“Nope. Put the fucking gun down before you hurt someone. We have to get her back to Ricci’s. Or have you forgotten?”
Paulie opens the billfold to show the leather stitching ripped apart and the GPS tracker flashing in his hand. “You’re a fucking traitor,” the younger man growls as he drops the dime-sized device and then stomps on it with the heel of his boot.
Tightening my fingers around Dahlia’s wrist, I give it a tug downward and hope to God she understands my signal. “Now!” I shout as I spring for Sylvio. My hands close around his forearm, forcing the gun upwards, and Dahlia dives for the back corner of the room. But even though it’s two against two, Dahlia’s no match for Paulie.
He stalks towards her as Sylvio and I continue to struggle, and I bring my knee up to catch Sylvio in the groin. For a split second, I think maybe I hit him hard enough to make him drop the gun, but he doesn’t let go.
Dahlia screams, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Paulie grab one of her ankles and start to drag her. But she kicks out, and her heel catches his already broken nose. Blood spurts down his shirt, and he roars, then throws himself on top of her. “Fucking bitch! You’re going to pay for that!”
“Ricci wants her alive!” Sylvio shouts. He recovers enough to hook one of his legs around mine and pull, and shit. My knee gives out and I go down, hard, taking him with me. I lose my grip on his arms, and he twists away.
The shot is deafening in the small room, and my side burns where the bullet tears through my flesh. Fire licks up my ribs and around my back, and all I can think about is how I can’t save Dahlia if I’m going to die.
“Nobody move!” Sylvio says as he aims the gun at my head. “The four of us are goin’ back to Ricci’s. Right now. He wants to take care of you himself, Aiden. And the girl? Well, he’s done fuckin’ around with Mickey Ryan. Either the old man shows himself, or Dahlia Rose is going to die screaming.”
I failed. Sylvio tears a long strip from the bedsheet and ties it tightly around my waist to slow the bleeding. “Can’t have you dyin’ before we get back to Ricci’s. He wants to kill you himself.”
At least the bullet went all the way through, and from the brightness of the blood, it didn’t nick my liver. But that’s the only modicum of kindness he shows. With Paulie holding the gun to Dahlia’s head, and my sweet sub curled into a ball and trembling, Sylvio uses my own ropes to hogtie me, then duct tapes my mouth as I beg him to just let Dahlia go.
When the two of them each grab one of her arms, she flails and kicks, but they quickly shove her face down on the bed and bind her, then Paulie fists her hair and yanks her head back before licking up her cheek. She thrashes until she slams her head into his and rips her hair from his grasp, a dozen strands still trapped in his fingers.
“Don’t touch me, you sick fuck!” Dahlia screams and spits in Paulie’s face. His fist connects with her ribs, and there’s a sickening crack along with a whoosh of air leaving her lungs. He flips her over and palms her breasts through the flannel, then tosses a gaze at me.
“Want to watch me with her, traitor?”
I scream behind the tape, struggling as hard as I can to break free, but all I manage to do is make the wound in my side open up again and rub my wrists raw.
“Gag her and get her into the SUV, you dumbass,” Sylvio says as he cuffs the back of Paulie’s head. “Undamaged, remember? Plus, your nose can’t take any more abuse.”
Paulie grunts as he gags Dahlia with another piece of tape, then throws her over his shoulder, leaving Sylvio in the bedroom with me. The older enforcer squats down so he can meet my gaze. “What are you, then? FBI? Local cop? Reporter?”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, and he sighs. “I really thought you were one of us, Aiden. Paulie never trusted you, but I did. So did Ricci. You could have gone places. Instead, you give it all up for what? Her?” He jerks his head towards the front of the cabin. “You had to know that would end badly.”
I did. But I had to try. Sylvio shakes his head as he gets to his feet, then grabs my arm and drags me out of the cabin.
Dahlia and I lie side-by-side in the back of the SUV. I can’t move. Between the pain in my side and the ropes, I’m done for. As we speed down the mountain, Dahlia tries to wriggle closer to me under the blanket, and when her forehead touches mine, I have to swallow hard.
