“What the fuck did he do to you?”
“They’re hickeys,” I snarled. “Not bruises.”
His hand swept over my mouth. He pinched my lips shut. “Not another word about Costa.”
“He didn’t threaten me into bed,” I snapped, seized with a need to defend Michael. “I went willingly.”
“Hon, you only think you did. I can’t stand that he touched you.”
“Then why did you take me back?”
“Because you belong to me.”
He said it with zero passion, as though the hickeys had stolen his desire. A wave of relief hit me until Nick’s finger hooked my underwear. He started kissing my thigh.
Panic swelled behind my ribs. I was barely holding it together, my thoughts wild with prayers and begging.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“After months of riding his cock, you’re done with mine? I don’t think so.”
He yanked the thong off me.
“Nick, this is too intense! I’m not ready—I’m really not ready.”
He unzipped his jeans and pinned my arms. Then he wedged open my knees, lowering himself.
“No!”
He grasped my neck and squeezed. “You once told me that being deeply loved by someone gives you strength. You can handle me.”
No, I can’t. “Nick, stop!”
Nick paused, his grin widening. He drank in my fear like an aphrodisiac. He kept his touch light. It staked up and down my forearm, across my collar.
“Why, you enjoy it more with him?”
Of course. “I—you’re both good.”
“I want the truth.” He darkened like a storm cloud. “I asked you a question. Who’s the better lover?”
Michael. “I won't answer that.”
“You will. And I’ll know if you’re lying. I always do.”
“No.”
“Tell me.” He shoved a finger in my mouth. “Or I’ll stop being so nice.”
I bit him until he retreated.
A blow crashed into my head. Agony radiated into my teeth. He would hit me no matter what I said, so I faced him, grinning.
“Michael. He can make me come with his voice.”
“Because you do what he wants.” He snorted, the amusement clashing with his malevolent gaze. “Otherwise you’d have way more hickeys.”
“He doesn’t hurt women.”
“Oh, baby. You’re such a naive little thing. I’ve been to his club. I’ve talked to his whores. Paid one to spill her guts,” he broke off with a smirk. “She told me all sorts of shit. The man gets off on punishing his women. Just like me.”
The comparison made me fume.
“I guess you have a type, Carmela.”
“Shut up. You don’t understand him.”
“Understand? Honey, I am him.”
No.
“I’ll show you.” Nick’s fingers curled around my throat and squeezed, then his lips molded into mine, the soft pressure filling me with bile. He pulled back, whispering. “He does this when he comes, right?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“He likes it when you’re tied up. Loves it when you kneel. When you struggle. Just. Like. Me.”
I turned away. “Stop!”
“I don’t have to fuck you. I’m inside you, Carmela.” He peeled off me, his chest unsticking from me. “Always.”
“I want my husband.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts.”
Thirty-Four
Michael
Vinn was shot in the drive-by.
The bullet sliced into the gap of his vest and slammed into his shoulder. I hauled his ass to Alessio’s hospital, where the staff wouldn’t report the gunshot wound to authorities.
We killed six bikers. One of them was the president.
Their faces flashed over the evening news—two members and four prospects. We’d thrown Legion into chaos, which was not our intention, but I didn’t give a fuck about public safety or broken alliances. All I cared about was my wife.
Was she all right?
Was he hurting her?
I missed her with a hollow in my lungs, an all-encompassing ache that consumed me. My stomach didn’t unclench in the twenty-four hours she’d been gone, because my mind ran with violent images. I had no idea what he was doing, but if he hurt her I’d run Boston’s streets red with biker blood. My life’s mission would be to kill as many of them as possible. They wouldn’t be able to shit without watching out for me. I'd make my name known and take my vengeance.
They’d all suffer.
“Michael.”
I glanced up from the gleaming floor as a palm glided through my hair. Liana stood in flannel pajamas, her chestnut waves gathered in a high ponytail.
“Are you kidding me? You were supposed to stay with my kids.”
“Mom’s with them. They’re safe.” Liana slumped into the seat beside mine. “What happened?”
I sipped my lukewarm coffee, the only sustenance I’d allowed myself. “I can’t tell you anything.”
“Is he okay?”
I was in no shape to comfort anyone. “No clue.”
“What about Carmela?”
“I-I don’t know.”
She rubbed my back. “Maybe you should sleep.”
“I have to find her.”
“You’ve done everything you can.”
“Not until I’ve strung up every fucking biker in this city.”
“Are you Michael Costa?” An Asian woman in pink scrubs stepped forward. “I’m Doctor Yang. I was the surgeon assisting for Vinn’s procedure. He was wounded in the brachial plexus, which is which is the large nerve bundle that controls arm function.”
“Will he be able to use it?”
“We won't know that for a few weeks. Most likely, he’ll need follow-up surgery. I can take you to see him now.”
She brought us where Vinn lay, wrapped in gauze. He stared at the ceiling in a drugged haze, his mouth half-open. His expression remained blank as Liana pulled up a chair.
“Vinny. I came as soon as I heard.”
She folded her palm over his hand. Vinn’s gaze flicked to their linked fingers. His lip twitched.
