.
“I’m bleeding, you fucker,” he hissed.
“Consider yourself lucky.” I turned to stare at the rundown streets we drove.
The reflection that faintly glowed on my side of the window showed the truth. A rabid dog, snapping at its own friends with fangs set to kill. Of course, she didn’t want a mangy mutt like me. But…that didn’t matter. She was mine. I still remembered the spark from seeing her in Mancini’s garden, and that was before I knew she was irrevocably linked to me. Fate, the universe, or even some god brought us together, but we were here. And I was keeping her.
If I had to drag her to church, I would make her mine.
She won’t forgive me for forcing her.
Details like that didn’t matter to crazed canines, though. It was done.
Rayko slowed to a stop along a rough street. “The Irish let the gangs run this section of turf. Flannigan doesn’t care so long asthey pay him. I heard through the grapevine that these punks are shooting each other down during the daylight. Last week, they hit some kid playing on its bike.”
