by A. C. Bextor
Elevent doesn’t ask the degree of abuse she suffered at Thanatos’s hands. His brother could’ve violated her, yes, but her temperament is still well intact. Gypsy would’ve told him if things had gone too far past bloody abuse and into sexual. He’s certain that soon enough Wren will get over anything else Thanatos has done.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“If you get outta this mess, my advice would be for you to lose the boyfriend,” he strongly urges. “He’s a fuckin’ idiot.”
Her eyebrows furrow and she purses her lips tightly before confirming, “I know that. I knew it a year ago, but look.” She moves her arms out to her sides. “A lot of good that did me.”
Smiling, he offers more advice. “Don’t bother getting your shit in deep with the law by killin’ him, either. He’s got enough enemies far and wide who’ll take care of that for you.”
“Sure,” she agrees as invisible fire shoots from the depth of her deep honey-colored eyes.
Elevent smiles as he watches those eyes start to glaze over. The sedative he instructed Gypsy to give her is finally taking its effect. He wasn’t sure the stubborn little woman would willingly swallow it or how her worn, tired, and beaten body would accept it. His worry was for naught, though, considering with each blink it’s taking longer for her eyes to reopen.
Fuck, this woman is adorable.
“You’ll sleep now,” he tells her. “I’ve got a few calls to make. If you wake up before we’re ready to go, I can have Gypsy give you another sedative for the ride.”
Realization that she’s truly leaving dawns in her eyes. She starts to raise her hand in gesture but it falls haplessly to her lap. Her body bucks, straining against the binding effects of the Valium.
Seeing Wren on the bed, suffering against herself and fearing she’ll ruin the bandages that were applied, Elevent reaches down and grabs her under the arms.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he soothes.
Once he’s got her safely tucked in, covered neck to toe, he walks away, leaving her to rest in order to check on his men.
Namely the soon-to-be dead one.
Wren’s voice captures his attention before he’s even made it to the door.
“I heard you,” she states, a grouchy grumble in her tone. “And you don’t get to call me sweetheart.”
Fuck.
Damn it.
Shit.
The woman is adorable.
Killian sits in his favorite chair in front of his pristine brick fireplace. His feet are propped up on the ottoman with a pale green blanket draped over his lap.
Sending Erlina back to Dublin without him all but broke his heart. He fears whatever is ticking behind the bomb Ciro’s building will be catastrophic enough to ruin them all for good.
Over the last hour, he’s been deliberating whether or not his old friend is privy to Ciro’s latest plot or if he’ll welcome hearing news of it if he isn’t.
For many years, he’s relied on the man inside the Palleshi empire to keep Ciro’s moves tightly in check. If he hasn’t been able, he’s relied on this informant to give him fair warning.
A long time—a couple of years, in fact—has passed since the two have talked business, which leads Killian to believe one of two possibilities: either his inside contact hasn’t been in the know to Ciro’s audacious plan, or he has and he’s been silenced in one way or another.
Bile creeps up Killian’s throat as he dials the number and waits for the call to connect. If Ciro’s destroyed his only informant for wishing to live out his days in peace, Killian’s unsure any further action can be taken.
Until his call is answered.
“You always said I’d hear from you again.”
Immediately, a calming peace washes over Killian as the welcoming sound of a man he holds great respect for is alive, well, and on the other end.
“I did.”
“How are you?”
“I’m still around. I’m glad to hear you’re still with us as well,” Killian jokes. However, under every thread of empty humor there’s vague truth not far beneath its surface.
An aging chuckle breaks the awkward and tense silence. The voice he’s relied upon all these years is growing as old as he is.
“Ciro hasn’t killed me yet. Threatened to shoot me many times, but much to his own selfish need for me, he has yet to deliver on it.”
“This is good,” Killian agrees.
“How’s Erlina? Is she still living to make your life complete?”
Killian smiles. He wishes his informant had felt the same love of a good woman as he’s always had. It’s a side of his soldiers’ lives that Ciro hasn’t allowed any of his men to outwardly partake in.
“That she is. I’ve sent her home to be with her mother. My hope is that I’ll be joining her there soon.”
A troubling sigh comes before the return of “There’s a reason you called, Killian. What is it?”
“Ciro is up to something and I need to know exactly what it is.”
“How do you know he’s up to anything?”
Laying his cards on the table, not contemplating the risk that he could be caught by doing so, Killian pushes forward. “He called. He’s asking I support him with his decision to take Vlad as well as his family out for good.”
“Asking?”
“Demanding,” Killian corrects. “He seems to think I owe him for all of his leniency these last few years.”
“Stupido uomo,” the other voice curses.
“Yes, he can be stupid.” Killian smiles. “He also mentioned an heir. We talked about Veniamin, but I don’t believe that’s who he was referring to.”
Another heavy sigh comes as the caller takes in a moment of silence.
“He could be threatening Vlad’s youngest girl. She’s only eight, but it’s possible he sees her as a threat. Hurting another innocent female may be his plan.”
“It’s not. Emilia will never be a threat to anyone but Vlad himself.”
“Possibly, but Faina was no threat to Ciro either.”
