Page 122 of Steal My Heart

Strong arms band around me, and I’m being pulled to the surface. Maks rips off the tape from my mouth, and I cough violently, my nose burning from the water.

“Your training just got a hell of a lot more intense,” he promises, towing me to the river’s bank, where I’m not so delicately dropped onto the patchy grass. “Where’s the phone?”

“It’s in my cape pocket,” I say between coughs, and he fumbles in my pocket, grabbing it. “Please tell me it didn’t get ruined!”

He doesn’t answer, popping open the case, and water pours from it.

“No!” I cry.

“Let’s go.”

“Uh, a little help here.”

He curses, squatting down and retrieving a knife from his ankle. He cuts the zip ties, and gives me a hand up.

I try my best to keep up with him, but my best isn’t fast enough for Maks. He takes my hand, practically dragging me up the hill, and flings me into the passenger seat of the Calvani Seafood truck. He goes to the back of the truck and disappears inside, reappearing a moment later.

“Our guy’s working on saving the phone.”

“I’ve lifted the damn thing twice now! I can’t help it if my security sucks.”

“You’re right.” He tosses a towel at me. “I’m a dead man.” It’s said so quietly I almost didn’t catch it.

Angelo

“We have two men down in the garage. I’ve sent in a cleanup team. There was an incident with Cannon?—”

“Mr. Calvani, I said, there are rumors of tension between you and the mayor?—”

I walk off mid-interview, Nic and my additional security trailing along. “Where. Is. She?” With the enunciation of each word, my blood pressure rises.

“With me, boss. There was an incident; she went into the water?—”

“What?” I shout, the noise lost to the sound of the jazz band now.

“I’m taking Cannon to the apartment.”

“Angelo, there you are.” Laurie appears, grabbing my wrist.

“Not now,” I say between my teeth.

“I heard you were at the hospital asking about Mini Mardi Gras. There was some miscommunication; everything’s being delivered as we speak. If you come tomorrow, you’ll see all the hard work we’ve put into it.”

Shaking out of her hold, I bull my way through the crowd. My convoy pulls up, and I hustle inside the vehicle.

“Tell me everything, like your life depends on it,” I warn Maks, because it does, but he’s too far out of range.

“Take me to my apartment,” I command the driver.

I feel out of control, which is the ultimate four-letter word for me.

Remi

Maks and I enter the apartment, and before I can even change out of my wet getup, he shoves the video game console into my hands.

“At least let me shower first,” I protest.

“You want that feeling of being bound and helpless, sinking to the river’s bottom, to be permanently seared into your psyche, so much so that it’s the first thing you think of when you wake up, and the last thing you think of when you go to sleep? You want this terror to sneak up on you, attacking you at the most random of times? Never feeling safe in the present moment because mentally, you’re still drowning?”