“’M fine.”
Liana smoothed his hair, her voice thick with tears. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
A knock at the door dragged our attention to a nurse. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over. You’ll have to leave.”
I squeezed Vinn’s ankle. Liana bent over Vinn and kissed his cheek. His eyes flickered as she untangled from him. He brushed the spot where her lips touched him.
We left. Liana huddled in the waiting room, dragging a blanket from her big purse and draping it around her shoulders.
“Li, go home. Sleep.”
“I’m staying with Vinny.”
I almost said something, but a memory of Carmela’s disapproval cut into my impulse. Liana curled on a plastic seat as I headed toward the staircase, so tired I could’ve collapsed down the steps. I descended a flight of stairs before I realized someone called my name.
“Michael!" Alessio’s rugged features swam into recognition as he straightened his jacket. “I’ve been calling you.”
“I didn’t hear you.” A sickening amount of hope lodged in my throat. “Did you find her?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m sorry.”
Of course. He’d already failed her once.
Disgust churned in my stomach. “Then get out of my sight before I cave your head in.”
“I want to help.”
“Make a time machine, you miserable prick. Kill Crash when you were supposed to because there’s nothing you can do now.” I seized his collar, a corrosive hatred steaming the air between us. “I can’t stand you.”
“Stop blaming me for things out of my control.”
“You could’ve stopped him years ago!”
“He was her goddamned boyfriend,” he bellowed, shoving me. “She wanted to stay. She begged me. What was I
supposed to do?"
"Save her from the psychopath."
"Yeah, I should’ve used my magical crystal ball and predicted him turning into this, just like you should’ve seen what Serena was doing to your kids—”
My fist smashed into his face. He threw me down the stairs. I tackled him into the wall, and then we were tearing at each other. Pain spider-webbed across my jaw, and then he pushed me off, his eyes blazing.
“How does this help Carmela?”
My anger dissolved. I continued my descent, my misery like a jagged knife sawing my heart. It hurt so bad. “I fucking love her. He doesn’t. I can’t do this without her. I can’t pick up the pieces and move on.”
He squeezed my shoulder.
I shook off my grief. “Search for their clubhouse. Wherever he’s holed up, that’s where Carmela and Anthony are.”
“Everybody’s looking for Rage Machine members, but they don’t wear patches. Nobody knows who these bastards are. The cops have no idea they even exist, but they must be paying off everyone. We need someone in our pocket who’s talked to him recently. Otherwise this will take forever.”
I stopped at the ground floor, pacing the stairwell. “I don’t know any of his associates besides Legion.”
“Can you think of somewhere he might’ve visited?”
I flipped through my phone, hunting for ideas until my thumb slid over the picture of Elena.
Sanctum.
Fuck this place.
I’d dropped so much cash in here I could’ve opened a substance abuse clinic. Back when Alessio was Nico’s protégé and Anthony’s best friend, we partied here every weekend. I thought I was living the high life, but all this club had done was distract me from what mattered.
The dreampop music pulsed in semi-lit corridors as we strolled over the black marble. Alessio scowled at the brunette cozying to his side. He stepped away, flashing his wedding ring.
“That’s not a problem for me,” she purred.
“I’m not here to play.”
Alessio shouted Elena’s name over the noise as I scanned the sea of naked women. A glimmer of blonde caught my eye. Brooke’s winged eyes flashed terror as she ducked into another room. I followed and spotted her crouching between two sofas.
“Why are you hiding from me?”
She ran for the door.
I seized her arm. “Brooke.”
“I’m working, and you’re in the way.”
“Were you here when Elena was murdered?”
Brooke’s pink mouth trembled as she ripped from my grasp. “Why?”
“My wife’s fucking missing. She was taken by Elena's murderer, and I need details about that night.”
“Lost her, have you? That sucks.”
I grabbed her throat. “I’m not playing. I’ll crush the life out of you.”
“I don’t know anything!”
“My patience is gone.” I squeezed hard enough to make her breathing ragged. “Talk.”
“The man whose photo you put up came here, asking all kinds of questions about you.”
“About me?” I relieved the pressure on her neck, my pulse racing. “Like what?”
“Who you fuck. How you like to fuck. That kind of thing.”
“And you talked?”
“Not me,” she gasped, digging into my fingers. “It was Elena. He was dropping a ton of cash, buying everyone’s silence. It must’ve been at least thirty grand. He asked Elena to go home with him. She said yes.”
“Then he dumped her in the parking lot.” I wiped my face. “This is why you’re not supposed to leave the club with anyone. What else happened?”
“That’s all I know. I swear.”
I stepped back from her and wrenched my hair, agonized by images of Elena’s lifeless body. “Who was working that day?”
“Who am I, the manager? Look at the schedule.”
The manager.
A dark suspicion shot into my heart.
Julian.
Thirty-Five
Carmela
I’d never see Michael again.
He’d never give me tulips, draw hearts on Post-it notes, or take me to my first ultrasound appointment. I’d miss Matteo’s fifth birthday. I wouldn’t be there when the kids grew into adulthood.
I’d be here.
With Nick.
