by Hamel, B. B.
“Dante?” I groaned, trying to whisper.
He didn’t look at me. The other man from the right truck was coming around my side, a few feet behind his partner. He was frowning and said something in a language I didn’t understand. My ears were still ringing, screaming at me, and I wanted to get away. I wanted to crawl out from my little spot wedged down at the foot of the seat, but I didn’t move. Dante told me to stay still, and I did my best to breathe as little as possible.
When the first man got closer to Dante’s side, he threw the door open as hard as he could. It slammed into the guy with a dull thud. He staggered back as Dante crouched and came around the open door, popping off three shots. The man staggered back, blood spraying up from his chest.
The man on my side shouted and backpedaled. The men in the truck lowered their guns, but too slow. Dante fired two more shots off, one missing, the other catching the man on my side in the chest. He coughed and turned toward the trucks, but only made it a step before falling.
More gunshots tore up the air. Dante dove back into the car, head down, arms covering his head. The men in the truck kept firing for what felt like forever, and I realized I was screaming when they finally stopped. Dante looked at me. “Don’t move,” he said and lifted his head up.
Nothing happened. He cursed and put his gun up, firing off a few shots. I heard tires scream, rubber burning on asphalt. Dante fired off more shots, but I could barely hear them. All I saw was his eyes and his blood, dripping down his side.
Then he stopped shooting and slumped back against the seat.
He stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard. He cursed and leaned toward me, dragging me up from the floor and onto the seat. “Are you hurt?” he asked, and I had to read his lips to understand.
I shook my head. I touched my body, my chest, my hips, my legs. I didn’t find any blood, didn’t hurt anywhere. “I’m… fine,” I said.
He nodded, his eyes hard. “Get out,” he said.
I looked out the windshield. The trucks were gone, leaving the intersection entirely clear. There were no people out on the block, no other cars coming near. Dante staggered out of the car, pulling out his cellphone as he went. I heard him barking something at it as he came around my side and helped me out. I stared at him as his big arms pulled me down and supported my weight.
His bloody side pressed against mine as I leaned against him. On some vague level I knew I should’ve been the one helping him, not the other way around, but his strong arms pulled me from the car and we both staggered away from it.
I stared in horror at what was left of the SUV. It was riddled with bullet holes, some of them still smoking. The glass was splintered and shattered in multiple places and the engine was smoking. One rearview mirror was broken off and hanging by a wire, like its guts had been ripped open and splayed out.
“Gotta keep moving,” Dante grunted. “Gino’s on his way.”
I nodded and realized my hearing was coming back. My ears were still ringing but at least I could understand what he was saying.
“What happened?” I asked him. “You’re hurt. Dante, you’re hurt.”
“Keep moving,” he barked, dragging me along. He pulled me onto the sidewalk, his hand pressed against his side, a grimace on his lips. I stumbled over an uneven concrete sidewalk block and he growled as he nearly toppled over.
“Dante,” I gasped, wanting to do something.
He only grunted and his grip on my arm tightened. He pulled me faster, stumbling along, his breath coming in ragged groans. He looked pale and angry, rage in his eyes so hot I could almost feel it burning my skin.
Another SUV came peeling around the corner. It stopped next to us and the door opened. Gino sat in the back and came out to help me get Dante inside. I piled in next to them and looked up front to find Steven behind the wheel.
“How bad?” he asked.
“Back to my house,” Dante growled.
“He needs a doctor,” I said.
“The fucking Russians,” Dante said. “They tried to fucking hit me.”
“How bad?” Steven asked again.
“My house,” Dante said.
Steven nodded and began to drive.
I stared at them, eyes wide. Gino gingerly checked on Dante’s wound and nodded before taking off his shirt and using it to press against the wound. Dante gave me a flat look then reached out and touched my cheek.
“They won’t survive this,” he grunted, and pulled his palm away.
I touched my cheek where his hand had been, and my fingers came back bloody.
7
Dante
I stared ahead at the blank television as Dr. Chen’s needle slid into my skin. “Just hold tight,” he said, his voice soft in my ear.
I grunted in response and gripped the cut crystal glass of whiskey I held in my left hand. It wasn’t my first time getting stitches, and aside from the numbing agent the doctor injected directly into the wound, it wasn’t so bad. I grimaced as the skin was pulled but Dr. Chen was skilled and patient. I lifted a glass of whiskey to my lips and took a long sip.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I grunted.
He nodded and finished his stitch. He leaned back and looked at his work for a moment. “Not bad,” he said. “I should give you some antibiotics, just in case.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Dante—”
I met the doctor’s gaze. He was older, in his mid-fifties, with black hair turning gray in streaks. His dark brown eyes met mine and he didn’t flinch away, his tan skin nearly leathered from long days spent fishing when he wasn’t in the office. He wore a short-sleeve camp shirt with bomber planes on it, khaki shorts, and sandals. I was pretty sure has was out on his boat when Steven called him in.
“Not a word, doc,” I grunted.