“You know who else Ciro may be talking about, don’t you?” Killian presses.
“I’ve heard something, but not all. Rumors only. I’ll need time to verify what you already have, then more to figure what Ciro’s been up to.”
“Does he still confide in you as he used to?”
“No. He has his circle of men he trusts, and I’ve been all but cast aside from it.”
“This should be a relief to you.”
“It is, but being powerless to help keep Ciro in line worries me.”
“It’s coming,” Killian breathes. “If Ciro is still plotting, it proves he’s gone mad.”
“Ciro’s always been mad. Now he just doesn’t have the patience to keep the fact hidden.”
“That Sicilian boss of yours may finally have stepped too far.”
“Vlad can’t know his plan,” the informant states. “If he knew—”
“Ciro would already be dead,” Killian finishes.
“Yes.”
“I thought these times had passed.”
“They haven’t,” the man assures. “Ciro has waited a very long time for a ripe opportunity to strike again.”
Killian’s heart is now not only heavy, but strained. “I have nothing left to give. Erlina and I have lost everything.”
“Hope, my friend. You can never lose that. As long as we have that, there is always the possibility for change.”
“Well, I do hope you’re right.”
“I need to go. I have things to do.”
“Yes. Take care, my friend. We’ll talk soon.”
“We will.”
Once Killian hangs up the phone, he sits in the silence of his palace and dwells on the loss of the very hope he once had. Ciro himself has seen to that loss again and again.
Maybe this time there’s hope for something he can’t yet see.
I wake to angry hands roughly grasping my upper arms. Before I can muster the courage and str
ength to open my eyes, the familiar stench of the black hood blankets my face.
“Wait,” a hoarse voice calls from a distance. “Take it off.”
Once the hood lifts, I scramble to focus. For a brief second I’d forgotten where I was, until the blurry image of Elevent comes slowly into view.
The tall, bulky, dark-haired man to my left claims, “Ciro said to blind her.”
Elevent’s jaw visibly ticks as he makes his way to stand in front of me. The steel toe of his boot is cool against my bare feet. Instinctively, I attempt to take a step back, but the jerk of my arms holds me in place. Elevent’s look is malevolent, completely opposite of what I saw before I passed out in front of him what feels like days ago.
Searching my eyes and relaxing his stance, he asks, “If we do this my way, you’ll do exactly as these men tell you?”
“Your way?”
I have no clue what’s happening, but I guess it’s time for me to go wherever it is Gypsy had mentioned I’d be going.
The smaller-framed, dirty-blond man standing at my right releases my arm and hands the black hood to Elevent. He lifts it in front of my face, waiting for my eyes follow.
“My way is without this. Palleshi wants you blind and bound. I don’t give a flying fuck what that lunatic wants, so I’m willing to forgo his demands. Tell me you’ll be a good girl and we’ll do without it.”
“Palleshi?”
Elevent’s eyes narrow. His temples protrude as he grinds his jaw. “How the fuck do you know that name?”
“Liam,” I answer. “He’s a—”
“You know Liam.”
“I know Liam,” I hesitate to confirm.
“Fuck.”
“Liam and I—”
“Well that fuckin’ figures.”
I can’t read his expression, and I don’t ask how he knows Liam or the Palleshi family.
Getting us back to where we were, he asks, “You planning a quick getaway?”
Elevent’s image is blurry from my frightened tears. “I’ll do whatever you tell me. Anything. But please don’t make everything dark again.”
“You wanna see what’s coming.”
“Yes.”
He reaches up, running his finger the length of my battered cheek before holding my chin firmly between his first finger and thumb. The touch is warm. When he tilts my neck to the side, no doubt surveying the cut Thanatos’s teeth left behind, his expression turns menacing, but his fury isn’t at me.
“Leave it off,” he instructs the others, stepping back and giving me space. “If Ciro wants her leashed like a fuckin’ pet, he can do it himself.”
“Elevent, I think—” The light-haired man at my left stumbles back, taking me two steps with him before letting go. Elevent’s blow to his gut struck quick and brutal, leaving him winded.
My stomach twists in panic.
“Someone get out there and find Gypsy. He’s with us on the way to Palleshi. Wake him in his room if you have to. And keep this shit from Cricket. She’ll cause chaos.”
A small wave of relief spreads over me. Neither Elevent nor Gypsy—no one besides Thanatos—has caused me debilitating harm.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Elevent tells me, bending so his face is close to mine. “If you’re not stupid, you’re not dead,” he quietly adds before turning to walk away.
Once I’m settled in the back seat of a beat-up black truck, secured between the light-haired man who helped Elevent wake me and Gypsy, I chance a look at my wrists. The rope marks have angered; blue and black bruising along the fine cuts from the heavy threads stand out against my pale skin.
“How long was I with you?” I ask Gypsy.
He leans downs to get closer. “Not even two days.”
I figured it may have been a couple.
Where is Liam? And where in the hell is Chase?
Although recently treated, my thigh continues to scream out in agonizing pain. I can see the faded bloodstained bandage through the small holes that decorate the oversized pair of jogging pants Gypsy had given me. I don’t remember putting them on; one of them must have done it while I was asleep.
