“That pain you’re feeling, Francesca, is nothing compared to the agony of your betrayal.” My uncle’s voice lanced through the cavernous room, its evil tone on par with his character.
When I’d been awoken by the smell of smoke, the flames already licking up the walls of my apartment over the bakery, I’d known immediately who’d set the fire and why. I’d had one route of escape and when I’d made it out to the street, stumbling blindly and struggling to breathe through the smoke, Bruno had been there, the gleam in his eye stating that he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.
“I had my men watching you. Did you think I’d let this go? That I’d turn a blind eye to my own family sharing secrets with a group of disgusting bikers? That I’d ignore the fact that you got my son killed?” His demand was full of a rage so hateful it would have made me recoil if I had the energy.
The oddest part of it was that despite the pain throbbing throughout my body and the reality that I’d likely die and soon, I couldn’t bring myself to regret my decisions.
The world was certainly better off without Jared Waters. And the opportunity to wield some form of power over my uncle, to right some of the Rossi family wrongs, was the vindication I’d been looking for since my parents’ deaths. I didn’t regret it, not even now.
“She’s wearing out, boss,” Bruno noted mildly, as though he was discussing the weather rather than my imminent doom.
“I told you to wait with that damn knife,” my uncle replied in irritation. “Perhaps I should text that boyfriend of yours, hmm?” he taunted me. “Share with him that you’re about to give everything for his fucking club. Do you think he’ll care, Francesca? Or perhaps he has a new whore at his beck and call. I know how that club of his operates.”
There was so much to doubt in life, but of one thing I was sure: the Knights operated with a code of loyalty my uncle would never understand. Too bad I’d never know what it felt like to be part of it.
“Shit, boss, we have a situation at one of our clubs,” Bruno informed my uncle urgently. “What do you want to do about her?”
“Leave her for now,” my uncle directed. He moved in close, yanking my head back by my hair, forcing my swollen eyes to his. “Get comfortable, Francesca. This is going by far too quickly, and after your disloyalty you don’t deserve a quick death. We’ll be seeing you soon.” He let go of my hair, and my head snapped forward against my chest as the sounds of their footsteps hit the concrete floor.
In the silence that followed, the only sound my labored breathing, I tried desperately to pull it together. This was my shot, my only shot to make it through this alive. I had to get out of here. I tested the binds at my wrists, finding them impossibly tight. At first I panicked, my breathing growing rapid in my desperation to escape.
With a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down, my hands working methodically against the bindings. I had small wrists, but getting the rope over my hands felt impossible. The blood that welled as a result of my movements helped slicken the ropes, and after what felt like forever, one of my hands slipped through and seconds later, the other.
My momentary elation was quickly replaced with an utter sense of bewilderment as to what to do next. After another deep breath, I took measure of my surroundings. I could scarcely see through the swollen slits of my eyes. After a quick scan, I found my glasses on the floor where they’d clattered to the ground when I’d been struck by Bruno. I slid them on, scanning the room and confirming I was in some sort of warehouse. I had no idea what lay outside the door, but one thing I knew for sure, I had to move. If I tried to escape I could die, but if I stayed Iwoulddie. I had to try.
I stood up carefully, willing my legs to support me, and tried not to faint. I’d lost a good amount of blood and the pain was making it hard to think straight.
After I was relatively sure I wouldn’t collapse, I moved toward the door and pressed my ear to it, trying to make sense of what may lie beyond it.
The resounding nothingness made for a terrifying prospect. I summoned my courage and tried the door. Finding it locked wasn’t a surprise, but it still forced me to take another deep breath and not give in to the urge to curl into a ball and wail.
No time for that.
Instead, I searched for something to try to beat the knob with. The warehouse was huge but mostly empty. I shuddered to think what other poor souls had met their fate inside these cold walls.
After what felt like far too long searching, I found a step stool in the far back corner. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. With all my strength I held it firm and whacked it against the knob. I could feel the cuts in my sides ripping with the effort and stars floated in my vision.
Still, I tried again. Harder this time.
If anyone was outside waiting to take me out, they could just go ahead and do that because I wasn’t giving up.
After a fifth whack, the knob grew loose. Hope swelled in my heart as I gave it another hit, sending the knob clattering to the ground. I dropped the stool, my breath heaving, any effort to be quiet long forgotten. If someone else was out there, they’d have busted in here already.
I swung the door open and got my first look outside. One lone floodlight shone upon the depressing landscape as I wondered where in the hell I was. It looked like some sort of junkyard. I’d been unconscious when we’d driven here. Without delay I picked a direction and started walking, limping really.
I might still die but it wouldn’t be directly at my uncle’s hand. There was some measure of satisfaction to come from that.
I hadn’t gotten nearly far enough from the warehouse and yet, I couldn’t make it another step when I stumbled upon the truck stop alongside the freeway.
Fearful of my uncle’s reach and that this could be the first place he’d search for me, I steered clear of the run-down diner and staggered through the parked trucks, seeking a quiet place to rest until I formulated a plan. I’d have to be out of sight by daylight; my appearance would draw far too much attention.
The broken-down cardboard at the back of the building might as well have been a four-poster bed for how inviting it looked as I collapsed onto it, curling into a ball and promptly passing out.
****
“Holy shit, is she dead?” A male voice woke me with a start. Fearful that it was one of my uncle’s men, I immediately tried to stand up and escape.
“Whoa there, sweetheart,” another male voice soothed. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”
