Page 19

Gunner

I can’t say that I’d ever dreamed of what it would be like to be strung up like a slab of beef in a walk-in freezer in what appears to be a legit butcher shop, but here I am.

My head aches so badly that I can barely keep track of what’s happening. However, there is something to be said for swimming in and out of consciousness. The black is somewhat of a relief against the pain from the various beatings I’ve taken.

Not a relief?

The fact that I have no idea what happened to Diletta.

I woke up to a bunch of these ugly fuckers storming the cabin, put up a fight, and never saw her. Either she wasn’t there, or they’d got to her first. Seeing as my Harley was our way out, unless she was hiding in the woods, it had to be the latter.

So far, the way these assholes have roughed me up speaks volumes as to how uninvolved with the mob they are. These men are professionals.

The door cracks open, letting in a blessed gust of warm air with it that only lasts for a few seconds. Walk-in meat lockers fucking suck, especially when you’re alive in one, but I guess the alternative isn’t an attractive option.

The guy who just entered is big and blocky. Typical thug with an ugly mug, scars scattered around, menacing black eyes, a square for a head, and the body built by steroids. My head hurts like hell, my vision is off, and my stomach keeps wanting to crawl up my throat. I wouldn’t mind spraying one of these fuckers with vomit for their troubles, but I need to hold onto whatever calories I have in me to fight off the hypothermia.

I haven’t been in here long enough for my body to numb out the pain and discomfort of the fists and kicks that landed all over me as soon as I was strung up here. There was definitely a line that wasn’t to be crossed, and someone called it off before I blacked out. They walked out, shutting the door behind them and leaving me in here.

If I was a regular guy, I’d panic about this whole thing, but as far as shitty situations go, this isn’t the worst that I’ve been in. I know that keeping a cool head and chilling the fuck out can save your life.

Chilling. Ha. Like I have any other choice right now.

“You frozen yet, cocksucker?” Carlo asks, his English heavily accented.

I have no idea what his name is, but he strikes me as a Carlo. He speaks Italian to the other men, the sound of it bittersweet, coming down on the bitter. Fucking obviously. His accent is Sicilian, so strong anyone not born on the island would have trouble understanding him. The fact he’s speaking to me in English tells me that they don’t know who I am. That it’s not Romeo looking for payback. Which leaves only one other option—Luciano Cosmo. What if this wasn’t about me, but was about Diletta’s father keeping her safe?

That thought at least brings me some comfort, if this is the case then Diletta won’t be hurt.

I gauge the distance and try to work the odds out of pulling up on my arms. They’re screaming from being nearly wrenched out of their sockets and bound above my head, but I know I have more than enough strength in me to swing up and get my legs around this guy’s neck to choke the life out of him.

It would be satisfying, but I’m not sure there would be any real point. Killing this prick won’t undo my hands or get me out of the freezer. I can barely see straight. I’m in no condition to fight however many men are out there. I’m betting on there being more than ten.

“My nipples are at perfect peaked condition. Want to have a feel?”

Carlo has no sense of humor. His face scrunches up and he pulls back his fist, launching it into my naked side. I have my boxers on, but nothing else. They didn’t have to strip me down. That’s what I tried to fight my way out of the cabin in.

Pain explodes from the impact. He hit just below my ribs, but not hard enough to damage me. I believe these bastards have orders to keep me alive, and I believe those orders came from Luciano Cosmo himself.

What other Italians would I have pissed off? Everyone thinks I’m dead, I’ve already ruled these guys out as being mob, so really, that leaves only one option.

I just hope that I’m right, because if not… I can’t even think about that.

If not, then Diletta isn’t safe, and if I die here, I have no way of getting to her. My dying would upset her, even if it’s still unfathomable to me that she cares. I can’t hurt her by turning into a block of ice or getting my ass beaten into the ground.

It’s simple math, really.

I can’t fucking die.

One big hand shoots out and grabs me around the throat. I bring my knee up, swinging on the bindings above me, and hit Carlo straight in the babymakers. He curses but doesn’t release me. His nuts must be made of industrial grade titanium. His grip intensifies, squeezing the life out of me. I don’t move, don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this hurts. How much everything hurts.

Not knowing where Diletta is hurts most of all.

Just as I’m seeing more black spots than I already was, ready to check out momentarily, the door flies open, ruining all the fun.

“Get your hands off of him and step the fuck back!” Diletta yells in Italian.

I must have actually passed out. There’s no way she’s standing in the door, light framing her, looking like an avenging angel with a Beretta M9 in her hand

Carlo doesn’t believe it’s her either. His hand clenches harder around my throat. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve taken a breath, but my lungs are ready to burst.

Diletta takes the safety off the gun, cocks it back, and fires a bullet straight into Carlo’s foot.

He howls and lets me go.

What the fuck, this is definitely real.

Unless I’m already unconscious and dreaming this all up as sweet retribution for this shitbag.

Diletta blows her dark bangs out of her face and aims the gun directly at Carlo’s camo clad crotch. The guy is deeply tanned, but he pales visibly.

