“I will be a good girl and behave.”
He arches a brow. “And?”
“I’ll be at your place at eight tomorrow, and I’ll cook you dinner.”
Without warning, he slams his lips down on mine, forcing his revolting tongue into my mouth.
“I love tasting myself on you.” He grabs my ass, hauling me up against him. “Bring a bag with you. You’re sleeping in my bed tomorrow night.”
With those parting words, he stalks off, stomping noisily up the stairs. When the door slams upstairs, I clutch the wall and bend over as a sob rips through the eerie air, traveling directly from the depths of my soul. My breathing gushes out in exaggerated spurts, and nausea swims up my throat. I’m hyperventilating and barely holding it together when I remember my earrings.
Horror washes over me along with a fresh wave of humiliation at the realization some of our men heard what just went down. Joshua couldn’t have been listening as he’s at his party, but I’ve no doubt they back up the audio, and the thought he might hear that sends me spiraling.
Until I remember I’m still in the devil’s lair and I need to get the fuck out of Dodge. I pull myself together and quickly inspect the crates. They only contain bottles of beer and whiskey, which is disappointing but not unsurprising. Finding a side door at this level, I flee through it, avoiding the walk of shame upstairs.
I emerge in a back alley and turn right, immediately jerking back when I spot the cavalcade of blacked-out SUVs. I hide behind an alcove as car doors open and shut. Risking a peek to the left, I spot the open trunk and make a split-second decision, crawling into the space and pulling a coarse blanket over the length of me. My heart slams against my rib cage as I lie still, breathing quietly through my nose and praying this wasn’t a mistake.
About a minute later, footsteps approach, and I hold my breath, hoping I don’t pee my pants. When the trunk slams shut a few seconds later, I offer a prayer of thanks and settle down for the journey.
It seems like we’re on the road for ages. Whoever the driver is, he needs to go back to driving school. I’m betting I’ll have bruises all over my back from being thrown about as he speeds over bumps and potholes and swings dangerously around corners.
Eventually we slow down, and I prick my ears, listening to the myriad of doors opening and closing. Footsteps crunch over gravel, and I wait until there are no sounds, until it’s completely quiet, before I make a move. I press down on the lever on the back of the trunk and push with my shoulder until the seat moves forward.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I climb into the back seat, keeping down low. I drop to the floor and take a minute to compose myself, remembering others are listening and they know where I am thanks to the tracker in my arm. Breathing deeply, I shove the seat back into place and briefly lift my head.
We’re at a construction site with row upon row of scaffolding on the front of the high-rise. I count nine cars in total. Five appear to belong to Liam and his crew, meaning they are meeting others here.
Very carefully, I open the back door and crawl out of the car, shutting it quietly behind me. Crouching down, I move between the cars, keeping low in case any men are watching the parking lot. Rounding the front of a Lincoln town car, I dart into the open doorway of the building undetected.
Muffled voices filter into the room through large thick sheets of plastic covering the window spaces on the other side. I can’t risk being heard, so I sit on the dusty floor and remove my boots. The salty air and icy breeze confirm we’re close to the ocean.Wishing I had taken my warm coat tonight instead of my flimsy jacket, I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill as I tiptoe carefully across the space, sidestepping bits of rubble and trash littered on the floor.
When I reach the far wall, I kneel behind one of the window coverings and extract my cell, setting it to record because I don’t know if the audio will pick up everything.
“It’s not our fault Rizzo took one for the team,” Liam says in that haughty voice I’ve come to know and loathe.
“He was our don,” a man with a slight southern twang says.
Liam snorts. “Don’t play dumb. Rizzo was a don in name only. You ran the show. Like me, everyone knows you’re the true leader. They did you a favor. I wouldn’t be grumbling if I were in your shoes.”
“We lost other good men that night, and we lost men to the water the night of the hijacking.” He pronounces water like wooder, and I immediately recognize the Jersey accent.
Excitement trickles through my veins at the prospect of gleaning some decent intel.
“You knew what you were signing up to, Calabro. Casualties are normal during war.”
“The Barone knows that better than anyone! We have painstakingly rebuilt ourfamigliaafter we were all but wiped out. The boss promised retribution, but there won’t be anyone to avenge our name if we all die before D-day!” Anger underscores his tone as I’m wracking my brain trying to remember where I’ve heard the name Barone before.
“Calm the fuck down,” Liam snaps. The clicking of multiple weapons ensues, and I hold my breath to see how this plays out. “Acting like a hysterical schoolgirl who just got her period is not helping your cause.”
“Those backstabbingbastardimust pay.”
“And they will. You just need to wait a little longer.”
“We’ve waited years,” he hisses before adding, “Lower your weapons. The Irish aren’t our enemy.”
“Stand down,” Liam tells his men. “You can wait another few months. You need to learn patience.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth to smother a snort. That asshole could benefit from listening to his own advice.
