I wanted to ask her if what I'd just heard was true? Or if Sam was just wildly off the mark. I wanted to ask her whether or not her family was actually a – crime family? A part of the Mafia. Gangsters.
I told myself it couldn't be possible. There was no way my best friend's family was part of the mob. It was ludicrous to even think something like that. Besides, I didn't think the mob even existed anymore. I was pretty sure the FBI and everything had wiped them all out. I thought I read that somewhere.
I shook my head, chuckled to myself, and pushed the thought from my mind. I must have heard it all wrong or misunderstood something.
If only I had been right about being wrong. I awake to the loud crash of the door being thrown open and slamming into the wall. Mario's voice – angry yet sounding a little concerned – bounces off the walls.
“We have to get her out of here, now,” he says. “Let's go. We gotta fuckin' move her.”
The guard near me steps over and starts to untie my restraints. He's not really paying much attention to me, not seeing me as much of a threat. But I'm done being underestimated. As soon as my feet are untied, I let my rage flow through my entire body. I raise up a knee and drive it hard into his chin. He grunts in pain, and blood spurts from his mouth. His face darkens with anger as he stands up, and before I know what's happening, he reaches back and slaps me across the face.
He's so much bigger than me, it feels like I just got hit across the face with a baseball bat. I see literal stars exploding in my eyes, and my vision starts to waver. My world goes black for a moment. I swear it's only a moment, but when I wake back up – who even knows how much later – my world is spinning.
No – it's not that the world is spinning, it's that we're moving. We're outside. I can feel the freezing night air on my skin. It takes a minute to get my wits back about me and clear the cobwebs out of my head once more. When I fully come back to myself, I realize the guard I'd kneed in the face is carrying me, but I don't see Mario anywhere. I'm not restrained – my arms and legs are free – so I flail around in his arms, doing my best to make him drop me.
He squeezes harder, trying to hold onto me with all his might, but I'm a wily little thing. He adjusts his grip on me, bringing my face a little too close to his – which is his first mistake. I seize the opportunity and bite down on his cheek. The man roars in agony as the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. I clamp down harder with my teeth, and my stomach roils with the acrid taste. I feel like throwing up, but I keep biting and fighting. My life literally depends on it.
He roars like a wounded bear, but his arms finally open, and he releases me. I fall to the ground – a drop that feels a lot farther than it should – and crash painfully onto hard concrete. My tailbone hits the ground first, sending an electric shock of pain shooting through my back. I grimace and curse, and a powerful wave of nausea washes over me. My spine feels severely impacted, and every inch of me is screaming in agony, but as soon as I'm on the ground, I know I need to move. Move or die. Wincing at the pain radiating through my body, I still manage to roll out of his reach, and scramble to my feet.
The man looks at me with naked fury in his eyes. He's holding his hand to his cheek, blood pouring from the wound. If he had his way, he'd shoot me right then and there, but he doesn't. I know he fears Mario's wrath if he hurts me too much. And for that one small thing, for putting the fear of God into his men, I'm thankful to my ex-boyfriend.
Every part of me hurts, but I'm free. I'm on my feet. I'm alive. Adrenaline pumps through me, and I take off running towards the road before the guard can grab hold of me again. I scream and wave my hands in the air to draw the attention of somebody. Anybody. I'm desperate for help and am going to scream until I get it.
Before I even make it to the road, a hand snakes around from behind me, clamping down around my mouth. In that moment, I know nobody's coming to help me. I'm on my own.
I'm yanked backward, off my feet again, and spun around. I find myself face to face with Mario, the tips of our nose’s mere inches apart.
“You just can't behave you, can you, bella?”
The calm, smug arrogance in his voice sends goosebumps marching up my arms. As I stare into his eyes – eyes that are so dead, so devoid of basic human emotion – I can't believe I ever let this man romance me. I'd slept with him, gave my body over to him, and let him live out his fantasies with me.
I had no idea who he was. Now I do, and it's too late. Far too late.
I struggle again, flailing as hard as I can to get out of his grasp, but he takes his other arm and pulls me backwards against him, pinning my arms to my sides. I pull my head back to get his hands off my mouth, and one of his fingers slips into the corner of my mouth as he tries to hold me steady.
Recognizing the brief opportunity, I bite down on his hand as hard as I can. Instead of screaming out in pain, Mario just squeezes harder. He covers my nose and mouth with one of his massive hands until I can’t breathe. We stand there like that, his hand clamped down over my nose and mouth, cutting off my air, and again, the world around me begins to go black. I flail, and try to stomp on his feet, but it's not enough.
“Goodnight, Celeste,” he says, barely inches away from my ear. “Believe me when I say I wish it could have been different between us. I really do.”
The last thought that flashes through my head before the world falls into a complete, still blackness is, “I don't.”
I just wish I'd been able to say it out loud. Let him know what I really feel for him. To show him the utter contempt and disgust I have for him. Unfortunately for me, I can't do anything. I can only wait there as Mario slowly suffocates me. The last shred of humanity in the man is gone. He's nothing but a blank, unfeeling stone.
A cold, unfeeling killer – and I'm his next victim.