“You’re doing it again.” He frowned at me. “We talked about this.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“I can’t keep coming here if you’re going to do this.”
“I understand, doc.” I tilted my head toward him. “I appreciate your time.”
“Dante,” he said with a sigh. I’d known Dr. Chen since my war with the Chinese gang, back before I’d become a Capo. I caught him treating some wounded Chinese soldiers in the back of a gambling den, and I decided to spare his life, though not the men he was treating. After that, he decided that he might as well work for the winning team, and we’d been close ever since.
Normally, I wouldn’t bring him to this house, but he was the only man I knew that could come on a moment’s notice and take care of a serious wound. I didn’t trust him, not entirely, but he liked money and he liked boats, so we paid for his docking fees every year, and gave him as much cash as we could afford. That kept him loyal enough.
“You don’t get to get dragged into anything, doc,” I said. “If you want to leave, then leave.”
He stood and shook his head. “I’ll treat you as needed, and your men, of course. I’m just warning you, you’re not going to be young forever.”
I grunted and nodded at him. “I appreciate the advice, doc.”
He nodded at my wound. “That’ll be tender for a bit. Be careful, don’t rip the stitches. When you’re healed, give me a call and I can take them out.”
“I’ll do it myself,” I said
He sighed and shrugged. “Fine.”
“Steven has your fee.”
“I’ll write a script for the antibiotics. Take care of yourself, Dante.” Dr. Chen walked off and Steven met him in the kitchen. I watched as my lieutenant shoved a fat wad of cash into the older man’s hands then had Gino escort him back out.
My eyes moved across the room and fell on Aida. She sat at the kitchen table staring at the wall, not moving a muscle. A streak of my blood was still on her cheek. I wanted to get up and comfort her, but I was too exhausted from the fight and the blood loss. Steven walked over a moment later and sat down in a leather armchair next to th
e couch with a grunt and watched me for a moment. I lift my whiskey glass to my lips and took a long sip.
“Shouldn’t have brought Chen here,” Steven said.
“I agree, but it was necessary.” I shook my head. “He won’t talk. Russians won’t pay him like we do.”
“Probably right.” Steven crossed his arms. “So what happened?”
I winced and sipped my drink again before gingerly flexing my body. The stitches pulled but they didn’t hurt, at least not yet. I knew they would soon enough, but that wouldn’t matter.
I was too angry to care about that.
“Vlas took his shot. He fucking missed.”
Steven nodded. “In broad daylight. And ended up with two of his own dead in the street.”
“Told you. He missed.”
“Why were you alone?”
I shook my head. “Left Gino behind to finish his breakfast.”
“Dante.”
“Aida was with me. I wasn’t alone.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
I looked away from him and shook my head. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. The only reason you’re alive is because you spent a fucking fortune on that goddamn car.”
“And it worked.” I grinned at him. “Armor plating. Cost even more than a fortune in gas, but goddamn. It actually worked. I wasn’t sure it would.”
Steven shook his head and leaned back in the chair. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath. “So,” he said, not looking at me. “Another war.”
I nodded once. “Another war.”
“Are you up for it?”
I leaned forward. “What the fuck are you suggesting?” I growled.
He opened his eyes and looked tired. “I’m suggesting that it was only a few years ago that we fought the last war, and that took a lot out of us. We’re stronger now than we were before, but the guys all remember what things were like back then. It’ll be even worse now.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck,” I said, my voice low and hard. “He came at me. He’ll pay for it.”
Steven nodded but looked troubled. “You’re right. He will.”
I grunted and leaned back. I took another sip and winced. I was starting to get some feeling back in my side. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s just, do you really think Maksim would let Vlas do something like that?” Steven asked. “The old men have been bickering for years, but neither of them have approved of straight up trying to knock off a rival.”
I grunted and shook my head. “I don’t know what that Russian shit wants,” I said.
“Maybe you should think about that.” Steven met my eye.
He was right and I knew it, but I was too angry to go down that path. If Vlas came after me without the approval of his boss, there was going to be hell to pay all across the board. But that didn’t matter, not yet at least.
I leaned forward and looked over at Aida. She was staring into space still and had barely moved since we got back to the house. I shifted my weight and grunted as a fresh stab of pain sliced through my side. Steven leaned forward and shook his head.
“Stay there. I’ll bring her over.”
I looked at him then nodded and leaned back. Steven got up and walked over to Aida. He said something to her then helped her to her feet and walked her over. She moved on autopilot, almost like a robot, and he guided her down into the chair he’d just left. He nodded at me and walked off, disappearing through the front hallway. I heard his footsteps echo on the stone, and I heard him speak softly with Gino out in the front foyer.
My eyes drifted over Aida. She wore a navy blue button-down shirt that showed just a hint of cleavage. It was splattered with bits of my blood. Her hair was a mess, half of it still up in a bun, the other half fallen down around her shoulders and back. I leaned toward her. “Hey,” I said.
She met my eyes. “My ears are still ringing,” she said.