“Do you like the taste of hairy nuts asshole?” Dil barks. The guy gapes at her, so shocked that he’s forgotten all about howling over his foot. Maybe it’s sinking in that this is his boss’ daughter, and if she’s here calling the shots, something went tremendously wrong along the way, and he is fucked six ways to Sunday and back.

“N-no,” he stammers, shaking his head vigorously.

“Then get something to cut him down with. Carefully. He hits the ground like a sack and I’m cutting off your balls and feeding them to you. You get me?”

It’s the wrong time to laugh, but I can’t help myself. It’s just so wild seeing Diletta here, the sweet little kindergarten teacher, basically criminal royalty, but so far from a princess. She’s more badass than I am.

My head is swimming. Pounding violently. I’m going to puke all over her. I think I did that the last time too.

My feet are useless. My arms scream from being hoisted up and hung from them. Black closes over me. I lost track of time while I was on ice, but Diletta must have got here fast.

They must have let her in here, realizing who she was, but I don’t think for a second that we’re going to be okay. I’m going to make sure Diletta is free or die attempting it.

I move fast, grabbing Carlo’s gun and punching him straight in the face. He reels back and wisely sits down on the floor. I can barely close my hand around the gun. I have almost no feeling in my fingers. My legs are watery, and my head is a hot mess.

So hot that Diletta puts her hand over mine and quickly disarms me. “I called the clubhouse. I can’t believe that place is actually listed on the internet, but appearances and all that. I got through to Crow.”

“Not good, Dil. There’s going to be an out-and-out war.”

“No. There’s not.” She sounds so certain, but I have no idea how she’ll prevent it.

“I’m getting you out of here. I’ve borrowed a car and I’m taking you straight to Archer’s. They’re going to meet us there.”

What the hell does she mean she borrowed a car? I have no idea how she’s accomplished any of this, but my chest swells with pride that this is my woman. She saved my ass. She did more than save it. She came in here like a boss and owned the place. I know that deep down, she’s not as brave and blasé as she’s acting. She’s going to fall apart, and if I can keep my head together and my brain in one piece, I want to be there for her when it happens.

I know how bad the fallout can be.

She waves the gun at Carlo. “Help me get him out to the car.”

I hope that I’m not drooling, but I wouldn’t count it out, with how many punches and kicks I took in addition to the way I hit my head. I reach up to touch the back of my skull and wince at the pain. My fingers come away bloody, but if I was leaking all over the place, I doubt I would have survived this long. It’s clotted, which is a good thing. Just tenderized, like the rest of me, although I can’t say that the dizziness and in and out of black and bright white light is very appealing.

“You just shot me!” Carlo protests.

“I did, but you have one good foot left. You can help undo what you’ve done. This man is my future husband, the future father of my children, the love of my life. He’s everything to me, which in a way, makes him your future boss. I’m sure he has a long memory, but he’s pretty out of it. I can say for certainty that I have great powers of recollection. You get to choose how you want me to remember this later.”

That gets Carlo moving. Fast.

He limps over and shoves an arm under my shoulders, jarring all of me so that I can’t keep back a hiss of pain, and pretty much hoists me up so my feet clear the ground. He walks quickly, out of that damn freezer, out back into the warmth. I didn’t realize how frozen I was until the warm air hits, stabbing at me like a thousand pieces of shrapnel cutting through my skin and organs.

There are men watching, standing around looking as stunned and frozen as Carlo, at the change in command. This whole thing has gone unbelievably sideways for them.

My world does the same, but I realize it’s not because I’m going to pass out. Carlo is fitting me into the passenger seat of a black, tinted out sedan.

It’s always black on black with bad guys. Leather, however, is a great thing, and the interior of a vehicle that may or may not see copious amounts of blood should always be a dark color.

“Blankets,” Diletta commands. “I need a blanket. He’s hypothermic.”

Shit. I should be taking better stock of my vitals.

“We don’t have any blankets.” The disjointed voice comes from somewhere far away from the car. There’s an argument in harsh, rapid Italian. A few minutes later, Diletta swims into view, looking like an angel again with the halo of light my eyes warp around her face. She has an armload of camo shirts which she tucks around me from top to bottom until I’m like a mummy.

More like a living corpse.

I’m shaming myself here, but not only can I not function enough to care about being unmanned, I basically can’t focus on any thought at all. I realize how close to passing out I am when I feel like I’m floating out of the car and rising up into the air. I’m losing touch with my body. I’ve known that sensation before, when I swam in and out of a sea of endless pain, a living hell with real flames and melted skin, when I was burned.

Turns out, freezing isn’t much fun either.

Diletta slams the door shut, then drops into the driver’s seat beside me.

The fresh scent of her, orchids and fruit, chocolate chip cookies and rich, dark coffee, mingles with the scent of bad guy car. I drink it in, like it’s my dying breath.

I vow that it isn’t.

I will not let this shit fest be my legacy.

Even so, it feels like my mortal coil is doing some heavy shucking as the world goes black and I float out of my battered body without crashing down back into it this time.