by Winters, KB
Then I was outside in the dark parking lot where Ralph was too damn cheap to replace the burned out or busted bulbs. Shattered glass littered the cracked pavement. A quick look to the right showed Shamrock had shoved an old man who looked a lot like Lorenzo Milano into one of the waiting vans. That news would reach Patrick in no time.
Another Connelly victory.
From the parking lot I remembered hearing more shots ring out inside the club, and I decided to go check it out to make sure none of our men were down. Patrick understood the price of doing business, but he fucking hated it when our guys got hurt. Or killed.
I turned away from the mostly empty lot, to head back inside the low rent strip club to help my men and that was when shit got fuzzy.
Even thinking about it now, I didn’t remember seeing any faces or hearing any sounds. There was a hand on my shoulder, big and sweaty, and before I could shrug it off, the hand pulled me back until I was off balance and it had pressed a dirty rag against my face. I didn’t need to know the chemical makeup of whatever was on the rag to get that I was in a world of hurt. That shit went to work pronto.
I struggled with the faceless asshole for a few minutes, fighting as the chemicals worked their way up my nostrils and into my brain. My muscles and therefore my movements became slower, my accuracy turned to shit, finally giving the asshole a leg up on me. I was shoved into the back of some large, unfinished vehicle, probably a van. By then, their mickey had done a number on my head, and my mind was garbage for the rest of the night.
But that didn’t stop me from trying. I could see it all in flashes. The knockout drug had subdued me temporarily, but it hadn’t completely knocked me out. Sometime later, I woke up, thrashing and fighting with the asshole trying to keep me down. We fought in the back of the van for I didn’t know how long before the hard, cold feel of metal cracked the back of my head and everything went fucking dark.
When I came to, the little bit of light streaming through the high windows came from neon signs and told me it was night. But what night? The same night? A night a week later? Who the fuck knew?
I needed to get the fuck out of here. Now. I’d worry about who was responsible for putting me here later, for hitting me with a goddamn gun, and for zip tying me to a fucking metal chair. All of that, I’d deal with, but not yet. Whoever it was—and I was sure it was the Milanos— they would pay for it.
But my first priority was getting the fuck out of here before this turned our little disagreement with the Milanos into an all-out fucking war.
As much as I wanted to sit back and daydream about all the ways I would tear the remaining Milano family members limb from limb, I couldn’t. The room they put me in was dark, cool and damp.
I blinked my eyes a few times to adjust to the light—or lack of light. It was either a basement or, more likely a warehouse based from what I could see of the size of the damn place. Big and probably remote, on the outskirts of town.
Lorenzo and his thugs never had what it took to be an organized crime family. Lorenzo hadn’t raised his boys with any discipline, which meant they hadn’t raised their boys with any either. They were good at cleaning up crime scenes, washing away the DNA or making it look like someone never existed. But that was always after the fact. For them to be in an all-out turf war on a daily basis would ruin them.
They weren’t that smart.
Even with a headache and my sight impaired from the darkness, I figured they had me at one of the properties they owned legitimately. I’d bet if I stood up and walked to the rows of shelves, I’d see boxes of cleaning supplies. Heavy duty, industrial grade chemicals and cleaning materials.
Eamon and Shae would find me in no time, and with Conor’s help, it shouldn’t take more than a day or two.
No more than three. Hopefully.
A groan tore through the air when I tried to adjust my body in the small chair. “Fuckers got some good punches in,” I mumbled to myself and stored that fact away for later. When I had time to exact my revenge.
“Thank God you’re alive.” The voice was soft and feminine with a slightly husky quality.
“What? Who are you? Where are you?” I hadn’t heard anything to indicate there was another person in the room with me and it pissed me off. How bad was I hurt? Who else was in here?
“Over here. Below the spot where the windows end.” Her voice trembled but that was the only sign of her distress, but I knew I couldn’t trust or believe her. Not yet.
“How long have I been here?”
“I can’t really say for sure.” She was plainspoken and scared, not the sound of a spy sent to gather intel and not the tone of a honey pot. But a guy could never be too damn careful. “I would have tried to help but my chair is stuck to the ground. Like it’s bolted or chained or something.”
The sound of her attempting to move her chair and the chains rattling behind me and to the left, paid truth to her words. I checked my chair; it was heavy but it moved. Idiots.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“A day, maybe a bit longer. Any idea who these guys are?”
Fuck yeah, I had an idea, but the fact that she didn’t meant she must have been an unwitting victim of someone else’s demons. “Possibly, but I didn’t see them when they ambushed me. What’s your name?”
“Margo.”
That was a pretty girl’s name and she had a pretty girl’s voice, two things I shouldn’t be thinking about while tied up and left to an uncertain fate, but I was a man after all. “I’m Rourke.”
“Wish I could say it was good to meet ya, but I don’t want to start our relationship out on a lie.” Her tone was filled with snark that said she could handle herself in an emergency.
“I appreciate that, Margo. I know how I got here. Why don’t you tell me how a girl with such a beautiful voice ended up in a shithole like this?”