I failed you, mon ami. And now…we’re both going to die.
18
Dahlia
By the time the SUV slows to a stop, my stomach is in knots, my hands are numb, and I don’t have any more tears to cry. Aiden’s warmth has been my only comfort the past few hours, but I can smell his blood, feel it soaking into my shirt.
We’re so close, his breath fans over my cheek, so I know he’s still alive, and every once in a while on the drive, I’d shift and rub my forehead against his, then wait for him to respond in kind.
The blanket is ripped away, and I blink in the harsh light, the sun close to the horizon and shining directly in my eyes from Frank Ricci’s driveway, high on a hill overlooking the bay. Rough hands grab me and toss me over a shoulder, and then the cretin holding me swats my ass—hard—when I wriggle and buck.
I hear Aiden moan as he’s removed from the SUV, and we’re hauled into a lavish house that smells like lilies. The scent is cloying, filling my nostrils and making my stomach turn.
Before I can get my bearings, I’m thrown onto an overstuffed chaise lounge, and Sylvio’s face swims over me. He pulls out a pocket knife, flicks it open, and uses it to cut the ropes around my ankles, but doesn’t remove the tape from my mouth or the bindings at my wrists. I try to flex my fingers, desperate to regain some of my circulation, but I feel nothing. Not even pins and needles.
Once Sylvio steps back, I manage to tip myself up to sitting just as Paulie and another man I don’t recognize drag Aiden across the foyer and then drop him on the polished marble.
Now that I can see him, my heart lands in my throat. His flannel shirt is soaked with blood, and he looks so pale. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch as they step away, but his eyes find mine, and the pain and loss there…I have to look away.
“Miss Ryan. Welcome.” The heavy Italian accent makes Frank Ricci’s words almost musical but for the cold, deadly emotion lacing every syllable.
“Fuck you,” I say through the gag as I narrow my gaze. Behind my back, I keep working my fingers, and one of them starts to buzz slightly.
Ricci walks over to Aiden, stares down at him for a moment, then circles him. With a swift kick aimed directly at Aiden’s back, he elicits a grunt from the man who tried to save me, and then Aiden’s eyes roll back in his head.
No. Please.
I scream as loudly as I can, try to get to my feet, but fall to the floor, narrowly missing the coffee table with my head. Aiden’s eyelids flutter and he forces them open again to look at me.
“I admit,” Ricci says as he picks me up and tosses me back on the chaise, “it’s quite fortuitous that Paulie and Sylvio found your footprints leading out to the woods, Mr. Cole. You were careful. And patient. But now that we have discovered your disloyalty, you will actually be quite useful.”
Aiden makes some sound, and Ricci jerks his head towards him. Sylvio leans down and rips the tape from Aiden’s lips, and he groans again. “You’re…dead…Ricci,” he manages. “You kill…me…and…you’ll…never see the light of day…again.”
“Who said anything about killing you?” Frank Ricci snaps his fingers, and Sylvio brings a laptop over to the rich, cherry wood coffee table in front of me. “I’m going to sell you. Or at least…sell your death.” The mob boss sits down next to me and pulls me against him. He smells like sweat and cigars, and I wrinkle my nose. If I make it through the next few minutes without throwing up and choking to death, it’ll be a miracle.
With a few taps on the keyboard, Sylvio opens a chat window, and the little light on the top of the monitor turns on.
When my father’s face comes i
nto focus, I stifle a sob. Oh my God. He really is alive. But he looks…so much different. The left half of his face is slack, and his forehead is...lopsided.
His eyes are the same, though. Hard. Cold. A mix of blue and green, and when he sees me, he makes a low, strained sound in his throat. There’s typing, and a computerized voice spills from the speakers.
“If you harm one more hair on my daughter’s head, I will end you, Ricci.”
At my side, the big Italian chuckles. “I’d like to see you try.”
I look from my father’s image, to Aiden, and then back to Ricci. The questions must be written all over my face, because there’s more typing.
“Dahlia, my darling girl. I am sorry. The attack that you thought killed me almost did.”
