Page 2 of Tossed into the Mob (The Wolves of La Luna Noir #4)

TWO

brOCK

I’d told Treyton Durand to head out of town, as I figured we’d be safer in the middle of nowhere. But perhaps being surrounded by crowds, noise, and traffic in the city was better. Damn, what did I know about kidnapping?

But we needed to get far away from the maniac that almost killed me, and I’d think about what to do next when we got there.

Despite this being the first time I’d held a gun and kidnapped anyone, Treyton’s knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel.

He was scared of me, probably because I had a weapon and he didn't, so my fake bravado must have worked because he’d done as I said and he was as meek as a tiny kitten.

When I’d said his name in the parking garage, there was a sense of finality in his gaze. I would explain what I needed from his family, though now that I’d threatened him, I was the bad guy. But I was the good guy who’d never even had an overdue library book, and now I could go to prison.

I couldn’t think straight with a bullet wound in my arm and blood gushing out of me. The stench of blood alone was making me woozy. The bandage I’d fashioned out of an old T-shirt was soaked through, and blood was trickling onto my palm.

But in spite of the pain and fear, the man in the driver’s seat intrigued me.

I couldn’t help but notice his chiseled jaw and his long dark lashes that curled at the tip.

Something deep inside me stirred, and for a moment, I was pleased I’d been given this man’s name rather than another family member.

That annoying voice in my head that always had an opinion told me Treyton was a good guy.

But I pushed that feeling away as I faced my grim reality.

"Take the highway north.” I had a vague idea after studying a map earlier of a bunch of small towns dotted along a river. There had to be a motel where we’d hole up. Never in my life had I needed to hide from a killer, and my belly churned.

Treyton glanced in the rearview mirror. Perhaps he was hoping someone was on our tail.

But the gunman hadn’t followed me to the hospital, ‘cause if he had, I’d have another bullet in me and would probably be dead.

When Treyton was eventually declared missing, the police would look at CCTV and come after me.

But by then, I’d have explained my predicament and this mess should be sorted.

But just in case, I twisted around and groaned at the pain in my arm. But we were outside the city and were the only car on the road.

The car smelled of hospital, but Treyton didn’t. He didn’t smell of anything. No sweat, cologne, or disinfectant. Maybe he’d showered and used an unscented body wash. He glanced at me, and my heart tightened. That should have been scary, but it was the opposite.

Not wanting to think about the weird actions my heart was performing, I slumped into the corner, but when a sign appeared for a truck stop, Treyton asked if he could go to a drive-through and order food for both of us.

“If you signal for help, I’ll invoke the wrath of La Luna Noir.” I wasn’t sure how to do that, but it sounded scary. “I’m part of the group too.”

His eyes bulged, and he shivered. “La Luna Noir.”

Maybe I could save my strength and just say La Luna Noir over and over to keep him in line.

“No funny stuff, I promise.” He side-eyed me, and I was proud at how I’d subdued him.

But the way he said “funny stuff” where his eyes were almost gooey—was he teary?

—had me raising the weapon, but I soon lowered it ‘cause I didn’t have the strength and told him to take the off-ramp.

I kept the gun low and hidden under my hoodie as he ordered food and asked for extra napkins.

He fumbled in the console for cash, muttering about not wanting to use his phone.

Damn, I was new to this and didn’t think about that.

He ordered burgers, fries, dessert, and sodas, typical on-the-road food, and the aroma of hot, salty, and sweet food dragged my attention from my predicament to nourishment.

But I had to use my injured arm, and pain throttled me each time I stuffed fries in my mouth.

Treyton ate as he drove, and we sat in silence while his car ate up the miles.

My mind drifted back to a few days ago and Dad gasping for breath as blood oozed from his chest. Minutes earlier a car had pulled up in front of the house, and my dad had dragged me to his closet and opened a door in the back that I didn’t know existed, leading to the crawl space under the house.

Before he closed the door, he’d held my face, saying how much he loved me and told me to check the lockbox.

I’d never forget his face, a mixture of panic and sadness.

What followed was… I couldn’t do this now, especially when my injured arm reminded me of Dad’s blood. Once I was safe, I’d think about it.

I couldn’t stop shivering even though the heater was on. I was losing blood, but I'd also abducted a guy, and I wasn’t sure what came next.

“Where are we going?” His voice dragged me back to the present.

“Somewhere to lie low.”

If I’d had the energy, I would have face palmed because I sounded like a small-time crook from the 1930s. We’d been driving for thirty minutes and were coming to a town, but I couldn’t let on that I was clueless about where to do all the lying low. I also hadn’t planned on being shot.

"Why me?" Treyton asked.

He was pretty calm for a guy who’d been kidnapped, and he hadn’t attempted an escape or to contact anyone. His gaze was almost kind? Maybe that was a midwife trait.

"Because you're a Durand.” I wasn’t going to give him more than that, partly because I was only one step ahead of him.

I felt the letter from Dad in my shirt pocket where he said to contact Treyton Durand and telling me where he worked. None of this seemed real because a few days ago I was a student, studying for my Masters degree and working part-time at the mall to help pay our bills.

And now the man who’d brought me up single-handedly was dead, I was on the run, and had been shot by the same bozo who killed my dad.