He’d get me pregnant to trap me. He’d never smile at the baby or change diapers or do anything that wasn’t self-centered. Our child would grow up in a violent home. Nick’s heartless infidelity would grind my spirit into dust. He’d suffocate me.
From here on out, it was pitch-black darkness. No more light. Just the soul-crushing despair of being stuck with this man.
Nick had locked me in his ramshackle bedroom. He’d settled into a restless sleep in the queen bed, his body like a block of ice. When sunlight peeked through the Roman blinds, he peeled from the mattress and disappeared on some an errand.
I dressed quickly, my gaze sweeping over Nick’s belongings—clove cigarettes, Zippo, motorcycle restoration magazines. The person who’d lived here before Nick had hung a calendar on the wall and gash marks punctured where Nick had thrown knives. Cigarette butts scattered the floor. Nick was careless with his guns, but with the place surrounded with one-percenters, I’d never make it out the door.
My old leather jacket draped the chair pushed into the desk. I swallowed hard at the words stamped on the back.
PROPERTY OF CRASH.
I fingered the worn fabric that’d once covered my shoulders. Wearing it would feel wrong, like slipping into ill-fitting skin. I wouldn’t wear it—couldn’t stand another second of this.
Heavy boots scraped the wood as the doorknob turned. Nick bowed his head under the frame and strolled in with a plastic bag. Lines gouged the skin under his eyes as he shoved a pink box into my hands.
“Do it.”
My thumb brushed the text. A pregnancy test.
A lump lodged in my throat. “Why?”
He grabbed my arm and steered me into the white-tiled bathroom, his pale gaze narrowed but resolute. “Take the goddamned test.”
“Could I get some privacy?”
“No.”
Nick folded his thick arms. I opened the box and removed the test. It trembled as I sat on the toilet and peed on the stick. Nick plucked it from my hand and returned to his spot, tapping the counter. He glared at the tiny window.
“How long does this take?”
“A couple of minutes.”
I backed against the shower. I didn’t think I was pregnant, but what if I was?
What would he do to me?
Nick left, guarding the results to himself. He raked his blond hair. He popped open the first buttons of his plaid shirt, more agitated than I’d ever seen him. My insides boiled.
His fingers whitened, and then he picked up the packaging. Whatever he read on the cardboard made him rub his forehead.
“Shit.”
The plastic clattered to the floor. Two lines etched the window.
I was pregnant.
My heart swelled and constricted, the relief chilled by the block of ice sliding against my side. Nick slumped beside me. He stared ahead, pale and lifeless. He looked like he’d been shot.
It was the best news, but my eyes flooded with the sweet misery that Michael wasn’t here to share it with me. We would have a baby. It was everything I’d wanted. My vision glazed over.
He grasped my jaw. “Is it mine?”
It definitely wasn’t his.
Nick seemed to interpret my emotion for confirmation. His palm smoothed over my belly and stroked me. “We never used a condom.”
I gaped at him.
“This happened so fast. One time, and boom, you’re pregnant. Jesus.”
He believed I was four months along?
Did he know anything about pregnancy?
“You’ve gained like fifteen pounds since then.” Nick slid from the bed, running his hands through his hair. “How’d I not see thi
s coming?”
The idiot didn’t consider that when we were together I’d starved myself from stress, and being with Michael had healed me. Allowing Nick to believe this absurd fantasy turned my stomach, but it might ease my escape.
I had to save us.
“What did you think would happen when you came inside me?”
“I wasn’t thinking.” Nick opened a black box, ripping out a cigarette. “Is there a test to make sure I’m the dad?”
“You can’t smoke around me.”
He threw it on the floor. “Is there a fucking test?”
“Yes, but it's not available over the counter.”
Shaking, he undid the holster at his waist and dumped the gun on his nightstand.
I could grab it.
“I’ll raise our baby alone.”
“Hell no.”
“Nick, you won’t be able to handle the late-night feedings, the screaming, dirty diapers, and you’ll take off when the kid’s sick and needs to go to the doctor.”
Nick’s eyes shot lightning bolts at me. “We’ll have help. Just like Costa.”
“You’re not the fucking same. He wants this with me.”
He had no idea what he was talking about. All the nannies in the world couldn’t replace a parent like Michael.
“He told you what you wanted to hear. He knows you’ll never leave if you get pregnant. He’s a good liar. That’s all.”
No. “You’re wrong.”
“Easy on the attitude, Carmela. My patience has limits.”
They weren’t the same.
It was getting to me, the constant comparisons with my husband. Nick was determined to tarnish my beautiful life with Michael, but it could never resemble what Nick had done—the torture, beatings, and rapes.
“I saved you from a man who used you like a slave, and you believe he’s better than me. Call me broken. Fine. You’re the one with the damaged brain. You begged me for a baby, and when I said no, you latched onto an inferior version of me.”
He had it all backward.
“I don’t love him because he’s similar to you. He’s an amazing dad and a wonderful partner, and I feel safe when I’m with him. He listens to me. He wants the best for me. You never gave me that. You’re a cheat. An abuser. You are nothing like him.”
Taken: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 20
