“Crap. What about the deadline we gave Mickey? If we can’t get Dahlia back to him in the thirty-six hour window, he won’t agree to a deal.”
Sylvio snorts into his coffee. “You really think we’re goin’ to let the broad go? She’s seen our faces. And she knows Ricci’s behind this whole thing. There’s some weird fuckin’ honor among thieves thing goin’ on between Ryan and Ricci, but I put the chances of the girl going home again at less than ten percent.”
No. Fuck no. “I want her.” Slamming my mug down on the windowsill, I get in Sylvio’s face. “If Ricci won’t let her go with Daddy, then turn her over to me. She won’t ever be free again. But I’m not letting him kill her. You’ve seen how she responds to me. She’s mine.”
“Tell that to the boss.”
Shoving him back a few feet, I ball my fists at my sides. “I took three b-bullets for Frank Ricci. One of them in the head. I c-could have d-died. I’ll never be whole again, but that little slip of a thing down there? She’ll be a damn good start on restitution.”
Sylvio’s reaction is equal parts rage and something else…pride maybe? “I was wonderin’ if you’d ever find your balls again, kid.” With a shrug, he stoops, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes up the splash of coffee that escaped his mug when I pushed him. “It’s not my call. You gotta take that up with Ricci. And Paulie gets a say too. Because it’s our asses on the line if she ever escapes.”
“My face is the only one she’s seen clearly. Come on, Sylvio. You know I’ve wanted her since the day I met her. Give me this one thing.” I yank the top two buttons of my shirt open, revealing the mangled scars from four hours of surgery to repair my shoulder. “Promise me. Now. You’ll talk to Ricci on my behalf.”
Despite working for one of the city’s most depraved mob bosses for ten years, Sylvio’s not an entirely worthless human being. I hold my breath as he looks me up and down, like he can’t decide if he should take the risk.
“I’ll talk to him,” he says with a nod. “No guarantees. But as long as he gets Mickey and the jewels, and the girl never walks free again, I think I can convince him.”
A storm of relief washes over me, and suddenly, I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been. We got what we needed out of Dahlia for the time being. And without Paulie here, Sylvio won’t leave the computer in case Ricci calls. “I’m going to get some shuteye,” I say as I head for one of the cabin’s two bedrooms. “Wake me when Paulie gets back, and you can catch a few hours.”
Sylvio yawns and then nods, heading for the kitchen and another cup of coffee. “Will do.”
I wait five minutes after closing the bedroom door, my ear pressed to the wood. If Sylvio hears me, I’m dead and so is Dahlia. Heading for the bathroom, I start the shower, then brace my booted foot on the toilet. The signal jammer wedged in my boot will disrupt any cameras in this room for sixty seconds—no more. I only have one chance at this.
As soon as I slide the window open, a blast of frigid air hits me in the face, making my cheeks sting. I’m going to have to hurry if I don’t want to freeze to death. Throwing my legs over the sill, I ease myself down, pull the pane shut, and take off at a sprint. Well, as much of a sprint as the hard-packed snow on the ground will allow. Fifty feet from the cabin, trees form a dense, protective shield, and as soon as I duck under their canopy, I find clearer ground.
A tall pine looms above the rest, and I grab on to one of the lower branches and swing my legs up so I can wrap them around the thick piece of wood. Fifteen feet up, I pull out my wallet and wedge it in a little hollow carved into the trunk. The same hollow I made two years ago, right before the doctors deemed me healthy enough to return to San Francisco and resume work for Ricci.
I wish I’d been able to get my cell phone, but Sylvio took it before we left San Francisco.
My fingers are almost numb as I start to climb down, and I slip and fall the last few feet. Something crunches in my knee, and the pain shoots up my leg. But when I stand, I can still put weight on it—mostly, and I hobble back to the cabin, praying my little excursion went unnoticed. Before I raise the pane, I activate the signal jammer again, duck into the room, and shut myself in the bathroom, stripping and stepping under the spray for thirty seconds before turning off the water and wrapping myself in a towel.
Nothing but silence answers me when I put my ear to the door. After a moment, Sylvio’s footsteps head for the kitchen. A cabinet door bangs shut, then a drawer slides, and I blow out a breath. I can catch a couple of hours now. That’ll be enough for my thoughts to clear, and then Dahlia and I need to find a way out of here.
