by Via Mari
Marenah nods. “I’ll tell you anything that you need to know.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, twisting in my own chains to come face to face with her.
She contemplates for the briefest of moments. “They think I’m a drug dealer, from a different territory, from out of the country, but I’m not.”
Fuck! If the Chicago family think she’s dealing in their turf without consent, she has a death sentence on her head, and the slaps to her face and even the split lip aren’t anything compared to what they would generally dole out. It just doesn’t add up. They would want an answer, would obtain it quickly and painfully, get rid of her and go after the gang infiltrating their market.
“Princess, I asked you for the truth. Lies will get you nothing but thrown over my lap and keep you in danger.”
“I’m telling you the truth! I was with a friend, just happened to have some product on me, and they sniffed me out. It was personal, I wasn’t dealing.”
I assess her carefully. Marenah’s eyes are bright as the sky, her skin is pale and alabaster underneath the abuse she has sustained, and I know she’s lying. She’s not a user, and if they’ve already interrogated her, they know that, too.
“The mafia may have orders to move me. If we’re lucky, they don’t want the people looking for me to find you either. They have no choice but to take us upstairs and when they do, there will be a distraction. When it happens, you run and get as far away from here as you can, understand?” I say, just as I hear a key in the door.
“I need an answer, Marenah, because I plan to find you and lick your hot little pussy for lying to me when all this is over,” I say.
She swings her face back to look at me, and I am rewarded with an upward turn of her lips, but she cringes in pain as they part with an attempted smile. Her full and luscious lips, marred and painful by a blow she’s received, are still stained with her dried blood. My eyes have adjusted to the dimness of the room. The marks on her face are in outlines of a handprint, and when our captors both walk back into the room, those are the images that are seared into my mind.
Dirk and his burly sidekick unlock our chains and cuffs, replacing them in the front and frog-marching us out of the room and up the stairs. As the door upstairs opens, I survey the surroundings. “Remember what I said,” I whisper into Marenah’s ear as our captors are joined by two more men and they march us down the hall and into the bar. I see one of our own sitting on one of the stools pretending to nurse his drink. I know at that very moment that Jay’s got the entire building surrounded and has an extraction strategy. He and our team would never put a plan into place that is not thoroughly thought out.
As if on cue, a bottle shatters onto the floor and cussing from the bar ensues. I use that diversion to kick the largest of the two assailants in the balls, catching him with my steel-toed boots. He goes down, clutching himself, and I send another thrust into his face, spinning as Dirk comes after me. I pull my arms down and rotate, squeezing, sucking the life out of him as the steel cuffs he’s placed me in now become the weapon that overcomes him.
The Chicago Mafia wasn’t prepared for an attempted breakout, but I was, and as the men come for me, I systematically take them out, breaking one man’s nose, turning and landing another with a solid kick to the groin, and the last one with a well-placed stomp of my boot to his throat. They’ll live and it won’t take them long to regain their bearings.
Two more men come from the door and Marenah spins, sending her heeled boot into a man’s nose, and kneeing him in the groin before spinning to grab the other man’s hair, using it to bring him down on top of her knee, effectively breaking his nose. I move in and knock them unconscious with a couple of well-placed blows, using my cuffed hands to form a club.
The entire bar is swarming with these fuckers! Two more men come at us from the back room. “Do what I said and get the fuck out of here,” I tell her and she looks around, hesitating, but when I growl at her to go again, she does exactly as I’ve instructed and heads straight out the door as I overtake the next two men and no more appear to be coming out of the woodwork.
I get the nod from our man sitting at the bar, gesturing to the bartender. I stalk toward him. He’s no longer serving drinks, but watching with undisguised interest. I grab him around the throat just as he reaches underneath the bar, grasping his hand before he can connect with the gun he undoubtedly has and he freezes.
I lean in close. “You put up a half-fight, I walk away, and the people you work for don’t know you didn’t try. Anything else and you’re dead,” I say, clocking him in the mouth.
He sways with the hit, knows they’re watching on the camera and gets back onto his feet. I have no desire to kill a man working for a living, and let him come at me, making sure it’s believable.
I duck his half-hearted attempt, but this needs to be real if he’s going to walk out of here alive. The first double-handed blow sends my fists across his mouth, and then his throat. He goes down gasping, but he’ll live to see another day. I look up and am suddenly surrounded by four mafia men and feel the very distinct cold steel of a gun placed to my head.
They march me out the back-alley door and I exhale a breath of relief as Jay and our team surrounds the assholes who came after me from the bar, but it doesn’t seem like the men are going to back down quickly. They circle, five in total and although Jay gives them warning to walk away, they don’t take it. Instead, they engage their weapons and in four clear shots, my team take the four prominent Chicago Mafia boys out. Only one is left standing, and that’s the fucker with a gun to my head.
“Bernatelli wants to call off the hit,” Jay says, knowing that the person with his gun to my head is a made man in the Bernatelli family. The very same man that will be taking over for Nikko, the family enforcer, until he gets out of prison.
“I didn’t get that fucking message,” the guy says.
