I’m not grateful for it now. I have to get out of this damn place…before my fucking father trades me off to some new asshole.
I can’t fucking believe him! Fucking cunt. I’m his only kid, but he’s planning to marry me off to some slimy politico? Not on my watch. As soon as they let me out of this place, I’m getting a cab to his place and setting the motherfucker straight.
“Miss… Miss!” the customs guy sharpens his voice to get my attention. “You can go through.”
I nod, reaching for the handle of my carry-on bag. No need to head to the baggage carousel – I didn’t bring much. Though wading through baggage wouldn’t have held me up long. I caught the red-eye in from London, and the place isn’t crowded at this hour. A few bedraggled travellers are making their way through the JFK arrivals lounge, footsteps hollow as they head toward the exits or meet up with loved ones. They have to be loved ones. Who else would be waiting for them to arrive at this time of the morning?
Huge glass doors swish open as I reach the exit. There are lines of cabs hovering nearby. One of them will be my ride soon. Not soon enough. Not only am I anxious to clear up the shit with my father, but this place makes my skin crawl. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
As I get outside, beyond the cool manufactured air of the airport terminal, I take in a breath of the warm stench outside. New York stinks. Then again, all cities do. Though maybe I’m being uncharitable because I haven’t slept. Not just on the flight, but since I found out what my father has planned.
I set my jaw and yank my hoodie over my head as I trudge down the sidewalk toward the waiting cabs. With any luck, I’ll get one that doesn’t smell of piss or puke.
“No!” a sharp sound has my head snapping around. I feel a frown form as I see a pair of girls walking between two guys up ahead of me. One is struggling. The other is dragging her feet.
Well, that’s not fucking right.
I pick up my pace, moving faster to catch up.
What’s this about, then?
One of the girls is definitely trying to pull free. The big fucker with her tightens his grip and hauls her forward toward a parkade. He mutters something under his breath, and I see her go slack. I’m pretty sure he just threatened her somehow.
Definitely not right. I slant a glance left and right, seeing nobody around to help. Not even a copper in sight. Not that they’d be much help. I’ve learned that the hard way.
I’ve moved from a brisk walk to a half-jog as the small group turns a sharp corner and disappears into a darkened section of the parking bay. The sound of a door being slid open has me breaking into a run.
“Oy!” I yell as I round the corner. And run smack into one of the guys.
Shit!
“Leave them alone!” I put as much menace into the words as I can. Which isn’t easy because the guy is leering at me as he reaches for something in his waistband.
For fuck’s sake, Emma. You didn’t think this through.
“Hello, zaika,” the ugly fucker says. “Nice of you to hop into my lair. You come too, yes?”
“I’m not your fucking bunny, you cunt!” I realize he has a gun in his hand. Tokarev, I note almost dispassionately as I swing my bag up in the hope of catching him in the head. Not fast enough, though. And the swinging move leaves me open. The other guy has shoved the screaming girls into the back of a van.
“You were right, Yuri. She came running to help, just like you said.”
That creeping feeling returns, and I feel a rush of stupidity along with it. Of course, they’d been watching me – a girl alone in an airport at dawn – I’d played right into their hands. Andnow it’s too late. I blink once before the guy’s arm comes up in an arc, and something sharp crashes against the side of my head.
Fuck!
Lights out.
Chapter 2
Raoul Caraldi
It’s been two days of filth and discomfort since the bastards took me from the parking lot of Dario’s fancypants golf club.
I can’t believe they’d dare!
My first instinct was that the job had been ordered by fucking McErlane, but that doesn’t compute. There’d been a war between the Bratva and McErlane’s mobsters just days ago. Even for good money, the Russians wouldn’t be working with the Irish right now.
My lip curls at the stink of piss and shit. My clothes are rank too. Soaked in blood that’s beginning to rot. Not mine. I’m pretty sure they brought me here in a meat truck. I’d woken to the chill of it along with the iron tang of raw flesh. Luckily the blow to the head had me passing out again because I spent the rest of the journey unconscious.
