I grip the gun and quietly flick the safety off.
“Bye, Dad.” Marty lowers the phone from his ear and slides it back into his breast pocket. “Well…” He clears his throat. “That was an interesting phone call.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“It appears that I’ve made a mistake coming to talk to you today, Hart.”
“Maybe you have.”
“Then again…” His brows bounce. “An undercover agent might be just what I need to slither my way up the crime ladder.”
“Sorry, kid.” I cringe at his pun. “I’m retired.”
He chuckles and reaches behind his back. “I hoped you’d say that.”
His arm jerks forward, drawing his gun from his belt. I do the same, moving far faster than his inexperienced hands. I line up his face in my sights and pull the trigger before he even extends his elbow. His flight responses pull him back but not fast enough to dodge the bullet striking just below his right eye.
I grab my bag from the corner and bolt out the front door before his body even touches the floor.
Chapter 14
Lucy
I thought daydreaming about Dante’s big cock was going to be what kept me from giving one hundred percent at rehearsal today. Turns out, seeing a dead body for the first time is way more distracting.
Scratch that.
Watching your lover murder a man in front of you is way more distracting.
I’ve known what he was since the moment I met him. A hitman. A contract killer for the fucking mob. But I still can’t make sense of it. There’s no rhyme or reason for what I saw this morning. One minute, Dante was the perfect man: laughing and cuddling and not killing people. The next minute, his fetish for choking went a bit too far.
But he let me go. Why did he let me go?
Wouldn’t letting me go be the last thing a man like him would want to do? Don’t I know too much to still be breathing right now? But what exactly do I know other than he has a really, really sexy tattoo that ties him to an underground crime organization?
Oh, god. What if he comes back? What if he realizes how much of a liability I am?
Well, there goes sleeping for the rest of my life.
“Lucy!” Cynthia’s voice calls out my name from the first row of the auditorium. She’s pissed — as usual — but I don’t exactly blame her.
I pause, lowering my arms to my sides while the other nine dancers stare at me with impatience. “I’m going to take five…” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
Cynthia calls after me but I think I’ll just let her scream this time. My father will be able to smooth this over. Maybe I can play the Daddy-to-the-rescue card girls are always talking about. It should still be in mint condition.
I rush backstage, push open the exit to the hall, and bolt down to the women’s restroom. My body temperature rises with each step I take. I need cold water and I need it now.
What the fuck was I thinking getting involved with a hitman?
I dry heave into the sink, spitting out any water I try to swallow.
Why the fuck didn’t I just say no?
I didn’t have to go to dinner with him. He playfully hinted that I had no choice, but it was just banter. It didn’t mean anything. I could have put my foot down, said no, and Dante would have respected that. He’s a decent guy (disregarding the obvious, of course). I don’t see him being the type to force me into something I don’t want to do.
His eyes. Those black, soulless eyes. I can’t stop going back to how he was when we were alone. Charming. Witty. He’s the only man I’ve met who could keep up with how fast I talk. A horrible poker player but that just made me like him more. No matter how amazing he was, I knew what he was capable of from the start. I shouldn’t be so damned surprised about all of this, and yet…
Muffled screaming echoes down the hall. The clamor of voices rises from the auditorium, followed closely by the quick rat-tat-tat of what can only be one thing…
Gunfire.
My pulse leaps, deafening me completely. I pull the door open and stick my head out into the hall as the bullets cease.
A voice calls out, one distinctly young but booming and powerful.
“Where is Lucy Vaughn?!”
I fall back into the bathroom, overcome with a million different emotions in three seconds.
A single bullet blows, triggering a wave of fresh screams from the auditorium.
“Where is Lucy Vaughn?!”
I clasp a hand over my mouth as tears spill from my eyes.
What did I do?
Oh, god — what did I do?
Another bullet. Another batch of screams.
They’re shooting them. One-by-one.
Looking for me.
If I don’t go out there, more of my friends will die—
“Lucy Vaughn?!”
I gasp. That voice was much closer — just outside in the hallway. Boots stomp down the corridor, growing louder and louder. I bolt into a stall and slam the door, too scared to think of what noise it makes.
The restroom door bursts open. I cower in the corner, unable to move or even think. His boots continue into the room, tapping toward my stall until they pause just outside.
He kicks the door open.
I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. Fear overwhelms every sense, leaving me a broken shell. I look up into his face and wince in horror at his mutilated skin.
“There you are…” He pushes his pistol into his belt. “Lucy Vaughn.”
I blink in recognition. The right side of his head is completely covered by a white bandage spotted red with his own blood, but the rest of his youthful face remains.
“M…” I push his name off my tongue with all the force I can muster. “Marty Zappia?”
Chapter 15
Dante
The Chicago skyline disappears from my rearview mirror and I breathe a little easier.
Part of me knew it would end this way. Not the part about Snake Eyes being exposed — that was a bit surprising — but rushing out of the city with my eyes glued over my shoulder? That was pretty much a guarantee from the start.
