Yeah, blame me. I’d brought all the beatings on myself. Maybe sixteen-year-old me had believed it. Maybe even the woman at twenty-six had been programmed that’s how she deserved to be treated. But the Kings had shown me that no woman ever did anything to justify ending up the punching bag of a man who got his kicks by beating on someone who couldn’t fight back.
Fight back. That’s what I’ll have to do now. It’s only him and hissoldato. I might not be able to inflict much damage, but I won’t go meekly to my abuse and death. As soon as this car stops, I’ll run. Or, if I get the opportunity, I’ll punch, kick, bite, whatever I can. I’ll send him back to his new bride covered in scratches. If I know anything about Piero, he’ll want to draw this out. A simple bullet to my head would be too quick, and deny him his sadistic pleasure.
I’ve no weapon, only my feet and hands. But I’ll use them. I just wish I’d prepared for this moment. Someone at the club would have taught me self-defence if I’d asked them. The problem, which I’ll regret for the rest of the time I have left, is that I hadn’t.
He suddenly chuckles. “I expected you to beg me to have mercy.”
I’ve got one more weapon in my arsenal. My words. “What’s the point? And it’s you who will soon be begging. My old man is the enforcer for the Kings of Anarchy. They’ll be tracking me. They’ll find me. Even if I’m dead, they’ll never stop looking for you.” I shrug. “And when they catch you, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
“You think to threaten me with a motorcycle club?Merda!” His hand slashes down. “They’re not fit to shine those shoes of mine you’re so worried about. What do you say, Marco?” The driver glances over his shoulder and laughs.
“You’re in their territory now,” I remind him. “Not yours. And even when you return home, they’ve got a chapter in New York.”
Piero snorts out a laugh. “And why would they lift a finger to avenge a whore?”
“Because they wipe abusers off the earth just as fast as they’d wipe shit off their boots.”
His face glows red. “I’m no abuser. I’m just a man who had to teach his wife how to behave.” His lips thin. “And it seems like you need another lesson.”
“Boss? No blood, please,” hissoldatosays fast. “We have to return this rental.”
“Casso,as if I care about the car. We can burn it.” But mad as he is, he seems to realise it’s a fucking long walk to the airport in Tucson if he doesn’t have transport. He breathes out in disgust. “How far, now?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Where are you taking me?” Not that it matters. It will be some place off-grid, which he’s already scoped out. I know he won’t be flying me back to New York. An idea hits me. “How are you going to declare me dead, if I’ve obviously been a victim of assault?”
Piero had to kill to get his place in the Mafia, but as the underboss, his days of getting his hands dirty are long gone. Could it be I’ve hit on a weakness in his plan? He can’t bury me where I’ll never be found. That would mean he’ll still have to wait another two years, given the five I’ve already been missing, before he can have me declared presumed dead and remarry.
Instead of answering me, his brow creases.
I laugh. “You didn’t think of that, did you?”
Suddenly, his hands are around my neck, shaking me violently. “I’ll do what I want to do with you, then we’ll throw your body on the side of the road. You’ll be found. Don’t worry your good-for-nothing head about that.”
I’ve watched crime programs like everyone else. While it’s hard to talk with his hands squeezing my throat, I manage to stammer out, “You’re leaving your fingerprints on me right now.” And if he rapes me, as I’m certain was his plan, his DNA will be left inside me.
Letting me go, he sits back. “I’ve never been arrested. My fingerprints and DNA aren’t on record.”
“But the Kings of Anarchy will point their fingers at you.”
“You’re just a fucking whore,” he screams. “No one will miss you.”
Marco flicks the indicator, and the car turns off onto an unpaved road. Bile rises into my throat as I realise we’ve come to the end of our journey, and maybe the end of my life. Remembering my resolve not to make it easy, my body tenses.This is it.I’ve got to be ready to run. As I stare ahead, I see ashack in need of repair. If I can get inside, maybe I can find a weapon.
The car comes to a halt. Thesoldatocomes around and opens Piero’s door first, then walks around the car and opens mine. I’m ready. I plant both my feet into his stomach and kick out as hard as I can… He’s solid and doesn’t move an inch. In fact, he laughs. He makes a grab for me, but I evade him.
I run. Now I regret not using the gym equipment that I was responsible for the club purchasing to help Short when he was injured. Before I’ve gone more than a few yards, my lungs start to burn. They could easily catch me, but apparently, I’m moving the way they want to go, as I can hear them leisurely coming after me. The bastards are laughing.
I head straight for the shack. By the time I get there, they’re not far behind. Throwing myself past the door that’s hanging off its hinges, I quickly assess what’s in front of me. There’s a partition that’s falling apart, and wood hanging off it. I grab hold of a plank and swing around, putting all my strength into it.
I hit thesoldatofully in the face. The rotten plank breaks, but it’s enough to make him stumble and fall back. I keep going, looking for something else, until the floor gives way beneath me. I catch my ankle in it and crash to the ground. I’m winded, and by the time I can stand, I’ve got two angry men standing over me. One looking immaculate in his Brioni suit, and the other looking dishevelled with blood streaming down from his misshapen nose.
The pompous expression on Piero’s face enrages me. Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I put all my weight on my other foot and launch at him, attacking his face with my fingernails, feeling satisfaction when they rake down his skin as I disfigure him. Taken by surprise, he rears back, then hits me with all the force he can put behind his blow. Stunned, I fall backward, landing heavily on something that bruises my kidneys.
“Fottuta puttana,”Piero snarls and kicks me hard in the ribs, which still haven’t yet completely recovered from the bruising courtesy of Candyman. He lifts his hand to his face, pulls it away, and examines the blood from where my nails have raked him. Then he kicks me again, this time aiming for my head. I put my hands up to cover it, but he changes his angle and plants his foot in my stomach. Curling into a ball, I force myself to think of Freak, to remember how much he loves me as the hits keep on coming, trying to remember every detail of my man’s face, until my mind blanks out.
I come to slowly, wondering why heaven feels so much like hell. Every part of me screams in agony. With horror, I realise that while I’ve been unconscious, all my clothes have been stripped off. It should be a relief to realise I’m still alive – it’s not. Having retained at least some of my senses, I remain still, not even opening my eyes. There’s a reason they’ve not yet killed me, and I’m in no rush to find out what it is.
