“Who?”
“Elena.” I reply.
A laugh answers me, “For now.”
I feel a grin tug at the side of my mouth. “You’re fucked.” I wet my lips, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth, my throat so damn dry it’s like I swallowed sand. “You’re so fucked I almost feel bad for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I open my eyes, and though my vision is swimming, blurred at the edges, I find the man who spoke.
“She will kill you all.”
A chorus of laughter erupts around me. “Her and what army?”
“She doesn’t need one,” I grin at them. “She is the devil, and she will rip you all apart.”
“He’s delirious,” Someone says. “Elena De Lucais nothing but a ghost.”
“And I hope she haunts the fuck out of you,” I reply.
“Listen here.” A face swims in front of me. “You’re alive because our boss said it so, but accidents happen. Shut your fucking mouth before I cut out your tongue.”
“Do it,” I spit, “Fucking do it.”
“Don’t test me,” He warns.
“I will,” I reply, “Because you’re nothing but a dog that follows orders from its master.”
The guy reaches for a knife held at his belt, but his movement halts at the sound of gunfire from beyond the door.
A laugh rumbles out of me.
“Here she comes.” I rasp, “You ready for her?”
More shots echo through the house, and a manic kind of laugh erupts from me.
I don’t need to see her to know she is here.
It’s what I would do, and I expect nothing fucking less.
My reckless, crazy, beautiful little Hellion is here.
More shots sound, followed by screams and another laugh tumbles from me.
“Now or never, I guess.” I work my hands, finding the knot in the ropes. They haven’t done their research and really, why should they? They’re part of the fucking mafia, how dare anyone think they could escape them, but this is a fucking knot I learned to undo when I was nine. I could do it with my eyes closed and behind my back? It’s fucking nothing.
Elena isn’t alone.
I have her back.
Heavy foot fall sounds just beyond the door before it slams open and a man, dressed entirely in white, rushes in. I see the resemblance to Elena in the color of his eyes and hair, but that’s all, and I’ll take a wild guess that this is Anton De Luca, the man responsible for the hell Elena has been through.
I want to rip out his throat.
“She’s here,” He says, a muscle twitching in his jaw, “Just like I said she would be.”
His eyes land on me. “Are you ready to meet your maker?” I ask him.