Chapter Twenty
Grant
“There,” I say, pointing to the building. Just as Leo described, it’s an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of town. “That's the place. It has to be.”
Agent Hartford slams on the brakes, sliding to a stop behind a black BMW. The back door to the car is open when we pull up, and we can see a pair of pale legs being pulled into the back seat. The door quickly slams shut and the car speeds out of the parking lot, leaving trails of smoke and rubber behind it. Without saying a word, he mashes the accelerator and is on their heels.
“That was Celeste,” I mutter, slamming my fists into the dashboard. “Dammit. I know it was.”
“That's a good thing,” Hartford says, keeping calm – somebody needs to. “That means she's likely still alive. They weren't putting her body in the trunk, at least.”
“She wasn't moving,” I say.
“Probably unconscious,” he says.
Probably. There's no guarantee of that, though. The searing pain that tears through my heart at the thought of losing her is unbearable. I can't lose her. Not now. Not after everything we've been through. I've had so little time with her, and I need more. Much more.
The BMW swerves, turning suddenly onto a busy road.
“Hold on,” Hartford says.
I'm thrown against the door as he turns just as quickly, the tires squealing as we round the corner. We are still on their heels, and they know it too. They suddenly swerve into another lane, putting a car between us, but Hartford stays on them. When they turn again, so do we, and this time we find ourselves on an unpaved road. The gravel being kicked up from their tires’ rains down on our windshield, making a loud tack-tack-tack sound, but it doesn't deter Agent Hartford. He doesn't slow. He stays right on their back bumper, a look of iron resolve on his face.
“We're going to get these fuckers,” he growls. “They are not getting away.”
I've always wondered why Hartford cares so much about getting the guys who killed Sam. Why he took it so personally, right from the start. It's not like he knew Sam, but he’s worked the case just as intensely as I have. I never asked him, and he never told me. He has his reasons an
d judging by the look or sheer intense determination on his face, they're pretty strong ones.
My reason is simple: they have Celeste. The fact that these are the same assholes who killed Sam only makes my need for vengeance that much more vibrant and intense.
The BMW comes to a sudden, skidding stop in front of us, and Hartford grunts as he quickly slams on the brakes. We skid sideways, coming perilously close to plummeting down a steep embankment. The car stops mere inches from the edge. Hartford pops open the glove compartment and hands me a gun and a few extra clips.
I know things are about to get ugly, but I don't even have a second to prepare for it. Gunshots ring out, echoing in the cold night. Lead slugs slam into the windshield, but thankfully, it holds.
“Get down!” Hartford calls out.
He doesn't have to warn me. I'm already down. Suddenly back in Marine mode, I squeeze the handle to the door and kick it open, staying low to the ground as I quickly crawl out. From this angle, Hartford’s car separates me from Mario's gang. I just have to make sure I don't fall off the side of the cliff.
Hartford follows me out the passenger side door, on his hands and knees. The gunshots stop. They might be reloading or think we're dead – one can only hope for the latter. If they think they killed us with that initial barrage of bullets, they'll do something stupid and give us the opening we need.
The driver's side door is yanked open, but Hartford is ready. He pops up and shoots as soon as the man appears in the open door. The large man jerks and twitches as Hartford’s bullets find their mark. He stumbles backward, holding his shoulder, screaming in pain. He falls backward, out of our sight, but the screaming stops.
A second guy appears, having crept around the side of our car without me noticing, and takes a shot. The bullet pings off the car, whining loud. It barely misses me. I turn and bring the weapon Derek gave me to bear. I quickly sight the guy and squeeze the trigger three times in rapid succession. He spasms like he's having a seizure as the bullets punch through his body. The man's reflexes have him squeezing the trigger, firing off shots wildly into the air – none of them coming close to hitting us. He hits the ground with a hard thud, blood pooling out onto the gravel road beneath him. The guy was dead before he ever hit the ground.
That's two down, but we're not sure how many more guys are out there. I'm betting there's at least one, if not two of them lurking around, trying to get a clear shot at us. I feel pretty confident that with our training, the two of us can take two of them. But if there's more than just two of them out there, we might have some problems.
I never got a head count when the BMW was ahead of us on the road, so we're going into this blind. For all I know, there's fifteen of those assholes crammed in there like a fucking clown car. And if that's the case, we're in deep shit.
Hartford and I exchange a look, communicating through some unspoken understanding between us. We both stand at the same time and start squeezing off shots. None of our bullets hit anything, but the BMW roars to life and takes off down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust, and a storm of gravel in his wake.
The good news is, there's probably only one of the assholes left. The bad news is that I'm betting it's Mario. His henchmen are dead and he's running.
“Let's go,” Hartford growls.
That look of steel resolve back in his eye, Hartford hops back into the car – and that's when I notice he's been shot. His shoulder is covered in blood, which he holds tightly with his other hand. His jaw is clenched and there's a tight grimace on his face. He's in a tremendous amount of pain, but he's trying to push through it.
“Trade me spots,” I say.