She laughed. It was a nice sound. A sexy sound. And if her face matched her voice, maybe I wouldn’t kill every person with a drop of Milano blood in them when I got free.
Because I would get free.
Soon.
Chapter Two
Margo
His voice was deep, a perfect baritone that was somehow gravelly and cultured with the barest hint of an accent. He sounded gruff. Gruff and tough and he was probably hot as fuck. Exactly my type and exactly who I’d run in the opposite direction from at a thousand miles an hour. But whatever was happening, we were in this together. Or at least I hoped we were.
“How do you know this is a shithole?” It was an inane question but my mind was still racing, my heart still beat like I was sprinting a marathon, and the thread of fear that ran through me hadn’t loosened up yet.
Rourke’s deep laugh sounded and it made me smile. “Would you kidnap two people and put them in the best room of your house or the basement where you keep holiday decorations and other junk you don’t use?”
“Good point,” I sighed. Thinking about where I was only made me think about why or—more specifically—who. This kidnapping, without a doubt, had something to do with my father. All the bad shit in my life seemed to be traced back to the man with the same blue eyes I saw in the mirror each morning.
“Are you sure you want to hear it?” In my experience, men hardly ever wanted to hear what a woman had to say and what I’d gone through had shaken me enough that I didn’t want to share it if he didn’t care.
“I asked, didn’t I? And hearing this could help. Anything you remember might help us get out of here, Margo. Okay?”
I didn’t trust this stranger one iota, but his words made sense. So I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, and started at the beginning.
“I had just finished up a two day stint, and since we’re on the same schedule as the Rocket FD, I had the next two days off. So I headed home, ordered enough Chinese food to feed an army, and then I took a shower to clean off the last nine hours of my shift.”
“What do you do, Margo?” Why did his voice ha
ve to be so deep and alluring? So teasing?
“I’m a paramedic.” Even now, when it was clear that I might not make it to my next shift, I couldn’t stop the smile that came from talking about my job.
Rourke whistled. “You must be smart as hell, Margo.”
I liked to think so, then again if that was true I’d be more than a paramedic by now.
“Thanks. Anyway, I took a long hot shower and got comfy in a pair of yoga pants and one of my many RFD shirts. I grabbed a bottle of my favorite dark beer and prepared to veg out in front of the TV.”
It wasn’t exactly the first impression a girl wanted to make, but I was wearing glorified pajamas, my red hair had air dried into a poodle’s mane, and not a stitch of makeup on. Worrying about it was pointless though.
“What were you watching?” He clipped his words but couldn’t hide the amusement in his tone.
“Nothing, but I bet if you stopped at my apartment right now, you’d see the first season of the new Star Trek all set and ready for binge-watching by yours truly.”
“A nerd,” he snorted. “You’re a nerd.”
“You have no idea, Rourke.” It was a big reason I was still painfully single. Men wanted eye-catching, sexy women who felt confident while being sexy. Not awkward nerds who wore more gym clothes than evening gowns, or who could spout random facts at the drop of a hat.
“I had it all set up, ready to go, and I left to go to the kitchen and get ready for my blowout dinner. Napkins, chopsticks, soy sauce and sriracha are essentials for massive Chinese takeout.”
“Sounds so good, I’m feeling pissed off on your behalf.”
“You kid, but it was gonna be amazing.”
Maybe not as amazing as it sounded, because it was how I spent most of my days off when I wasn’t running errands or avoiding my family.
“So I was putting my stuff on the coffee table, then the doorbell rang and stupidly, I assumed it was the delivery boy.”
And that was the part that had been eating at me ever since it all happened. I knew better. Better than most and had safety drilled into me from an early age. Then, when I needed it the most, I ignored it.
“I knew better, but I opened it anyway. Without checking first.”
“I’m guessing you live a life where checking is more of a precaution than a requirement?”
“Yeah, but you can never be too safe. I know that. Hell, I see the aftermath of failing to do that every day at work.”
“We all make mistakes, Margo. Did you get a look at the guy?”
“Oh yeah, a good one. He was big, at least six-foot-four and more fat than muscle. Bald head and dark eyes, a double chin and a tattoo on the side of his neck. Everything about the man said gangster, and I stepped back just as he pushed the door open. I ran up to my bedroom taking the stairs three at a time as soon as it registered that he wasn’t the delivery boy, grabbed my gun and headed to the bathroom.”
“You own a gun?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I’m a single woman, and I live alone. Of course, I have protection. And yes, I know how to use it.”
This time Rourke laughed outright, no regard for my feelings. I guessed that meant we were becoming buddies.
“I assumed that was the case,” he said with a howl.
Yeah, sure. “That fat bastard kicked in my bedroom door, and I sat on the toilet with the gun aimed right at the door. Center mass. The minute the lock cracked open and the door splintered, I squeezed the trigger. Three times.”
I’d never share with anyone the wicked fascination that passed through me at watching his face, shocked at first that he’d been shot and then agony as the pain registered. Then a darker kind of pain, the kind all living creatures wore when they knew death was imminent. His big eyes widened and pleaded as blood poured from his mouth and his stomach.
