Page 18 of Blaze
My respect for her grows.
Easing open the bedroom door, I don’t hear anyone. I push it open the rest of the way and bring up my gun. It’s a small room, so unless someone squeezed under the bed, the only other place is the closet, which is open and clearly empty save for all the shit Sydney’s got packed in there. In the dim light, I can see Kennedy’s bag and shit tossed everywhere on the bed, and I roll my eyes.
“It’s clear,” I call out and tuck the gun into the back of my pants. I flip on the bedroom light as Kennedy walks more confidently across the living room. When she stops just outside the room, her eyes go wide. I look at the bed again. “I take it you aren’t normally messy?”
“I always keep it packed...” In case she has to run. She gasps, her hand flying up to her mouth. She starts shaking her head.
“What?” I peer at the bed then take a few steps to the side. On the pillow is a white figurine of a Greek goddess, except it’s got dried blood over half of it. I have a suspicion what it is, and I don’t like it. I want to be wrong, because if I’m right, she’s in more trouble than we thought. “What’s this?”
At my question her eyes tear away from the figurine and meet mine, trepidation in them. Her throat bobs with a swallow. Fuck.
“It’s what I hit Enzo with.” Her voice is thready, but she pushes on. “Riccardo has to be close,” she says, her voice breaking at the end.
I step to her and cup her face, wiping the tear away that drops from her eye.“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I promise. “None of those Santi Pastori fuckers or anyone who works for them is going to lay a hand on you, got it?”
I wait until she nods before letting her go. It’s hard to step away from her. All I want to do is pull her close, because if she’s next to me, I know she’s safe.
“Assholes from the party must have busted in.” I try to calculate how much time they’d have had after leaving the party. “It’s no secret the Styx is our hangout and anyone could have seen me bringing you here earlier today.”
Fighting back anger, I make myself go back to the bed and, using the edge of the blanket, I pick up the figurine.
“There’s something written on the bottom,” I say and study it. My Italian is rusty, but I recognize a word. “Segnati dalla Morte,” I read aloud and look back to Kennedy.
She’s gone pale and steps up beside me, eyes locked on the bloodied figurine. “Marked by Death.”
A window shatters. I tackle her to the floor as bullets break the other windows and explode into the walls. Kennedy curls up under me, hands over her ears, and I curl my body over her until the shooting stops. I wait another thirty seconds before easing off of her.
“We need to go,” I tell her, urging her up and keeping a hand on the back of her neck. “Keep low.” I draw my handgun again and look into the living room. Hopefully the drapes will keep us distorted enough that the shooter won’t be able to track us. “Let’s go.”
She does her best to run hunched over, keeping up with me until we hit the stairs down. I go first with her right behind me.
“Why can’t they just let me leave, dammit.” Kennedy sounds more pissed than afraid now.
I can’t help the smirk as I look back at her. “Mafia families usually don’t take kindly to the person who offs the boss.”
She scowls at me, and we hit the hallway, picking up our pace. A shadowed figure steps out from the kitchen, raising a gun.
“Shit.” I grab Kennedy and drop as bullets spray where our heads just were. I return fire, hitting the man twice in the thigh and once in the chest. He falls, screaming, to the floor. I don’t wait to check if he’s dead and haul ass with Kennedy’s hand in mine. No one fires on us when we burst out the back door, and we run to my truck. I turn to cover her while she climbs in and the moment the door closes, I head to my side and get in.
“Stay down,” I bark, turning the ignition and shifting the truck into reverse. I gun it, the wheels spinning and tossing gravel for a second before we fly backwards. The moment we’re turning onto the street, I shift gears, the truck sliding as I change directions. I press a button on the steering wheel and Reaper’s voice fills the cab moments later.
“What is it?” Straight to the point.
A scan of the rearview mirrors doesn’t show pursuers, but I’m not assuming anything. “Someone got into Sydney’s place. Left a message for Kennedy before opening fire through the windows. Not sure how many. Took one out downstairs. We made it back to the truck and we’re coming back.”
“Fuck,” Reaper bites out. “Sending backup now. Think it’s the same assholes from before?”
Kennedy makes a fearful sound, one that from anyone else would have me ready to hunt them down. I want to fight, but not her. I want to fuck up the people following us. I’m becoming more protective over this slip of a woman than a bear with cubs.
“Maybe, but not sure.” I take a sharp turn, the back end of the Silverado swinging wide, but I keep it under control. Another sharp turn down a narrow, sad excuse for a street between two rows of shops has Kennedy grabbing the handle above her door. “I’m headed back to the clubhouse. Headed from Colton’s direction.” Colton is one of the moodiest sons of bitches I’ve ever met, moodier than any of the Knights. He runs the hardware store, and Reaper will know exactly where I am.
“Copy. Drive like hell. The boys are on their way.”
Reaper hangs up and I look at the rearview mirror again. So far it seems like I’ve lost our tails. But I won’t relax until I’ve got Kennedy back at the clubhouse, surrounded by the Knights.
I barely slow down as I get us onto the narrow, two-lane road that’ll take us back to the clubhouse. The high desert night surrounds us, the only light coming from the headlights, the moon, and the stars painting the sky. Glancing over at Kennedy, I can tell she’s just as tense as me.
“So, you didn’t think to tell me you were married once when I had my hand on your pussy?”