“We can do this one of two ways. You can walk away, take a message back to your boss and let him know what happened, or I can have your dead body packed up along with the other fuckers and send him that message myself,” Jay says.
“Your boy will go down, and Bernatelli will kill you nice and slow,” he snarls.
“My sniper’s just waiting for your finger to move a hair and it’s all over for you. You really wanna wager on his aim?” Jay says, glancing at the four dead men lying on the ground.
“I didn’t get no message,” he says.
“I believe you. Drop the gun and walk away. I’m done talking,” Jay says.
“Fuck!” he yells, dropping his gun to the ground. Jay might have told him that he would let him walk away, but the prints on the blonde princess’s face fuel my anger and I send my cuffed fists right into the assholes face, and my steel-toed boot into his balls. The fucker drops to the ground gasping, and suddenly, my team is surrounding me and half-drag me to the sleek black limo that has pulled up curbside.
“Find the blonde that ran out of here,” I say to Jay as they push me into the Lincoln and it peels away.
“Relax, our undercover let us know she was helping you, it’s already done. Dereck and Nate just picked her up. She’s safe, Matt,” Jay says, unlocking my cuffs. I try to catch my breath as we navigate through the back roads. About ten minutes later we come to a sudden stop on the far end of the tarmac and I’m thankful for my team as they lug me up the ramp of the Gulfstream.
“Get him into the back bedroom. What the fuck happened to him?” I hear Brian Carrington say.
“We’ll explain later. We’ve got a few more of our team, and one of our physicians that will be joining us any minute, and there’s a world of heat behind us,” Jay says.
“I’ll let the pilot know to hold the plane, you just get him comfortable,” Brian says as the world goes dark.
Marenah
As soon as Prez starts fighting, his steely grey eyes gesture me to t
he door. Three men come at him and he takes them out single-handed, but two more are heading his way and I can’t just leave him there to deal with this alone. I turn and bring one after another to their knees and then watch while Prez knocks them unconscious. Jesus he can move, stealth and sleek like a panther, and all that raw power. He gestures again toward the door. “Do what I said and get the fuck out of here.” I hesitate, but he growls at me again to go. This time I obey him, running and hitting the door with the only strength that I have left. As soon as I exit the bar, headlights almost blind me and a car squeals to the sidewalk. I try to outrun it, but a large man with strong arms scattered with tattoos jumps out of the vehicle and grabs me.
Instinctively, I swivel, and my foot captures him, kicking him in the groin and then projecting up to catch him mid-sternum. Another man comes at me, but the one I’ve hurt gestures him away, instead overpowering me and pushing me into the car before someone else slams the door closed.
“Got her. Drive,” the man holding me yells to the person behind the wheel.
“Easy, we’re the good guys,” the man says, looking back at me.
The driver peels away and then navigates the city traffic, slowing for all the intersections and crosswalks and then stomps on the gas as we clear the congestion and he heads for the residential area.
I’ve lost my first opportunity for now, but I’m watchful. As soon as another one surfaces I plan to pop the lock and roll out, but I never even get that chance.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“We’re friends of Prez. We’re trying to keep you safeguarded from the mafia.
“What? By kidnapping me? That does not make one bit of sense,” I say.
“We’re taking you somewhere safe until we get the word from Matt,” the tall, broad neanderthal says.
“Where, just where do you think you are taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“You already said that. I asked where,” I say, narrowing my eyes at them. One of them laughs right out loud. “You are a little wildcat! Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”
I glare at him. “I need to get ahold of my family, let them know I’m okay.”
“No can do, not yet. Sit tight, everything will be over shortly,” the man says as they pull into a side street and stop at the very last house in a cul-de-sac. There are candle lights glowing on a dining room table visible from the street. Anyone passing by would think it was a family residence and never in a million years think it was a safe house for the mafia or whoever the hell these people are. The car pulls into the three car garage, the door rolls closed behind us, and they let me out of the vehicle.
“You good with her?” one of the men asks the neanderthal beside me who takes my wrists and unlocks my cuffs.
“Yep, she’s not going to give me any problems. She’s going to be appreciative that we got her away from the mafia. She’s going to eat dinner, shower up and then go to sleep,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Aren’t you?”
“Sure, whatever you say, big guy,” I say, because I have no clue who these people are and for all I know they don’t even really know Prez.
He gestures me ahead of him into the house and the others leave, rendering us alone in a completely furnished two story home. He turns on the lights, closes the door behind us, and guides me into the foyer. Through here,” he says as we walk past the living room and head into the kitchen.
“You hungry?” he asks, opening the refrigerator.
I shake my head, but my stomach growls at the very same time calling attention to my lie. He scowls at me. “No one’s going to poison your food or hurt you. I was being honest. We’re friends of Prez and if he wants you safe, we’re going to make sure you are.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. Everything happened so fast and I’m still having a hard time putting all the pieces together,” I say.
“No need for apologies. Take a seat. Lasagna okay?” he asks, pulling out a square pan from the refrigerator and then placing a round glass dish filled with lettuce onto the counter along with four zip locked bags containing cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, and what appears to be either romano or asiago shredded cheese for the salad. My stomach growls again. Who are these people? “You wanna toss the salad while I heat the lasagna and breadsticks?” he says.
