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I’m at their feet like a beaten dog. With strength I don’t feel, I look over my shoulder, my body protesting. Tears coat my cheeks, snot falls from my nose, but I push through it.
On my shoulder is a brand—exactly like Bruno’s girls. Only this one is a delicate S.
They branded me like cattle.
“Leave her,” Marco declares. “The guard will take her home. Roman will know now not to fuck with us.” Slapping Freddie’s face, he winks. “You’ll have your wedding soon.”
They step over me, and I struggle to pull my purse closer. With trembling hands, I take out my phone and hit the first number on the list.
It doesn’t ring.
“Sunshine.”
“Help…” My voice shakes, and the black spots grow thicker, wider. Blinking doesn’t dissuade them.
“I’m coming, Sunshine,” he growls. Or I think he does. I’m not entirely sure. “Just hold on.”
Everything goes blank as my body collapses against the damp floor.
26
BRIAR
The tires of my car squeal against the hot pavement as I whip the damn thing through traffic. Cars fly past my window, but I don’t slow down. The tracking device blinks steadily as I grow closer. Another right turn, I blow a red light, engine purring under me. Horns blare, but I don’t fucking care.
Valentina needs me. Forget anything else—she called for me.
Not even the end of the world could keep me away.
The bar appears on my side, and I yank the steering wheel hard. I jump the curb, kill the engine, and leave the door open as I run. Ello stands there, against a dark sedan, face shocked before morphing into alarm.
“You!”
“Where is she?” I shout back, hauling him by his jacket. The man’s fifty pounds heavier than me, but it doesn’t matter. I want my girl.
He knocks my hands away. “Inside! What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Freddie?”
We glare at each other and a muscle twitches in his jaw. “Inside, too.”
I don’t wait for more. Pushing past him, I throw open the front door. Nothing matters right now—not that anyone in this bar can see my face, recognize me, or my eyes. Not that there are innocents in this bar, enjoying a drink, and me—some guy off the street—is coming in, ready to torch the place.
There could be assassins in here, and I plopped my life into their hands. Nothing matters anymore. My safety doesn’t matter. Their safety doesn’t matter. All that does is getting to Valentina.
The bartender comes around the wooden bar, dressed in all black. He looks like a tool, and I snarl at him as I pass.
“Hold on, guys—” he begins, hands out as if to physically stop me.
Grabbing his fingers, I twist, feeling them break. Thank you, Maeve. He drops, but I’m already walking, ignoring his pathetic screams. Really menacing, that one.
“Where would they be?” I ask Ello, and the man searches. The walls are painted ebony, and there doesn’t seem to be another floor. Could they be downstairs?
He lifts a finger as the kitchen door swings open. That fucking dickweed is walking out, laughing with another guy. His white bandage gives me a sadistic kick—I hope it fucking hurts. Two more men follow him out—one is in a simple suit, but the other guy looks important.
Ello snags my collar and tosses me behind the bar with barely a struggle. We make it with seconds to spare as they joke, walking over the limp bartender. He keeps a hold of my shirt and yanks me down when I try to rush them.
“Wait,” he growls. He peers around the corner and only lets go when it’s safe.
