Her teasing had the opposite effect, annoyance highjacked my calm, slinking into the fissures of my control, threatingto conquer it and that fucked with me even more. I never surrendered much less had a woman shake me.
Lorenzo offered her a charming smile that made women beg to suck his cock, reaching for her hand with a gentle squeeze. I knew my brother, it was a sly move to get under my skin. “Thank you,tesoro, for saving my life. Pity he’s taken a fancy to you or I’d–”
“What? Fuck her too,” I snapped. “We could share her if you want, brother, I’m sure she’d be up for it,” I offered, my tone a wealth of sarcasm before I walked out, hating that I sounded like a jealous fucking prick. “What the fuck’s wrong with you,” I muttered, heading for the back of the clinic.
“It’s called love.”
I whirled around to find Dario following me, his cocksure smile further irking me. “Fuck off,” I snarled, walking away and not missing his soft chuckle. “Anything?” I asked Diego.
“It’s quiet,” he said, cautiously peeking out a window. “Too quiet.”
fifty-two
. . .
Ishika– 32 years old
The silence in the clinic was heavier than the gunfire had been. It pressed against my eardrums, a physical weight that made breathing difficult. I sat on the edge of a steel examination table, my hands resting in my lap. They were clean now. Scrubbed raw until the skin was red. Only, I could still feel the phantom warmth of Lorenzo’s blood under my fingernails.
This wasn’t my world. The helicopter ride here was a blur of rotor noise and darkness, my stomach churning with every dip of the blades. All Gian told me was that Remo needed me and blinded by some inner psychosis I was yet to understand, I agreed. And then the intimacy. The way he’d fucked me while their enemies foamed at the mouth outside. His control might’ve steadied me, the aftermath of his sexual proclivities though, could outshine a war. I’d felt it in my soul, an anchor in the storm.
Now though, alone in the sterile light, another layer of confusion settled over me. My legs trembled. Just a slight, uncontrollable shake that I tried to hide by pressing my kneestogether. I was a doctor. I saved lives. I didn’t hide in clinics while men hunted us in the streets.
The door creaked open.
Remo stepped in. The warmth from earlier was gone, locked behind a mask of cold reckoning. He wiped a smear of blood from his cheek, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me. They weren’t soft now, just a taciturn assessment. I’d never get used the way he shifted from cold to hot and back, not in a million years.
“We’re moving,” a simple command.
“Now?” I didn’t recognize that fragile voice. “He needs rest.”
“He needs safety. This location is compromised and it won’t be long before those fuckers’ blast through the front door.” He walked past me, checking the window with a quick, practiced glance. “Dario has the perimeter. Diego has the route mapped. You stick to me. Understand?”
I nodded, swallowing the protest lodged in my throat. Arguing wouldn’t save us, moving might. Nerves a loaded weight on my shoulders, I followed him out into the cool night air, the silence eerily thick. Diego sat behind the wheel of a black truck while Joey and Gian wheeled Lorenzo out on a chair. He was awake now, breathing normally but I was adamant he not exert any pressure on his body and thankfully, he listened.
“Careful,” Remo ordered softly, his hawkish stare on his men as they helped Lorenzo into the back seat.
I climbed in on the other side, checked his IV line, and his pulse. Remo stayed outside, speaking in low tones with Dario. I couldn’t hear the words, but the tension in Remo’s shoulders said enough. My hands shook and I clasped them together to hide it.
“He won’t let anything happen to you.”
I looked up to find Lorenzo’s eyes on me, his smile soft. Smiling, I glanced out. Remo stood coiled. Ready to strike.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” I whispered.
“Give me a gun,” Lorenzo ordered Diego.
Reaching for a pistol on the dash, Diego handed it over. I should’ve said something, however, the expression on Lorenzo’s face warned, he was ready to kill. The engine purring to life, the headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating empty warehouses and broken windows.
“Go,” Dario’s voice came over the radio.
Diego shifted gears. The truck rolled forward, tires crunching over gravel. I held my breath, watching the shadows dance in the periphery of the light.
Nothing stirred.
Weapon in hand, Remo came up to the driver side window. “Kill the lights.”
