“Shhh.” His free hand traps my mouth as a searing heat shoots through my wrist.
A drug. Whatever it is works fast. Already, my body feels heavy. It takes twice as much effort than it should to stick the fingers of my left hand into the pocket and find my knife.
After several tries, I clench it in my fist and jab it straight back, striking whatever is in reach.
“Son of a bitch!”
Sammy’s hand slips from my mouth, and I lunge from the chair, aiming for the door...but my legs move too slowly. I land on my side, my feet still tangled in the armrest of the chair. The fall knocks the air from my lungs. God, I feel so heavy.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
I can hear Sammy scrambling behind me before a crushing weight slams into my lower back. Grasping fingers graze the side of my jaw, seeking out my mouth again while I gather the strength to suck in one last gulp of air and release it on a single scream.
“Dante!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dante
Of all people,the bastard came to fucking Mack for help.
Mack, whose sole definition of the term “friend” only extended to how far up someone else’s ass he could shove his foot out of pure amusement.Mack, who would have easily chopped Arno into pieces and sold him for scrap back in the day if the parts would have brought him some easy cash.Mack, who liked to shoot Parish up with dope and fuck her for kicks.
Mack, who looked at Stacatto’s woman like...
I inhale, my eyes narrowing at the way his gaze traced her body. He looked at her like he was already imagining her riding his cock. Willing or not, the bastard didn’t give a damn.
“Don’t give me that look,” Arno mutters while the fucker is still out of earshot. “While you were in prison—ignoring phone calls and visitors, I might add. Fuck, I even sent you a letter once.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Anyway. Things aren’t the same. CJ. Kade. Trolito. Benji. Alex.” He holds his hand up and ticks the fingers off one by one. “Dead. Dead. Prison. Dead.Accountant.” He shakes his head. “Don’t ask me how the fuck that happened—”
“Whyhim?” I growl, dragging him back to the question at hand.
“He’s the only one fucking left,” Arno argues. “At least the only one with enough infrastructure to take on someone like Stacatto. Take a look around, Dante.” He gestures with a wave of his hand. “This is what’s left of the Saints. But trust and believe that I don’t like this any more than you do.” His eyes narrow, and I know he hasn’t forgotten how the bastard treated his sister in the past.
“I don’t like it,” I say—not that it fucking matters. This is Arno’s battle, after all. The woman isn’t my responsibility, and I don’t owe her a damn thing—least of all the need to plead her case.
“I want to take something from him.”
“If you want to hit Stacatto, you need a plan,” I heard myself admit through gritted teeth. “She’s the only one who knows how his fucked-up mind works.”
Arno scowls, and I don’t have to remind him that she already outsmarted Stacatto once. Who knows what she learned while tucked away in his gilded cage?
“Sheis all we need. We could regroup somewhere else. We could—”
“Now, don’t be stingy, Dante.” Mack grins as he approaches the bar.
The asshole’s done well for himself, it seems. I count at least thirty men in this room alone, and there are even more stationed outside, monitoring the property’s perimeter. What Mack lacks in charming personality he’s certainly made up for with brutality and paranoia to help win him some new friends.
“I want to help. It’s the least I could do for Parish.” The bastard has the nerve to actually pretend to care. He bows his head for Arno’s benefit, but I’m not impressed.
“Then let Arno handle thishisway.”
Mack flashes another cocky grin, erasing all traces of mockconcern. “Now, where’s the fun in that, Dante?” he asks. “Vinny Stacatto’s no average fuck. I want a piece of him too.”
Not out of revenge, I suspect. Mack merely wants a piece of the pie. He wants the girl. He wants to use Arno’s fuck-up for his own gain.
Some shit never changes.
“The pub is gone,” Arno says, explaining the reason why he’s already lurking around the nearest stash of liquor. “Everyone got out, but the fuckers set it on fire—”