There’s only one thing every employee I’ve met working under the Zappias has in common and that’s a giant target on their back. If they aren’t taken out because of disobedience or (alleged) betrayal, it’s because Mr. Zappia had a bad fucking day and needed to shoot someone to feel better about himself. A thug until the very end, as Marty so accurately pointed out.
The kid wasn’t wrong. Too bad he didn’t live to gloat about it.
They’ll go after her.
Four little words bring my heart to a standstill.
I slam on my brakes, ignoring the flurry of car horns screaming behind me as they pass me by.
I shot Marty Zappia in the fucking face. Eventually, his body will be found, if they haven’t tracked him there already. Zappia will send his best to hunt me down and make me pay for killing his precious baby boy. They’ll never find me, but they’ll try really hard and that means interrogating the ones closest to me.
Starting with the girl I brought to dinner last night.
Little Lucy Vaughn. Daughter of Terrance Vaughn, the dancer man.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I perform a U-turn, spinning around to head back into the city. This whole time, since the moment I saw the television report, I’ve thought of nothing but retreating underground. It’s all a part of our training in Snake Eyes. Focus on the mission. No distractions. Anything less gets you and your squad killed. That was never an issue before now. Sure, I worry about my siblings, but they can take care of themselves. I never have to lay awake at night worrying about Elijah getting caught or Lilah taking a bullet.
But Lucy…
I push a little harder on the gas, weaving in and out of traffic as I race back into the city. Traffic slows me down, refusing to let me go faster than ten miles per hour between stoplights. White knuckles poke out of my fingers as I watch the minutes ti
ck up on the digital clock on my dashboard. Her apartment isn’t far, but I could run there faster at this fucking pace. I growl in frustration and try to calm myself down by thinking about her. She’s probably there, stunned and broken, lying in her bed with bloodshot, fearful eyes and it’s all my fault. I strangled a man right in front of her. That was Stupid Shit 101. I let her in.
I should never have let her in.
I finally arrive at her building and I run up the stairs as fast as my knees can push me. She’s on the third floor. Apartment B. A one-bedroom loft with two neighbors. One’s an old lady and the other is some college kid with vast amounts of debt he’ll never pay off. I checked on both of them and they’re clean—
Fuck. I can’t even focus.
“Lucy!”
I reach out to knock on her door but it’s already open. Several inches ajar, as a matter of fact. I wrap my fingers around my pistol and nudge the door open a little more.
“Lucy?”
It’s trashed. The furniture is torn up. Her throw pillows are shredded apart for no reason. The television is smashed. Flowers on the windowsill have been destroyed.
This was no robbery.
Small droplets stain the white carpet from here all the way down the hall toward her room. My nose twitches. The scent is obvious.
Blood.
“Lucy!”
I follow the trail. Please, let there be someone here I can beat on. Or better yet, kill. Someone, anyone who can answer for this before I make them suffer…
Her bedroom is in worse shape than the living room. There’s more blood here as well, sprinkled along her floor and bed. Red handprints sit on her dresser with mushed fingerprints staining her panties.
This doesn’t make any sense. Not one goddamn bit. If Lucy were wounded, her first instinct wouldn’t be to grab a fresh pair of underwear.
I focus my senses, pushing them to see what I haven’t seen yet.
That smell…
Fucking hell.
I grab her bloody pillow and bring it to my nose, recognizing that cheap scent. There’s only one man I know who uses that toxic aftershave.
Marty Zappia.
I rush back out into the living room, heading straight for the door. I stop in the frame and check the chain hanging next to the lock. Lucy always uses her chain. She’s not stupid enough to leave it off. If she were here when he came, he would have had to bust through it to get in.
It hangs undisturbed. She wasn’t here when this happened.
There’s only one other place she would be.
Christ, let me get there in time.
Chapter 16
Lucy
Marty Zappia smirks at me.
His mouth only moves on the left side. The other side just hangs there, completely numb.
“That’s right,” he growls. He holds out his hand and beckons me with his fingers. “Come on out…”
I stay glued to the corner of the stall, shaking my head. “What do you want?”
He lunges at me and latches onto my head. I shriek and scratch at him, but it does nothing against his strength. He pulls me from the stall and tosses me hard against the opposite wall. My head strikes it, blinding me with white lights and pain radiates through my eyeballs.
Marty wraps a fist about my hair and drags me out into the hallway, easily shoving me back down to the auditorium.
We step onto the stage and my heart plunges toward my toes.
Blood lines the floor, pooling out from beneath a pile of bodies. I can barely recognize their faces anymore. I can’t even stare at them long enough to try. Nausea rattles my stomach, dropping me to my knees. Marty lets me fall and I land at the end of a quivering, whimpering line of fellow dancers and friends.
“Lucy…”
I look up to see my father on his knees in front of me with a bleeding nose. A man stands behind him with a gun pointed to his head while two more of Marty’s men linger nearby.
“Daddy—!”
Marty grabs my hair again before I can reach for him. He pulls back, tearing it out at the roots, and points his own gun at me. “Where is Dante Hart?”