“It wasn’t until he was lying face down on my bathroom floor that I hopped over him and headed downstairs. I’d never been so scared in my life, creeping down my own damn stairs with a gun in my hand. My dad would’ve been proud.”
“Was he alone?”
“Turned out, he wasn’t. I got to the bottom of the steps and led with my gun down the hall to the open front door, which I should have walked right through and kept going. Instead I went the other way to grab my phone. Stupid fucking phones really will be the death of humanity. His friend had my phone in his hand and a smirk on his face.”
“What did he look like?”
This question was more pointed, and I realized I should have asked Rourke if he lived a life where using the peephole was a matter of life and death.
“He was not at all what I was expecting. Handsome with thick dark hair and a nice style. Cold eyes and a strong jaw. He wore a nice suit with a vest. Seemed more like a CEO than a thug, all the way down to the cold lifeless eyes. That was until he punched me in the face.”
“He fucking punched you?”
“Yep. Asshole.”
“Is that all?”
I knew what he was asking, and I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see me. “Hell no. I got up and attacked him like a wild banshee, but I knew it was barely making a difference to him.” It was the curse of being five-foot-two and weighing a buck fifteen, but I was strong, dammit.
“Then I smacked him across the face and scraped my nails down his cheek until I ran out of skin. That’s when he stepped back and turned. While I was trying to figure out what he was doing, he sent a flying elbow to the side of my head. Knocked me out cold until a few hours ago.”
“Goddamn, Margo. You’ve had a night.”
His words made me smile, understatement that they were. “You could say that. I’m bruised and I have a hell of a lump, but there’s no concussion, so I’m good.” That thought brought another. “What about you, Rourke? Where were you injured?”
He snorted. “Who said I was injured?”
I rolled my eyes because good Lord, save me from stubborn, prideful men. “That grunt you keep making every time you move in that chair says you got hit in the ribs at least once. Your breathing is shallow and you’ve been either drugged or unconscious for a while.”
And this was how I spent most of my days, convincing people that I was capable of doing my job.
“Okay fine, sweetheart, you got me. I’m hurt. You gonna give me an exam?” His voice was close and I looked up and gasped at the shadow in front of me. Whoever Rourke was, he was big. Not thick, lean but tall and solidly built. He stepped closer and my heart raced, in fear or arousal I didn’t know, but when I saw him under the spotlight of the moon, I knew which one. Arousal. At a time like this, I was turned on.
Fucking hormones.
“How the hell did you get over here? Weren’t you tied up?”
He raised bloody hands up and said, “Yeah I was, but I’m not now. Fucking plastic zip ties have no power over an old broken down metal chair. Took me a few minutes to figure it out, but here I am.”
Rourke was a sight to behold with dirty blond hair that was wavy and wild. Beautiful. His eyes were dark, but the sharp angles of his jaw and his full lips were all I could focus on. He was more than beautiful. He was a fire starter, the kind of guy who with one smile could make you set fire to your whole life and then laugh while it burned.
“Not an exam but maybe a quick look.” My hands were tied intricately behind my back, keeping me and the chair together, which meant we should both hope like hell he wasn’t seriously injured.
Shit, Margo. Your face.”
“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes. “At least I know you weren’t kidnapped because of that killer charm.”
Not that a guy who looked like he did needed to be charming. He only needed a working finger to beckon women to follow him, and he was good.
Damn good.
Me? Not so much.
Chapter Three
Rourke
What in the hell kind of karma would have a man kidnapped by his enemies and then locked in a warehouse with a stunning redhea
d? Whoever that rat bastard was, I hadn’t decided whether I would thank him or throttle him.
As I took her in, I knew which way I was leaning because Margo was hot as fuck. Her hair wasn’t a sultry red. Nope, it was bright as hell, even in the dark, but against the velvety white of her skin and royal blue eyes that were all big and vulnerable, it positively glowed like fire. Bringing out my protective streak, goddammit.
“When I turn on the charm, you’ll know it, babe. Your head is swollen and discolored.” Her wild, red mane covered most of it, but she had to lean back to look at me and it was ugly.
“Yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes and her skin flushed. “He cracked me pretty good but like I said, no concussion.” She licked her lips and I damn near forgot to breathe for a second. “Come closer so I can see that wound on your head.”
“You can’t do anything all tied up like that.” They had her tied up like a goddamn chicken. Even with nothing but moonlight I could see how the rope wrapped around one wrist and then the chair before looping around the other and back again. Again and again. “That’s gonna be a bitch to get you out of. You wouldn’t happen to have a knife hidden in your bra, would you?”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, again. “Sorry. When I’m at home, I keep my bra knife beside me.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t wear bras at home.”
That was an image I didn’t need to think about but couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. Margo, bare white flesh, exposed creamy tits that were just bigger than a handful, bright pink nipples that always looked freshly sucked. “Lucky me.”
“Get me out of this rope and you can flirt as much as you want, Rourke.”
“Right.” I needed to get my focus back on the mission at hand, getting the fuck out of this place. I didn’t know Margo from Eve, so I didn’t trust her. But I could help her. Even though we were in the same predicament.