Ricci turns the laptop so my father can see Aiden, bleeding on the floor. “And that, Mickey, is the man who took your voice and turned you into an invalid, only capable of a token role as figurehead of your own organization.”
What? I try to speak through the gag, but only muffled sounds escape.
Shifting, Ricci curls his fingers against my cheek. “Oh, Dahlia Rose…let’s get this off so you can have a proper reunion with your father.”
The tape tears from my lips, taking several layers of skin with it. “Dad? What does he mean? Why can’t you talk?”
“Brain damage,” the computerized voice says.
“And…Aiden?” I look to him, still bound, the blood pool under his side spreading.
With a chuckle, Ricci wraps his fingers around my upper arm and squeezes, hard. “Aiden’s worked for me for almost five years. Two at the club where you first met, and three…well…his initiation into my inner circle was on your graduation day.”
“No. No, no, no.” I can’t look at Aiden. Not now. Not if he’s the one who shot my father. Instead, I focus on the computer screen. “Dad? Is it…did…oh, God.” Tears spill down my cheeks, and I try to pull away from Ricci, but he wraps his arm around my waist and holds me against him.
“Here are the terms of my deal, Mickey,” Ricci says, his sour breath ghosting against my cheek. “You have two hours. I want all the jewels you stole from me, and five million in cash. Clean bills, of course. In exchange, you get Dahlia Rose, and the chance to kill the man who damaged you. Dahlia Rose will be safe until then, but not a minute longer. After that, I hand her over to my men and let them have their way with her, and I will kill Aiden myself for his betrayal.“
I shudder as my father types furiously.
“Do not touch her, you piece of shit. I’ve agreed to your terms, and I will honor our deal. But you will keep her safe until we arrive, and if you do not let me walk out of your house with my daughter safely at my side, I will make sure the fires of hell rain down on you until there is nothing of your sick and depraved family left.”
The video cuts off, and I swallow my sob. Ricci lumbers to his feet. “Take them both to the basement, then clean up my floor,” he says to Sylvio before striding from the room.
I can’t look at Aiden as Paulie grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me up. “I can walk on my own, asshole,” I snap.
“Bitch,” he whispers in my ear as he slaps my ass. “If your father is one minute late, you’re mine.”
A sick feeling clutches at my stomach as he pulls me down a set of stairs and into a brightly lit room with computers and a set of couches against one wall. In the very back, Paulie jingles a set of keys and unlocks another door that leads to a closet. Wood boxes are stacked almost to the ceiling in the far corner, but it’s otherwise empty. And dark.
With a single shove, he sends me to my knees, my bones slamming into the hard, concrete floor. Pain shoots through my legs, and I collapse onto my side.
Sylvio’s right behind him, dragging Aiden and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. As soon as Aiden’s body lands next to mine, Paulie slams the door, and with the light gone, panic takes over, and I scream.
19
Aiden
Dahlia’s cries rouse me from the haze of pain that consumes my entire existence. She’s incoherent, and it takes me a moment to realize why. We’re in the dark, in a room that smells like gun oil and wood.
“Dahlia,” I groan. “Dahlia Rose.”
She doesn’t answer, and I can’t move to find her. I know I’m facing away from her, but if I try to turn over, I’ll pass out, and that won’t help us. I keep my breathing shallow to stave off the waves of agony emanating from my side, but force as much strength into my tone as I can. “Dahlia. If you do not answer me this second, you will be punished. Do you understand?”
A hiccup stops her incoherent cries, but she doesn’t reply.
“Dahlia,” I warn. “This is your last chance before I take you over my knee and redden that ass of yours.”
I can’t do any such thing, but right now, she needs to know I’m in control. That I’m her Dom, and that I will get her out of this. If she can help.
“Master A,” she whispers. “Dark.”
“I know, sweetheart. But we have to get these ropes off.” A wave of pain steals my breath, and the darkness swirls around me like a tornado, even though I can’t see shit. “Close. Your. Eyes. Mon jouet.”