“Sure. Where did you see bread?” I say and he smiles. “Gaby takes good care of her boys. She wouldn’t let us go hungry. If you’re good, I may even share my dessert with you,” he says, scooping generous portions of the lasagna into two separate dishes and placing them in the microwave above the stove while I open the bags of veggies and mix them into the lettuce.
“We’ve got wine if you’d like a glass,” he says.
“After this day, yes please. I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you.”
He looks up and his face crinkles with amusement. “I’ve seen worse. Apology accepted, consider it forgotten,” he says, pouring me a glass of red wine, then pulling out the lasagna, and placing the breadsticks into the oven in its place.
“Aren’t you going to have a glass?” I ask, gesturing to the bottle on the counter.
He shakes his head. “On duty, have to protect a little wildcat from the mafia,” he says, winking at me. His phone beeps and he glances at the incoming message and smiles widely.
“Is that Prez or Matt or whoever the hell he is? Is he okay?” I ask.
“He’s going to be,” he says, looking up at me.
“Are the guys that left bringing him back here, too?” I ask, all of a sudden feeling warm at the thought of seeing him again. The way he looked at me with those steely grey eyes and just the thought of his lean well-muscled body chained beside me, talking to me, giving me hope, calling me princess, the raw power of him overtaking those men. I clench my thighs and take another sip of my wine, wishing he would walk right through that door right now.
“Sorry wildcat, not tonight,” he says and I try not to show my disappointment. Maybe I felt a connection that wasn’t there, but he did say he was going to find me and I feel myself flush at the memory of his comments, so wicked and naughty that I had to clench my thighs to stem the wetness.
I eat the meal placed in front of me, relishing in each ricotta and mozzarella laden bite of lasagna. I’m so hungry and it’s so good and so gooey. I finish it before I have even touched my salad and the man across from me laughs. “I thought you weren’t hungry,” he says, grinning at me as he finishes his lasagna, bites into a breadstick, and gets up to throw two more pieces into the microwave.
“A gentleman wouldn’t remind me. It’s so good! Who in the world cooks like this?”
“One question at a time. First, I’ve never been labeled as such, quite the opposite, in fact. Two, Gaby is like a second mom to all of us. She keeps us stocked up and has a staff ensure wherever we are we don’t starve,” he says, grinning.
“So what’s your name big guy,” I say, and he smiles.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he says.
“Ha-ha, funny man. That’s so cliché. Seriously, you kidnap me, take me to some rich home that’s supposed to be a safe house, ply me with wine and food, but can’t even tell me your name?” I shake my head. “Not so cool.”
His eyes soften before he walks to the refrigerator and pulls a pie plate out of it. “Tiramisu cheesecake. There’s no way you want to pass this up,” he says, separating two pieces onto small plates.
“I am so full,” I say, laughing as I scoop the sauce left on my plate with the last piece of my breadstick.
“I’m telling you. If you pass this up, you’re missing the best dessert you’ll ever get a chance to eat. Gaby’s family recipe. At least take a bite,” he says, sliding the plate over to me.
“Will you tell me your name?” I ask, sliding my fork into th
e gooey mess.
He nods. “I go by Nate,” he says as I groan with delight at the decadent dessert.
“Easy woman. You keep moaning like that and someone’s going to think I’m giving you more than dessert!”
“Hmm. I can’t help it, it’s so good,” I say, but after a few bites of the rich dessert I push it toward him. “You finish it. I think I’m going to be in a food coma,” I say and his eyes light up with amusement.
“Do you think I could take that shower before I fall asleep?”
“Upstairs, first bedroom down the hall is the guest room and it has an adjoining bathroom. You’ll find a few things laid out for you. Hopefully something fits.”
The wine and all the food are starting to make me drowsy. “Thank you very much for all that you guys did for me and Prez. I still don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I appreciate how comfortable you’ve made me feel tonight,” I say, heading down the hall to my room.
“You’re welcome, wildcat.”
I lock the door to my bedroom and head into the bathroom and lock that, too. It’s not like I think he’s going to come bursting into my room, but still. The shower spray is heavenly and I take my time, washing my hair and relishing in the scented moisturizing soap as I lather my body and rinse under the pelting rain. I finally drag myself out of the shower, pat dry and snuggle into the long purple cashmere robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, blow dry my hair and brush my teeth with whats been laid out on the vanity. I am emotionally and physically exhausted and grateful for the comforts of a real bed. I snuggle in under the luxuriously silky sheets, relishing in the softness of the pillow and pull the light down blanket over the top of me.
I am just beginning to drift when I hear the faint sounds of someone rattling my door lock. I tense, but slide out of bed quickly. He won’t catch me like some docile little woman that he can take advantage of. I quietly get to the side of the door and wait. When he enters, I plan to take him by surprise, but I continue to wait, long drawn out moments, watching the door handle intently and listening for any faint sound outside the door, but still nothing.