I spotted the exit sign for the town and told Treyton to take it. The shops were closed as we drove through, and I scanned both sides of the road for a motel.

“If you’re looking for somewhere to stay, there’s a trailer park a mile ahead.”

I should be the one in charge, and how did he know about a trailer park outside the city? I doubted kidnap victims suggested hiding places. He may have been cute, but he was odd. Everything about this was weird, especially how he looked at me.

“I delivered a baby here.” He shot me a look. “But that family has moved on.”

The park was kinda rundown, with grass growing between some trailers and others that had little fences and gardens. The office was dark, but I spotted a sign that read Manager on the single-wide near the entrance.

“Give me the car keys and your phone.” But I struggled to get out, and the world spun around. I gripped the dashboard as darkness encroached on my vision.

“I’ll rent us a trailer.”

Huh? His voice was far away, but I’d kidnapped him and he was doing my bidding when there was no bidding, just slumping, groaning, and bleeding over his front seat, along with a sudden erratic heart rhythm. But I refused to die until my dad’s killer was in jail.

The door slammed and there were voices, but everything was fuzzy. The car was moving, and we drove maybe fifty yards. Someone opened my car door and put an arm around me. It had to be Treyton because there was no distinctive scent.

"I've got you."

He helped me up two steps, and I collapsed onto something soft.

The place had been cleaned recently because it reminded me of what Dad used on our kitchen floor.

It was the first familiar thing I’d encountered since I fled our home.

I lay there thinking it would be better if I died because Dad was gone and I had nothing to live for, plus a crazed assassin was after me.

A pair of hands eased off my hoodie, and I bit down so hard on my lip, I tasted blood. My shirt was removed and finally the cloth wrapped around my arm.

“You’re lucky this was a through-and-through, and there’s less trauma than I expected, so that’s good.”

I didn’t know midwife speak or gangster talk, but I’d watched enough TV to understand I didn’t have a bullet lodged in me.

Someone was dabbing at my arm and cleaning it with warm water.

I didn’t have the energy to cry out, though the hands were gentle and a voice murmured “Sorry,” and “Lucky I keep a first-aid kit in the car,” followed by “This should be stitched, but I’ll pack it with gauze and bandage it and monitor you for infection. ”

I needed to sleep, but I should check the windows and doors, and there was something else I was forgetting. I tried to part the fog that clouded my brain but couldn’t grasp the detail I was looking for.

The voice was soothing, like a lullaby, but I forced my eyes open and was met with a smiling face. Someone I’d met, and he was holding a water bottle and helping me to take a sip. Maybe I was in the hospital. I’d been in or near one today.

“You have an unfair advantage.”

“That’s because I have a gun.” I said the words, but they didn’t seem right in my head.

I’d never owned a gun, but I’d found one in the metal box in the crawl space, along with the letter from my dad.

But my fingers weren’t gripping the weapon.

I was propped up with cushions and covered in something warm.

It reminded me of home except it wasn’t, and though I wasn’t cold, goosebumps were galloping over my body.

“The gun!” I didn’t have it. I struggled to sit, but firm hands lay me back and the voice told me to rest.

“Your weapon is here, but you’re in no position to handle it.”

That made sense. But why did I have one? That was weird.

“I don’t know your name. If we’re going to be sharing a trailer, I should call you something.”

“Brock.”

Despite the water I’d drunk, my lips were dry, and my heavy eyes drooped and I closed them.

In the distance, a door closed, but I didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe I slept, because the next thing I remembered was the smell of what?

Chicken soup. That was Dad’s specialty whenever I was sick. And was that toast? Yum, I was hungry.

“Brock, would you like something to eat?”

I peeled my eyes open. He knew my name. I nodded, and he helped me to sit. He fed me, and when the soup dribbled over my chin, he wiped it. His fingers lingered on the spoon, and I liked him being so close. I lowered my defenses. But my mind was fuzzy as to who he was and how we got here.

I glanced around and took in the tiny kitchenette, the couch where I sat, and a bedroom up the other end. A trailer.

I didn’t have the energy to eat the toast, that took too much crunching and my jaw was sore, so I lay down, and I must have dozed because when I woke up, a voice was murmuring nearby.

“I’m fine. I’ve got mono.” There was a pause and then, “Yeah, two weeks.”

Treyton! That was his name, and I’d kidnapped him, but there wasn’t much kidnapping happening, not on my part.

I yanked myself up by grabbing the curtains. “You’re calling people to dispose of me.”

Everything came rushing back. I was such a fool. I couldn’t even kidnap a midwife. How was I going to keep myself alive? Not that I’d have to worry about that because the La Luna Noir guys would rip me into little pieces for taking one of their family members.

“No.”

“You just called in the cavalry.”

“I didn’t. I took sick leave.”

This world I’d found myself in was topsy turvy because my kidnap victim took time off to be with me in a trailer.

"So here's what's going to happen, Brock,” Treyton continued. “You're going to tell me who's trying to kill you. And then we're going to figure out how to keep you alive. Deal?"

I stared at him, this man I'd kidnapped who was offering to save my life. Nothing about him made sense. He’d flipped the script, but instead of feeding me to the fish or burying me in wet cement, he was offering to help. It might be a trap.

But I was out of options.

“It’s a deal," I whispered. “But later.”