I don’t have any idea if she’s still with me until I hear her moving. Then her hands brush against mine, and I squeeze her fingers. They’re so cold. But then again, so are mine. I’ve lost too much blood. My entire body feels like a block of ice.
“Don’t…move,” I say, each word harder than the last. I have so little strength, but I taught Sylvio and Paulie everything they know about knots, and with fumbling movements, I manage to find the ends of the rope and start to work them loose.
“You shot my father.” The accusation in her tone is tempered with quiet rage, so strong I can practically feel it radiating off of her. “And then you let me…let me fall for you.”
A burst of warmth surrounds my heart for a second before the pain steals it away.
Fall for you.
“I tried to save him, Dahlia. Please. You…have to…believe me.” The ropes fall away from her wrists, and I go limp, unable to muster the strength to fight any more. “I…killed…two of…Ricci’s…men that…day.”
Dahlia’s hands slide down my arms until she finds the knots around my wrists. “My fingers are numb, Aiden. I don’t know if I’m…strong enough to get these loose.”
“Doesn’t…matter. Won’t…last. Come here.” I can tell her how to get out of here. And then I’ll let go.
She scoots around me until her cool hand is on my cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because. Falling for…you too.” My voice isn’t more than a whisper, but she’s so close, her hair tickles my neck. “There’s a panel. Ceiling. Use the boxes. Leads to the bathroom off,” a wave of pain steals my breath, and I grit my teeth until it passes, “the kitchen. Back door. Call 911. Tell them this…”
“What? Aiden? What?” Dahlia slaps my cheek gently, but she seems so far away. Like her voice is reaching me down a long tunnel. Her lips press to mine, and I swear, she gives me her breath as a surge of strength infuses my limbs.
“Agent in distress. Federal…code…Alpha-983-Echo-X-Ray-Tango.” She repeats the code back to me, and I mumble, “Uh-huh. Then get…somewhere…with people.”
I have to tell her one other thing. But I can’t. I don’t have time.
I’m so sorry, Dahlia Rose. My flower. My heart. I wasn’t strong enough.
Dahlia
“Aiden? Aiden!” He doesn’t answer me, and I have so many questions. Agent. He said agent. “God, Aiden, please wake up.”
I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, a sure sign I’m about to slip into a panic attack again. I have to at least get him free. Two hours. Ricci said two hours, and it’s only been maybe twenty minutes.
I climb over him and feel around for his ankles. Maybe those knots will be looser. I tug up his jeans, which gives me the little bit of leeway I need, and once I undo the knots, his legs straight
en slightly. His wrists are next, and after he’s free, I skim my hands over his torso. His shirt is soaked with his blood, but his heart is still beating. Faintly. Slowly. But it’s there.
Rolling him onto his back, I brush my hands on my pants, then cup his cheek. “Stay alive for me. That’s an order, Master A.”
The barest hint of a moan rumbles in his chest, and that has to be enough.
Feeling my way along the floor until I come to the boxes, I rise to my knees, then stand. This is a low ceiling. I might be able to reach it if I can climb on one box. Shoving at them, I swear. They’re too heavy to move. That’s not going to work unless...no. My feet—clad in only thick socks—slip off every time I try to climb up the stack.
Shit. It doesn’t matter if I’m untied if I can’t get out of this room. All I can think about is being trapped in that dumpster, pounding against the metal until my hands bled and my voice was gone. It’s too similar. Trapped. Waiting for the end.
With a strangled cry, I throw my entire body against the crates, and they shudder. Again. Again. Again. I’m crying now, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I can’t catch my breath. But I can’t stop either. The panic makes me stronger, more desperate, and I scream as I ram into the stack one last time.
The top crate tumbles to the ground. Wood splinters, and there’s the sound of metal and something duller clattering across the floor. It’s deafening in the small room and I cringe. What if someone heard that? I can’t fight them.
Dropping to my knees, I feel around and find...a gun. It’s large. Heavier than I expected. A rifle of some sort. My father taught me how to shoot when I was a teenager, but it’s been so long since I handled a weapon. My fingers go to the trigger, then feel around for a magazine. Shit. It’s empty.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 78
