I get only a glimpse of what I assume is an alley before it slams shut again, and the tinted windows don’t reveal much. I can’t tell how far we are from the enclaves or even from the hotel. It’s a strange sort of blindness. For five years, this part of the city has been my prison, but somehow, this feels worse. I don’t know what to prepare for. Vinny? Dante?
I copy Arno by watching the phone in the other man’s grip, waiting for a noise or a sound—any sign as to what might be happening, but when he catches me staring, his eyes narrow.
“See something you like?”
His tone sends prickles of alarm shooting through my chest.
“N-no.” I turn away to stare at the opposite corner, but I see him moving from the corner of my eye.
He rises as much as he can, crouching beneath the roof of the van. In three steps, he’s beside me, his repulsive scent filling my nostrils. Without permission, he rakes a meaty hand through my hair, twisting a lock of it between his fingers.
“You’re a pretty bitch,” he admits as if it’s something I should be proud of, but when he reaches for my shoulder, three words spill from my throat.
“Don’t touch me.”
Vinny would be pleased, I think. His precious Lynn is finally protecting his investment...but, for once, he’s not the one I see. His scent doesn’t overpower me, even here. His claim isn’t burning through my skin.
“Now, don’t be shy,” the man snarls, muscling in closer. “Word has it that you’re hungry for any cock that doesn’t belong to Stacatto...”
Run!My muscles barely start to tense before he shoves me down.
The man uses his weight like a battering ram to position himself above me, grunting with the effort. I kick and dig at his face with my nails, but he’s too strong and easily parries my attempts. In fact, I think he enjoys my resistance more than anything else. With every failed hit, the excitement in his eyes burns hotter.
“I said don’t be shy,” he croons against my ear. “Let’s see what Stacatto’s little bitch has to offer...”
He gets one of his hands beneath my sweatshirt and yanks, revealing everything but the very tops of my breasts. He stiffens when he sees Vinny’s mark, and I use the shock to land a kick on his chest that shoves him off me.
There’s no use screaming for help—not here. My knife is in my pocket, but when I get it free, the man is already on me again,knocking it out of my hand. It skitters across the floor of the van just as he plants what feels like a knee against the small of my back, causing my chin to smack off the floor. Stars explode through my vision. My head is left spinning as a guttural voice rumbles through my ears.
“Feisty little bitch.”
Fear drags me back into my body when a rough hand plunges inside my pants, groping at flesh the devil has already left sore and throbbing.
“I figure we have an hour to kill, so let’s play,” he tells me while his fingers cup my ass so hard that the nails dig in. “Now, settle down and be a good girl and I can make it go quickly.”
Quick.Something about that word paralyzes me, and I don’t fight when he peels my sweatpants down to the tops of my thighs. I obey when he nudges me onto my knees. I look at him when he snags my chin in hands that smell like vinegar and wrenches my head around to face him—but every ounce of focus I have left is fixated on an object that I startle him by lunging for.
The moment my fingers curl around the object, I yank it closer while twisting onto my back. The man doesn’t even seem to notice when he comes for me, still tugging at the latch of his jeans. It’s only when I lurch up and the knife bites into him that he tries to push me back, slamming his hand against my shoulder.
It’s in vain.Hisblade is sharp, unlike mine. It turns the own man’s momentum against him and sinks deep into his chest. Too deep. I can’t lessen the pressure before he grits out something that could be a curse even as his eyes glaze over. Warm, red liquid trickles from his mouth and coats my fingers while he goes limp, crushing me with his full body weight.
Vinny put on enough gruesome shows for me to recognize death when I see it. Back in those days, I would cling to my cello in order to escape the bloodshed, but it’s ironic how, now, I can’t stop staring into his eyes. I can’t let the knife go. I can’t stop hearing the devil’s voice inside my head.
“Being a fighter was a different world from being bait. It was darker. Colder. You looked at a man, and you trained yourself to see him as only a piece of meat, nothing more. You sized up his weaknesses in two seconds, and you bet your life that you made the correct assessment.
“I fucking loved it...”
My lungs are on fire. Pain seeps into my bones, but I can’t move. Not until the barrel of a gun is pressed against the dead man’s head and a man’s voice coldly warns him to, “Get the fuck off her before I blow your goddamn head off.”
I don’t think Arno realizes until the man doesn’t move or say anything in return that he’s already dead.
“Son of a bitch!”
I wheeze for air as the pressure on my chest is suddenly lifted. The man falls sideways, and a thick hand is thrust before my face to help me up.
“Jesus Christ.” Arno glances over to the dead man lying a few feet away.
I don’t know if it’s fear or admiration I see in his eyes when he looks at me again. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