He starts to argue, but I yank open the driver's side door and motion for him to get out. He hesitates a moment, but either because he's in pain, or realizing that each second is precious, and we can't afford to stand here dicking around, he jumps out and runs over to the passenger side of the car. I slip in behind the wheel. The second his door closes, I gun it, kicking up a spray of dust and gravel of my own, as I take off after the black BMW. We're flying down the road, but I keep glancing over at Hartford, worried about the amount of blood I see seeping through his shirt.
“It just grazed me,” Hartford says. “Don't worry about it.”
I shake my head. There's too much blood for it to be nothing to worry about. His shirt is soaked.
“Apply pressure to the wound,” I say. “And don't you bleed out on me, dammit.”
Hartford smirks. “I won’t die on you, Grant. Trust me. I've seen my fair share of battles.”
“So have I, and I know a serious wound when I see it,” I say.
“I'll live.”
“You better,” I say. “Because we don't have time to call an ambulance or get you to the hospital. Not if we're going to catch up with Celeste.”
Hartford laughs, which turns into a painful, wet cough. I glance over at my friend. He's been with me through all of this, and I still don't know why. Now he's risking his life, literally, to save Celeste and get the people behind the murder of Sam.
“Why do you do this?” I ask him.
“Do what?” he asks.
“Go after these fuckers like this,” I say. “You've been on it from day one, and I never bothered to ask you why.”
He shrugs. “Just make sure he doesn't get away. We can bond over drinks later,” Hartford says.
“Mario ain't going nowhere,” I say. “I know these back roads better than he does, and he's not getting out of here. He's cornered.”
Hartford glances over at me, and I give him a cocky grin. Without his men, Mario is lost and alone. He's got nobody to watch his back, and he's in the middle of nowhere, Colorado. He's on my turf now.
“They killed my wife,” he finally says.
I take my eyes off the road and look over at him, struggling to process what he'd just said. Surely, I'd heard him wrong.
“What was that?”
“Mario's men. They killed my wife,” he says flatly. “She was pregnant with our daughter at the time.”
My heart stops and I feel like the wind was just knocked out of me. Even though he said it, I still have trouble wrapping my head around what he said. The full impact of his words is like a slow burn, and when it finally does sink in, it's like a hammer blow straight to the gut.
I don't take my eyes off the road, but I give him a sideways look, just to make sure he's okay. His face is drawn and pale – and not because of the wound in his shoulder. There's a pain in his eyes that has nothing to do with his physical discomfort. It's deeper than that. A lot fucking deeper.
“Why?” I ask.
“As a threat. A warning to me,” he says. “They were trying to get me to back off. I didn't take the threat seriously enough, and well –”
“Now we're going to kill those bastards.”
Hartford shakes his head. “You know I'm still a cop, Grant,” he says. “As much as I'd like to make an exception in this case, I can't just go around killing everyone who pisses me off.”
“And we both know the police will just let him walk,” I say. “We can't let them walk, man.”
Hartford doesn't say a word, he just looks straight ahead through the windshield. I can tell he's far away in that moment – probably seeing his wife again. Probably reliving the pain of losing her. I can't sit here and pretend to know what that feels like. Sam and I were closer than brothers but losing your wife and unborn child takes the pain of loss to a whole different level.
It's a level I never want to experience – which is why I'm pushing so hard to save Celeste.
The road forks, and Mario takes a hard left. Perfect. He has no idea where he's going. Had he made a right, well, he'd have had more chances to escape. But now he's sealed his fate. There's only one way to go now. With the road narrowing, the sides of the bluffs on either side of us getting steeper and steeper, driving at these speeds is dangerous.
Mario doesn't slow down. Neither do I.
I won't stop unt
il he's dead.
The car is bouncing down the rutted and pitted road. The BMW ahead of us is swerving wildly, and I'm half afraid that he's going to spin out of control and get Celeste killed. Part of me knows I should back off a bit. He's not going anywhere. Not down this road. But I'm anxious to get her away from him.
“You okay?” I ask Derek.
He grimaces and clutches his shoulder tighter. “I'm fine,” he replies. “Just nail this fucking guy. Nail his ass to the wall, Grant.”
The end of the line is coming, and when Mario sees that he's driven himself into a box canyon, he slams on the brakes. I roar up behind the BMW as he's getting out of his car, gun in hand. He brings his weapon to bear and fires off two quick shots at us. They ping and whine off the metal of the car, sending a small shower of sparks flying.
I throw the car in park and jump out, crouching down behind the door. I peek over and see him struggling to get the back door open. He's going to use Celeste as a human shield, which means I can't let him get that door open, at any cost.
I pop up and take quick aim, firing off two fast shots. Mario stumbles backward a few steps, though my shots missed him entirely. He brings his weapon up again and fires three quick shots – none of them close to hitting the mark.
“Doesn't have to go like this, Mario,” I call. “We can all walk away from this.”
“Right,” Mario shoots back. “Because I believe that. Do I look like a fuckin' moron?”
“Walk away, man” I call. “Leave Celeste out of this and just walk away.”
Another pair of shots ring out and the windshield of the car explodes inward, a spray of glass showering the interior of the car. I jump up and fire a fast burst at Mario. He twitches and staggers backward a step or two as one of my bullets finds the mark.
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