I nodded and sighed. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Will it go away?”
“Probably,” I said. “But it might not.”
“Is my hearing damaged forever now?”
I just shrugged. “We should talk.”
“What about?” She frowned at me. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine.” I stared at her for a long moment. “Aida, you know what happened back there, right?”
“Some men tried to kill you.”
“Yes, they did,” I said, my voice soft. “They tried to kill you, too.”
“But they didn’t. You… you saved me.” She frowned and cocked her head. “You killed two of them.”
“I did,” I agreed.
“Left them in the street.”
“Couldn’t do anything for them.”
“Would you have?”
“No,” I said. “I would’ve left them to rot.”
“I thought so.” Her voiced sounded far away and she didn’t move a muscle. It was like she was a robot.
I leaned forward again and forced myself to my feet. I clenched my jaw as a fresh wave of pain hit me. She frowned and stared at me, her head tilted, concern in her expression. I moved over toward her and leaned forward, one hand supporting my weight on the arm of the chair, looming above her pretty face.
She didn’t move. I took her chin with my other hand and tilted her face up toward me. I stared into her eyes then licked my fingers. I used them to wipe the blood off her skin. It came off in small dabs and streaks. I wiped my fingers on my pants, licked them again, and tasted the copper and iron of my blood. I wiped her face until it was clean again. She stared into my eyes the whole time and didn’t move a muscle.
My heart was racing. Fuck, being close to her drove me wild. I didn’t know what that feeling was, where it came from, but it suffused my body with a deep longing glow. I killed her father, I murdered him in front of her, and yet I wanted to make her my own.
I wanted to take her dead father up on his offer and make her my bride.
I knew it was insane, but in the moment, I needed it.
“Are you mine, Aida?” I whispered.
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
“You’re going to be.” I moved closer, my hand sliding back along her cheek then grasping hard in her hair. I pulled it, made her gasp, her eyes widening and her body loosening. Maybe I woke her up, I couldn’t tell, but I leaned closer and pressed my lips to her ear. “You’re going to be mine, little Aida. Your father gave you to me as a gift, said you could be my bride. And I’m taking him up on it.”
She pressed her hands against my chest. For just a moment, I thought she might kiss me.
Instead, she pushed me back.
I released her hair and straightened. I winced again as pain flashed in my stitched side. She stared at me, mouth hanging open, breathing hard. “What the hell are you talking about?” she said.
“You heard me,” I growled. “You think this is a game? You were almost killed because of me. And I won’t let that happen again.” Anger ripped through me as I remembered throwing her down onto the floor of the car and covering her body with my own. My only thought in that moment was I had to save her, I had to keep her safe.
I threw my glass of whiskey against the fireplace. It shattered against the stone and the brown liquid splashed against the back. I limped over to it and stared down at the mess I’d made.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you,” she said.
I turned and stared as she stood up. Her chest was heaving up and down as she took deep breaths. Her face was animated at least, and she reached back to undo her hair, letting the rest of it fall down around her back.
“I don’t give a damn what you want,” I said. “You’re in this now, girl. And if you want to survive it, you’d better give yourself to me.”
She glared at me for a full five seconds. Silence hung between us. My body ached and I didn’t know why I was pushing her so hard. Maybe it was my anger, or maybe it was j
ust my raging desire for her, my impatience to taste her, have her, control her, make her all mine.
“No,” she said. “You don’t get to… you don’t get to do whatever you want with me.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed and stared at her beautiful face as it twisted in a new mask of rage. I knew that look, I saw it on her the day after her father died by my gun. I liked that look on her, and I wanted to see more of it. I wanted to push her, piss her off, get her so angry that the only way she could bring herself back down was to ride my cock rough and fast.
“I think I do,” I said. “I saved your life. You’d be dead without me.”
“I’d be back home without you,” she spat. “I’m only here because of you.”
“You’re here because of your piece of shit father. I know you don’t get that yet, but I’m protecting you. I’m saving your life. Vlas would’ve hunted you down by now and cut your fucking throat just to make himself feel better. Get it through your head, Aida. Your life is mine and now I want the rest of you.”
I turned to her, body tense, muscles tight. She gaped at me, lips hanging open. I could see her pretty tongue and I wanted it in my mouth, or maybe rolling around the tip of my cock.
“Go to hell,” she said and turned away.
She took a step toward the kitchen but I moved fast. I walked up to her and grabbed her arm. I didn’t care that it hurt, that it tugged at the stitches. I grabbed her hard and pulled her against me. She turned, eyes wide, as I grabbed her hair rough and pressed my lips against hers.
She moaned into that kiss. Fuck, she moaned, and I could taste that moan on my lips. My tongue slid against hers as I lingered there, gripping her hair, pulling her hair. She was mine, all mine, gorgeous little fucking Aida. I bit her lower lip and she took a sharp breath, her eyes fierce as I released her.
She took a step back, breathing hard. “Asshole,” she whispered, and turned away again.
I let her go that time. She stormed out and disappeared down the back hallway.
