Page 5

CHAPTER FOUR

NASH

Fuck, I thought I dropped this tail before I drove home. Fuck, they want blood. And fuck, now everything’s burned. Locations. Cars. Businesses.

My daughter.

And the only other girl, I mean woman , I’ve cared about. Now, she’s in danger, too.

Vale gapes, staring wide-eyed at me like she’s seen a monster, and I am. She has no idea what I’ve done for my family and what I’ve done for her.

My Beretta rests in my lap while I use the Bluetooth in my van to start maneuvers. “Call Seven,” I command.

“Yeah,” a burly growl answers. There’s no name on the screen. We use numbers.

“You’re on speakerphone,” I snarl. He’ll understand. “We’re burned. Secure her. Now .”

“Copy.” He hangs up.

“Call One,” I command my technology. It rings, and Axel picks up. He doesn’t speak. I do.

“You’re on speakerphone, we’re burned, and being followed.”

Silence fills the air while I aim for the next bridge. The Ravenel Bridge. It’s the third longest cable-stayed bridge in the Western Hemisphere and our only way to safety. I know what to do with the Mercedes chasing feet behind us.

“Who are you with?” Axel hopes I’ll say “Alena.” That I’ve secured her.

“Vale Monroe,” I answer, and he’s silent again, adding it up.

“Who is it?” He’s asking about our friends, the ones I warned him about earlier.

“Same as your office. They followed me home.”

I can’t go into details. Details Vale can’t know. It’s for her own good.

“Your plan?” Axel asks. He’ll call the others. They’ll go to their second locations until we can get more intel.

“Lose this tail, drop this van, then secure my asset.”

“Your asset ?” Vale scoffs, but I whip my glare at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Call when it’s done,” Axel replies, then hangs up.

“Your fucking asset ?” Vale starts. “What in the hell is going on? Who’s chasing us? Why do you have a gun, and why did it sound like you’re best friends with Tony Soprano and Co.?”

“So, being a good girl. It’s done?” I shake my head. “Should’ve known. I’ve had sneezes that lasted longer.”

She doesn’t answer. She studies my gun, then my face, my real one, ready for murder. “Oh my god,” she sighs in shock, “you’re mafia in a minivan.”

“Mafia don’t drive minivans,” I assure her as I race up the ramp to the four wide lanes of the high bridge crossing the wide Cooper River.

Thankfully, it’s one a.m. on a Monday morning. There are only a few other cars, and ours, being chased by a black Mercedes.

For a rare moment, Vale’s silent.

Call the CIA. I found their next recruit. She’s waterboarding my profile, interrogating my new image.

Then, because God hates me, Vale starts clapping. She’s smart and quite proud of herself. She’s figured it out, but unfortunately, she’s also a snarky smartass when she’s scared, and in the past, I adored it.

I’d piss her off for entertainment.

But not now.

“Let’s all applaud,” she says. “Let’s show some warm Southern hospitality to the mafia in Charleston because that’s why you drive a daddy minivan, not an I-got-a-little-dick sports car or a black SUV that screams felony offender. No, that’d be too obvious. And that’s why you look like Poindexter when really … you’re a Dexter. You murder people. You’re not a geeky accountant or an uptight dad. You’re a hitman! You’re a made man!”

I recheck the rear-view mirror. Then, I slide into the outside lane, preparing for my maneuver. I don’t care that Vale’s outed me. I’ll deal with it later.

“Aren’t you?” Or now, goddammit. “Aren’t you mafia, Mr. Allen? Or some kind of organized crime because you have a gun, too many muscles, a sudden explosion of ink, and too much money to be?—”

“I wish you were allergic to words.”

“They’re my weapons.”

“Holster them.” I accelerate, thankful for this engine. It’s maxed out. “Better yet, silence them.”

It’s hard controlling the vehicle at this speed. We’re going eighty-nine as Vale deadpans, “Twenty bucks says we die.”

I can’t help it. I fucking smile as I slow down.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks. “Don’t listen to me! Don’t slow down now! Don’t let them?—”

“Shut up, Vale!” I boom. Here we go.

I entice the Mercedes to pull up on my left as I press my window down, racing over the bridge. I won’t risk Vale. I won’t shoot across her. Then, I grab my gun, thankful I’m a leftie, too, as the black Mercedes with its tinted windows appears, menacing and racing beside us, gunning its engine.

“Oh my god.” Out of the corner of my eye, I clock Vale burying her face in her hands. She’s losing it. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“Yes, I am. I’m gonna die.”

“I won’t let you.”

“News flash: you’re still not the boss of me.”

“Vale, I got this.”

I steady the steering wheel with my right hand, the gun itching to fire in my left.

“No, you don’t. You think you’re in control, but we’re going too fast, and there’s too much speed and bullets and shit.” She’s rambling. “I’m gonna die on a fucking scary bridge, plunging into a cold, dark river below, drowning in an ugly-ass, preppy mafia minivan with a mean man.” She’s losing it. “And I’ve never even been in love or had a good kiss or even a legit orgasm. Lewis Hamilton will never know my greatness.”

I can’t reply. I can’t process.

I wait for their tinted passenger window to lower, and as it does … I aim my muzzle with its silencer and pull the trigger, unloading the clip.

The Mercedes swerves left, and I speed up. I don’t know who I hit, but I watch in the rearview mirror as they lose control and crash into the side rails of the bridge.

For miles and minutes, Vale doesn’t speak. She stares out of the front window as I drive north, with my gun resting on my lap.

I let my heart rate drop, my pulse calming. I make my mind work, guessing who that was and knowing what to do next.

We’re out of danger for now. It’s clear. We’re safe … but then I glance over, and my heart starts racing again, facing a different threat.

In her panic, Vale hasn’t noticed how her naughty black dress is bunched up, exposing her milky legs in those thigh-high stockings with little white bows. Then I let my glance linger over what I shouldn’t and stifle my groan when I see what I’ve always wondered, obsessed about actually, and now I know…

Vale wears white cotton panties with a little red bow.

Oh, fuck. My teeth grab my bottom lip as I force my stare back to the road. In a moment like this, I should be focused on business, but I can’t. I chew on guilt and lust, and yes, fear, too.

I’m not afraid to kill evil men. I’m not afraid to protect my family and the ones I love. I’m not afraid of my vow to six men and every dark and salacious ritual we perform that ensures it.

But what I’ve been afraid of … ever since she was eighteen and I was thirty-two … is that I crave Vale Monroe like I’m an evil, starving man.