Kayla
He checks his phone. "We've got four minutes. Anything else you need?"
I glance around the dingy apartment that's been my prison for the past week. There's nothing here I'll miss.
"No."
"Good." He pulls off the balaclava completely and tucks it into a chest pocket. "And by the way, my name isn't Vincent Torrino. It's Dean Tianello. But they call me Fury."
Fury. The name fits him perfectly—there's a barely contained rage simmering behind his dark eyes, like a storm about to break.
"Let's go." He moves to the window, then pauses, turning back. "From this moment on, you stick to me like glue. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. No questions. No hesitation. Your life depends on it. Understand?"
I nod, clutching my backpack to my chest.
"Say it," he demands.
"I understand."
"Good girl." Those two words send a shiver of warmth through me despite the situation.
We descend the fire escape, moving silently into the shadows. At the bottom, he pulls me against him, his body shielding mine as he peers around the corner.
"My guys are creating a diversion two blocks south," he whispers against my ear. "When those guards take off to check it out, we run to the black SUV waiting just around the corner. Ready?"
Before I can answer, a distant explosion rocks the night. Car alarms wail. The sedan with the cartel guards peels away from the curb, tires squealing.
"Now!"
He grips my hand tight, pulling me into a sprint. My heart hammers against my ribs as we dash across the street and around the corner. The SUV's door flies open, and Fury practically lifts me inside before jumping in after me.
"Go!" he barks, and the vehicle lurches forward.
I'm sandwiched between Fury and another massive man who looks like he could bench press a truck.
"All clear," the driver calls back. "No tails."
"Good work, Prophet," Fury says, his hand still wrapped around mine. "Take us home."
Prophet? What kind of name is that? I twist in my seat, watching through the back window for pursuing headlights, but the streets remain mercifully empty.
"You okay?" Fury asks, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"I think so," I manage, though my voice trembles. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe," is all he says.
Twenty minutes of silence later, we pull up to a massive chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Beyond it, I see several industrial-looking buildings and what appears to be an oldmotel. A man steps out of a small gatehouse, machine gun clearly visible at his side.
"Welcome to the Renegade Kings compound," Fury says as the gates swing open.
The SUV pulls up to the largest building. Music and laughter spill out when the doors open. Fury helps me out, keeping me tucked against his side.
"This is our clubhouse," he explains. "You'll be safe here. No one gets in without our say-so."
"Renegade Kings?" My brain finally catches up. "Like…the motorcycle club?"
A laugh rumbles through his chest. “That’s us, doll."