I shake my head. “What?”
He points his gun across the stage, straight at Cynthia, and fires. The bullet strikes her in the chest. She falls backward, tumbling off the stage onto the floor below. I cry out with my hands over my mouth, too scared to do anything else.
Marty shifts back in my direction, grazing the gun barrel against my cheek so it burns me.
“Where is Dante Hart?” he asks again.
I sob loudly, looking up into his bloodshot eye. “I don’t know! I swear!”
Marty presses the barrel harder into my skin and I cringe beneath the burning hiss.
“Stop hurting her!” my father cries out. “Please!”
Marty tugs on me. “Answer the question and I’ll stop!”
“I don’t know where he is!” I scream.
“You were with him last night!”
My father raises his head, surprise crossing his eyes. I keep my focus on Marty, far too ashamed to look at him.
“I was!” I say. “But he kicked me out this morning!”
Marty leans down. “When?”
My vision blurs but I see a line of blood falling out from beneath his bandage, staining his pale, white skin. “I…” I close my eyes, pushing through to the memory. “Eight! Eight-thirty! I think.”
“Did he say why?”
I cringe from his pungent breath. “No!”
“You’re lying…”
“No! Please! I’m not!”
My father jerks his head up. “Leave her alone!”
Marty extends his arm, pointing his gun at my father.
I hold up my hands. “Wait— no! I’m telling the truth. Dante saw the news and he kicked me out — told me to forget he ever existed! Please—” I reach for my father, tears pouring free. “Don’t hurt my father, please—”
“I don’t believe you,” Marty growls.
He pulls the trigger.
“No—!”
My father slumps to the stage and all my senses break down within me. I scream but I can’t hear it. Black auras invade my vision. Bile boils in my throat. Blood spills out from between my father’s glossy eyes, rolling slowly toward me along the floor as the life drains from his face.
Marty releases me. My numb body strikes the floor and I cradle my head in my hands, unable to lift it or feel any strength at all.
My father is gone. My father is dead. My father—
“Lucy…” The voice rumbles my insides. “I’m going to ask you one… more… time.”
“I don’t know…” I whisper with a weak voice.
“Where is Dante Hart?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lucy.”
“I don’t know!”
Marty sighs and lowers down to kneel beside me. “That’s rather disappointing.” He reaches out and snatches my chin, forcing me to look up at his wounded face. “Because he did this to me and I would very much like to return the favor.”
“I swear…” I sob. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Your loyalty is admirable. It truly is.”
He stands and wanders over to the edge of the stage, gesturing a hand at two of his men. They move in the corners of my vision, rushing down the aisles with large, red canisters. He reaches down and one of them hands him a crowbar.
“Unfortunately, that loyalty won’t get you very far, Lucy.”
I slink away from him, but he bridges the gap between us with a few, quick strides. He kicks me in the ribs. I roll onto my back, too weak to fight him. A strong smell wafts under my nose. I shut down even more, sickened by the distinct scent of gasoline.
“You know he said something this morning…” Marty says, rubbing the metal between his palms. “Something that I think perfectly reflects your current predicament. He said, ‘There’s a reason why busting kneecaps never goes out of style.’ I’d like to test that theo
ry, Lucy.”
I shy away from his grin. “Please, don’t…”
“I thought my old man was wrong, but… I think I’ve had a change of heart.”
“No…” I push back but he stays on me, lingering over me like a dark cloud. “Please—”
Marty raises the crowbar over his head, his face contorting into a demon’s scowl, and slams it downward.
He strikes my right knee. Blinding pain reverberates my leg, crashing through me like a bolt of lightning. I scream, tearing my throat in half while Marty raises it once more. His laughter splits the air and he brings it down, hitting me again with little restraint.
I cry even louder, praying for the pain to end but it lingers inside of me. My eyelids become heavy. My muscles tense up, preparing for a third whack. Senses start to fade. I think that maybe I will pass out and this agony will let me go — even if only for a few seconds.
Marty tosses the crowbar across the stage. The clattering sound blends with his feet in my ears as he walks over to kneel beside me again.
“Well…” he mutters, his voice echoing in my head, “he wasn’t wrong after all.”
I weep on the floor, cowering away from him. He runs a finger down my cheek, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything except the pain throbbing throughout my leg.
“It’s a shame, really. I’m sure you were quite talented.” He stands and turns away from me. “Oh, well.”
I watch him go and he stomps down the center aisle.
“Kill the rest of them.” His gaze wanders back to me and he smirks. “Let her burn.”
I divert my eyes as two men walk across the stage and a storm of gunfire takes over my ears. There’s screaming for several moments until finally… there’s nothing left of them but silence.
The men bolt off the stage as Marty reaches into his pocket. I look down at my swollen knee. It pushes hard against my ripped, blood-stained tights. I try to make out the damage, but my vision refuses to let me focus.
My father’s limp body lies several feet away. His blood continues to roll toward me, inching closer like a snake in the grass.
Tainted Love Page 9