13
Aiden
My watch beeps two hours later, and I rub my eyes and roll over. Everything hurts—especially my knee—and I limp badly as I head for the door.
Get it together, Cole.
If I show any weakness, Sylvio will report back to Ricci, and I’ll find myself on the outside, unable to protect Dahlia. Schooling my features against the pain, I head out for the main room. It’s…empty.
Grabbing the laptop, I activate the surveillance camera in the basement. “Fuck!”
Paulie stands over Dahlia, who’s curled into a ball on the floor, shaking, her hands tied behind her back and a blindfold over her eyes. Blood spatters the concrete around her head, and as I race for the door, I hear her desperate cries.
“The San Francisco Federal Trust! Box 238! Please…that’s all I know…take it off…take it…”
I shove the door open and race down the stairs just as Paulie grabs Dahlia’s arm and hauls her up, throwing her onto the bed where she bounces and hits the wall. He climbs on top of her, and I see red.
“Get the fuck away from her.” Wrapping my arm around his neck, I wrench him to the ground, landing punch after punch to his ribs, then his face. Blood spurts from his lips until Sylvio grabs me and pulls me off the younger enforcer.
“She lied,” Sylvio growls as he shoves me against the wall. “There was no delivery to the hotel.” Paulie moans from the floor and spits out blood—and a tooth.
“You broke my fucking nose,” he whines.
“I should have done a lot more than that, asshole,” I say as I try to escape Sylvio’s hold. But he’s squeezing my upper arms so hard he’s going to leave bruises, and he’s got at least fifty pounds on me, his bulk crushing me and making it hard to breathe. “Let. Me. Go.”
“Not until you calm down,” he says. But to my left, Dahlia’s begging, her words incoherent, but the intention clear. She needs that blindfold off. Now.
I drop my shoulder and duck under Sylvio’s hold, heading right for Dahlia. “So you use that as an excuse to beat the shit out of her? You should have come to get me. I would have gotten the truth without…this.”
Easing a hip onto the bed, I remove the blindfold. “Dahlia, look at me, mon jouet. You’re okay. I’m here.”
“M-Master A?” Her whimper breaks my heart, and I pull her into my arms and hold her close. “You said…” Her words dissolve into hiccupping sobs, and I slide my fingers into her hair, holding her face close to my neck. This way, she can’t see Sylvio and Paulie, and maybe I’ll have some fucking chance of getting her out of here alive.
“I know, baby. And I’m so sorry…” Grabbing the blanket, I drape it over her. “I’m taking her upstairs. Either of you try to stop me, and I’ll end you.” Digging into my pocket for the key to the ankle cuff, I release her, and Dahlia draws her legs up and presses even harder against me.
Stifling my grunt of pain as I stand, I glare at the two dipshits as I stomp up the stairs. The slight woman in my arms shudders every few seconds, but doesn’t otherwise speak as I carry her into the bedroom and slam the door.
As soon as I set her down on the bed, I snag my duffel bag, then pull out my pocket knife. Dahlia starts to tremble, and I reach out and skim my fingers along her jaw. “I’m going to cut you free, mon couer. That’s all.”
She eyes me with suspicion, but wriggles until I can see
her wrists. The fuckers used my own ropes to bind her so tightly, her fingers are dark red. I slice through the ropes with ease and take her hands, massaging them until her skin tone returns to a more normal color.
“Dahlia, sweetheart? Look at me.” She’s still shaking, and she doesn’t respond. “Dahlia. What’s my name? Tell me. Now.”
“Master A,” she whispers.
“No, baby. It’s Aiden. Not Master A. Not here. Not when we’re alone.” I run my hand over her hair and tuck a thick, purple curl behind her ear. “What happened, Dahlia? What did they do to you?”
I don’t need to ask. I can see the evidence all over her face. The bruise swelling under her right eye. Her split lip. Blood dotting the white shirt I gave her. Tears drying on her cheeks.
“Dahlia Rose, listen to me.” I skim my fingers along her jaw and nudge her head up so she meets my gaze. “You’re safe in this room. With me. I won’t leave you again. Ever.”