“Chase got word to one of his bookies. Son of a bitch is lying low underground and he’s still placing bets.” The driver is talking to Elevent as he sits staring out the windshield at his left.
The sky is dark. Rain continues to hit the windshield, and the air in the cab of the truck is thick.
“He’ll turn up,” Elevent assures. “I’d guess his next call will be to one of his dealers.”
I’d bet that, too.
Elevent turns in place, facing my direction and wrapping his arm around the driver seat to hold his large frame in position. His full lips against his perfect white teeth make him only slightly less scary.
“Did you hear that, Wren? Good news. Your man’s not dead yet.”
Hiding my hate for Chase isn’t possible. At my angered expression, Elevent smiles wider.
“Let it go,” I hear Gypsy whisper in my ear. He’s leaning against me with his shoulder brushing mine. “Don’t waste your energy on Chase. Plotting revenge won’t help you now.”
What will?
Turning to face him, I see his eyes are still as kind as they were earlier. It’s a peculiar thought, and while I’m aware my feelings for these men may be questionable at best, at least with them I know where I stand. I’m a prisoner, but as long as I don’t step out of bounds in any way, I won’t be further harmed. Wherever it is they’re taking me, I’m not sure if circumstances will be the same.
“We’re here,” the man I heard Elevent call Leglas announces, using his large tattooed hand to adjust the rearview mirror. His gaze travels to mine in the reflection. I assume he’s trying to gauge my reaction, but there won’t be one. Not for him.
The large estate, surrounded by leafless trees and both new and old snow, emerges as a peaceful calm. The vast driveway we’re driving down is crowded with several luxury cars and SUVs. Looking out the front window, I see a man in a suit standing alone near the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing wraparound glasses and not giving so much as a hint of an expression.
Once the truck stops, Gypsy moves to unbuckle my belt, but I stop him. Grabbing his wrist, I unclick it myself, then look up to find him puzzled.
“I won’t run,” I tell him. “Let me do at least this.”
Nodding, he grabs his door handle and waits for me to follow behind him.
As we walk toward the two red doors adorned with a large gold knocker and handle, Elevent grabs my arm and the others pass without a backward glance or questionable word.
“Wren,” Elevent states urgently, so I turn my gaze to his. His eyes are filled with what I can only assume is irritation, but maybe concern as well. “It’ll be easier on you if you stay quiet.”
“What?”
“Don’t fight this.”
If given a choice between the two evils, one who’s waiting for me inside those heavy doors or the men delivering me to them, I’d choose door number two. I don’t want to be left here.
“Don’t leave,” I plead. “Maybe Chase can—”
“Chase hasn’t done anything. His time is up,” he snaps, then continues calmly, “It’s not about him anymore. It’s about you and his business.”
“But I—”
Elevent searches my face; he’s holding back every piece of compassion he’s able.
“I’m finished here,” he explains. “What happens next won’t be up to me. But I’m telling you to lie low, keep your shit together, and don’t say jack about Chase.”
“I hate him,” I whisper.
The urge to wrap my arms around this gentle giant comes swiftly, but I refrain. It wouldn’t do any good to plead with him for my safety or my life.
“That hate is gonna be what keeps you alive in there. Use it to your advantage,” he returns. Pushing on the small of my back, he gets us moving forward and keeps talking. “Ciro’s a bastard of a fuck, but he doe
sn’t do what he does without reason. And for whatever reason, he wants you.”
The back of my eyes sting as the winter wind, along with my draining courage, takes my breath.
“Does this have anything to do with Liam?”
Elevent appears reluctant to answer, but eventually does. “I suspect Ciro’s using you to fuck with him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“’Cause he’s an asshole. It’s what he does.”
When the doors to the gold-painted palace open and a shy, well-kept man with black hair, dark eyes, and chiseled jaw steps out to greet us, all heads turn. He remains stoic as he looks down at all who flank me in every direction. Leglas steps forward and the two speak quietly to each other as the rest of us wait on the cement walkway a few yards back.
Leglas turns to us first, signaling for me to come to him. My body won’t budge. Elevent’s hand on my back doesn’t serve as encouragement, but I do as instructed and step forward.
“I’m Demetrius,” the new man warmly introduces himself. He points to the man in wraparound shades and says, “This is Xavier. And you must be Wren.”
“Yes,” I answer, my eyes darting between the two.
Xavier is a tall, muscular, tattooed man who holds himself rigid and on guard. Demetrius is not even close to the same. He’s handsome, clean, and judging by the way his accent echoes through his words, he’s related to Liam.
Demetrius tilts his head and a small smirk traces his lips. “Welcome to our home.”
Sitting on the bed, I make every effort not to move, the pain in my leg coming in excruciating waves. The bleeding has stopped, but beneath the surface the angered stabs continue their plea for mercy.
Once we entered the large foyer of the home, I expected more men circling as I did at Saint’s. There wasn’t anyone at all. The house was eerily quiet. The rooms we passed weren’t decorated with class but instead reflected little personality. Most of the walls were white, plain, and held no decoration. The wooden floors were clean, unscratched, and shiny. I wondered if anyone else lived here.