“Aiden…” Something in her breaks, and the tears tumble down her cheeks like rain. I gather her into my arms and hold her close, vowing that before this is over, I’m going to put an end to anyone who’s ever hurt her.
Dahlia
Aiden came for me.
He holds me now—his embrace both tight and gentle at the same time—and I’m warm for the first time since he took me. The blankets on this bed are thick and soft, and I want to burrow under them and never come out. Because when I do…I know they’ll hurt me again.
“Dahlia, sweetheart, look at me.” He doesn’t command, doesn’t use his Master A voice, just prods me tenderly and smooths his hand over my hair. “Please?”
My fingers tremble as I try to swipe at my cheeks, and Aiden pulls out a handkerchief and dabs gently at my tears, avoiding my various bruises.
When I meet his gaze, his blue eyes are full of pain and sorrow. “I’m so sorry, mon couer. I told them…fuck. I was clear. You’re mine, and no one was supposed to touch you.”
“I’m not yours,” I whisper. “I’m a human being. No one owns me.”
Aiden lifts me gently and carries me into the attached bathroom. Setting me down on the counter, he turns on the hot water in the tub. “This whole place is bugged,” he says softly as he reaches for the collar of my shirt. “And you’re right. No one owns you, Dahlia. But if you let me, I’d like to try to take care of you.”
“Don’t.” I wrap my arms around myself, but Aiden steps closer, his big body between my thighs, and there’s something about him I trust, despite my terror. Relaxing my grip, I let him unbutton the shirt. Bruises cover my torso from the younger thug’s fists, and panic raises a lump in my throat as Aiden swears under his breath.
“Fuckers. If I could, I’d rip out Paulie’s spine and beat him with it.”
The visual is so ridiculous, I laugh, which only makes my bruised ribs send pain sparking over my sides. “He’d be dead if you ripped his spine out. You wouldn’t need to beat the crap out of him too.”
“Give me this one fantasy, sweetheart.” He drops the shirt onto the floor, then helps me stand. My legs shake, but I manage to support myself as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of my panties. “Do you trust me?”
“Does it matter?”
Aiden freezes. “Yes. It does.” Backing up two steps, he drops his hands. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.” The tub is almost full now, and he turns off the water, then moves to a small bag hanging on the back of the door. He removes a razor, tucking it into his pocket, then opens a cabinet on the wall and rummages around inside until he comes away with a small plastic bottle of shampoo, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. “Use anything you need. I’m going to make us some dinner. There will be clothes on the bed for you when you’re done.”
He starts for the door, then turns at the threshold. “The bedroom window opens, but we’re five miles from anywhere, you have no shoes, and it’s fifteen degrees outside. Don’t even think about making a break for it.”
I nod, and with one last sorrowful look, he leaves me alone.
14
Dahlia
I soak in the tub until the water starts to cool. I can hear yelling from time to time, and I sink all the way down, letting the water cover my face. Sounds don’t penetrate here, and I wish I could stay hidden here forever.
I could, if only I were willing to die. But I’m not. My father’s alive, and if there’s a chance for me to see him again…even knowing what he was…what he did and is probably still doing…I have to take it.
The white towel is soft and fluffy and holds a hint of Aiden’s scent. Avoiding the mirror as I find a second, smaller towel for my hair, I move carefully. Every step makes me acutely aware of my injuries. The punches, the kicks. My wrists are raw and reddened, and I swallow hard as the memory of the other two men waking me from a fitful sleep slams into me.
They threw me onto the floor, one of them kicking me in the ribs while the other grabbed the rope. I couldn’t breathe as they bound my hands, but found my voice when the blindfold covered my eyes.
Much of what they said was lost to my terror, but I know they were angry at Aiden and at me. Oh God. I told them where the jewels were. And the money. My father’s legacy—or so I thought—and my only means to run if I ever get out of here.
In the bedroom, I find a long-sleeved flannel shirt that’s at least five sizes too big for me, as well as a pair of fleece pants and thick wool socks. The pants have a drawstring I cinch tightly around my waist, and the socks warm my toes. Parting the curtains, I stare out at the pure white landscape.
Snow falls steadily as day turns into night, and I press my hand to the glass. It’s freezing, and I snap the drapes closed as what little bit of hope I had that maybe Aiden was lying to me fades into nothing. With only a single pair of socks on my feet, no coat, shoes, or gloves, I’d die in under twenty minutes out there.
“Didn’t believe me?” Aiden asks, and I yelp as I whirl around. He stands in the doorway, a tray full of food in his hands. “Not that I expected you to.”
“I did. I just…”
“Had to see for yourself.” He nudges the door closed with his hip and sets the tray down on the nightstand. Soup, rolls, a bottle of wine, and a chocolate bar.
Aiden slurps up a spoonful from each bowl before stepping back. “Take whichever one you want.” As I choose, he unscrews the top from the bottle of wine, making sure I hear the crack of the seal.
“Do you try to get all of your kidnapping victims drunk?” I ask. The first spoonful of soup almost makes me moan. It’s nothing special. Chicken noodle most likely out of a cheap can. But it’s hot and I didn’t realize until just now how hungry I was.
“You’re my first.” A hint of a smile curves his lips as he pours us each a glass.
“You can sit, you know.” I gesture to the other side of the bed. I think he’s trying to give me space, but if I’m honest, I’d rather have his arms around me than to continue this awkward dance where he’s holding onto his soup bowl like it’s a shield and eating standing up.
He walks stiffly, and lines tighten around his eyes with every step. Once he stretches his legs out with his back against the headboard, I pass him a glass of wine. “Thanks.” Our gazes lock, and he quickly looks away.
“I teach creative writing,” I offer as I take a sip of the spicy red blend. “And this here?” Gesturing between us with the glass, I huff. “If any of my students came to me with a story like this, I’d tell them their plot wasn’t at all believable.”
His laughter settles me in a way I didn’t think anything could in this place, and he has to set his bowl down so he doesn’t spill. “So you mean not all kidnappers bring their captives wine and cheap chocolate bars?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never been kidnapped before.” A shudder runs through me, because while no one’s ever stolen me away, it was only two weeks ago that I was thrown into a dumpster, and for a moment, I’d managed to forget the sheer terror of those hours. Even if I live throug
h this, I might never feel normal again.
“Dahlia?” Aiden’s warm fingers brush my cheek. “Where did you go, sweetheart?”
“N-nowhere. I’m fine.” Letting out a snort, I pick up my wine and down half the glass in two swallows. “As fine as I can be anyway. Given the situation.”
We finish the meal in silence, Aiden offering me the entire chocolate bar while he takes our dishes back out to the kitchen, then returns, shuts the door, and locks it. “I’m the only one with a key,” he says quietly. Moving to the closet, he withdraws a thick wool blanket and an extra pillow. “Ricci’s sending men to the bank in the morning to empty the safe deposit box. There’s been no word from your father yet.”
I look away, down to my hands clasped around the wine glass. After the bath, the food, and the alcohol, I feel almost…normal. The tipsy buzz from the wine loosens my tongue, and I know I shouldn’t say anything, but I’m so angry at my father, I can’t help it. “So, he’s going to let me die? Or be…tortured? He left me! For three years, he left me, and now I find out he what? Faked his own death? And he won’t even come out of hiding to save me? His only daughter.”
Tears spill onto my cheeks, and Aiden climbs onto the bed and pulls me into his arms. “He still has almost twenty hours.” Pressing his lips to my ear, he continues in a whisper, “If he’s smart, he’s searching for us right now. He’s not going to contact Ricci until he knows he can save you.”
“But…how is he going to find us? The basement…” I swallow hard, trying to match his whispered tone, “It’s just a basement. Concrete walls. Nothing special. Where are we?”
“Ricci owns this cabin.” Aiden’s fingers twine in my hair and he plays with a thick lock as he kisses along the side of my neck. I can’t tell if it’s for show or if he’s trying to distract me or if he’s really aroused, and I hate myself a little—or a lot—when warmth pools in my core. “I can’t tell you everything, Dahlia. I wish I could. But…that would make us both too vulnerable. I’ll die before I let Sylvio and Paulie hurt you again, but…”
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 76
