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

FOUR

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I must have dozed off—I’d been doing that a lot—and I woke to the sound of running water. The constant ache in my arm had dulled. I wished the memory of being shot had done the same.

My mouth tasted like cotton balls. Ewww, I’d have to brush my teeth, and my neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch.

I struggled to sit and leaned over, checking the door was locked.

I peered between the lace curtains, but other than a woman watering her potted plants, there was no one around.

I nibbled a nail because the sun was going down and that guy with the gun could sneak up on us in the dark.

The shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Treyton emerged from the tiny bathroom with damp hair and wearing the same clothes from yesterday. The poor guy. I’d abducted him and he didn’t have a change of clothes.

He checked the windows on either side, making sure they were locked before doing the same with the door.

He sniffed when he came close to me before drawing the small curtains near the sink, and put his ear near the door.

He may have been a midwife, but he was security conscious.

All I’d done was act like a curtain twitcher, whereas he’d done a proper assessment, though I didn’t understand the sniffing.

“How’s your arm?”

“Better, thanks to you.” I cringed, thinking of how I’d treated Treyton. I was crap at kidnapping, which was probably a good thing or I might have shot him. I never wanted to handle a weapon again, unless it was to defend myself against Dad’s murderer.

He asked if he could check my wound. I agreed, but I discovered I was wearing a T-shirt that wasn’t mine. I tugged at it, expecting to finally get a whiff of him. But there was nothing.

“Your hoodie and shirt were drenched in blood, so I soaked them. Not sure the stain will come out.”

Now the kidnappee was doing my laundry.

"The bleeding's stopped, and it’s not infected. The wound is healing very well.”

Treyton put fresh gauze on the wound and wrapped it in a clean bandage. His touch was so gentle, almost as if it was filled with love. But that was silly. I’d taken him at gunpoint against his will. He should hate my guts.

“I’ll make us dinner. Do you like pasta?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go out.”

“There's a grocery store not far from here. It’s where I picked up the food for breakfast and lunch."

He was going to leave me alone, and the gunman could be lying in wait to storm the door, before putting a bullet in my chest like he did Dad. I pushed that image away, still not wanting to deal with it.

“Can you give me the gun?”

He hesitated, and I kinda understood why. I might shoot him or myself, but he loaded the weapon and put on the safety catch.

“Don’t answer the door, even if they ask to come in.”

A giggle burst out of me and both his brows shot up in inverted Vs.

“Sorry.” I smothered the laughter with my hand. “It reminded me of a line from a nursery rhyme or fairy tale.” I waved him away and locked the door behind him.

What did I do while he was gone? I could pace the floor, hide under a blanket, or keep watch.

I needed a shower but not when I was close to panicking.

Besides, Treyton would have to fashion a plastic bag over my arm.

And I’d be naked from the waist up. But he’d removed my shirt, so he’d already seen me bare-chested.

I pictured his eyes roaming over my skin, and I liked how my tummy reacted. But the feeling vanished and I was still alone.

I counted the minutes since Treyton had driven away.

Someone outside called to their child, and my heart sped up, wondering if the killer was pretending he lived here.

Then a screech of tires on the main road sent my heart thundering, and I gripped the gun.

I’d never fired one and wasn’t sure I could do it if the killer burst though the door.

Gods, how long had it been? Sweat streamed down my spine, and if I hadn't needed a shower before, I really needed one now.

A car turned off the road. I held my breath, waiting for it to go past. But it pulled up behind the trailer. My palms were running with sweat as I aimed the gun toward the door. But a whispered, “Brock, it’s Treyton,” pinpricked my anxiety, and I let him in.

He heaved a huge bag of groceries onto the small kitchen counter, but his eyes were running over me as if checking for any new injuries. Goosebumps appeared on my skin and performed somersaults but not from fear or cold. What was that emotion?

I concentrated on the food he’d bought as he set water to boil on the stove. After two days of eating gas station meals and fast food, my mouth watered at the thought of a real meal.

But Treyton also had deodorant and shampoo, T-shirts and sweatpants. He was so kind.

“For when you meet the family,” he explained.

Damn, that one word, family, sent my anxiety skyrocketing.

He set to work chopping garlic and fresh herbs and told me to sit and put my feet up. His movements were so graceful, he reminded me of a gazelle, and I wondered who’d taught him to cook.

“Tell me about your dad.” He added, “if it’s not too difficult.”

My heart jolted as I was reminded my dad was dead. “He was really protective.”

As I spoke, it hit me that maybe that was because of my alpha father’s occupation.

I deduced he was involved with a crime family after reading about La Luna Noir.

The same father I’d assumed was dead. And now I might meet him, but would he acknowledge me as his son?

My parents hadn’t met since a few days after I was born, according to Dad’s letter.

“He always read to me before bed, even when I was a teen.” He’d said when I went to college I might be too cool to talk to him and he was building memories.

“That’s very sweet. Hold it close to your heart for always. He loved you very much.”

I studied my nails, not wanting Treyton to see my tears. But that was ridiculous. My dad had been murdered, so it would be odd if I didn’t cry.

I rambled on about Dad telling me to be wary of trusting people. He’d homeschooled me, and we’d spent a lot of time tucked away in the back of a library where no one could see us, until I went to high school.

I often wondered how he’d earned enough money to pay the rent and bills when he only worked part-time. He’d said he had some money left to him by his folks, but now I suspected my alpha father had sent regular payments.

But that was enough talk about me. It was too hard imagining my life without my dad.

"How long have you been taking care of people?" I asked while he boiled spaghetti.

Treyton glanced up as he tossed garlic in a frying pan with olive oil. “What?”

“You drove me to safety, found us a place to stay, looked after my wound, and made me food.”

His cheeks reddened, and the flush spread over his jaw. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

Why didn’t I believe him? He concentrated on stirring that garlic as if it had been naughty and he was giving it a talking-to. He didn’t want to speak about himself and neither did I.

“Tell me more about your family. Who will I be meeting?”

He ran through a list of names, too many for me to memorize. Flint was numero uno in the company, so he’d be the guy who’d decide if I met my father, and Arnie was Treyton’s grandpa, who he adored. They were the ones I had to remember.

But I’d never met any mafia people before. Did I have to kiss their ring? Or was that only for kings?

“Your family, they are—”

“Mafia. Yeah.” He finished my sentence, and I was pleased it was out in the open and we hadn’t danced around the subject

My alpha father was too, but this was a new world for me, and if they didn’t catch dad’s killer, I’d need to stay under their protection.

But that was assuming they would keep me safe.

My alpha father may never have mentioned he had a kid.

What then? Toss me out and let me go on the run with a gunman after me?

Treyton was looking after me, but if the boss, Flint, ordered him to ignore me, my life might end in a dark alley as I lay bleeding out.

The aroma of fried garlic with fresh chili and coriander dragged my thoughts away from the future. Treyton drained the pasta and added it to the pan. After plating the spaghetti, he grated cheese on top and placed the two bowls on the table.

My belly grumbled, and Treyton grinned and told me to dig in.

Multiple flavors flooded my mouth. “This is so good. If you decide on a career change, you could be a chef.”

“Grandpa has been teaching me to cook simply and rely on the freshness of the ingredients, though that grocery store down the road might not be what he had in mind.”

Utensils scraping the porcelain was the only sound in the room until Treyton asked where I’d been when I got shot.

Another memory I’d been quashing. But if I didn’t tell him now, the family would expect me to give them details.

“I was staying at a motel, not far from your hospital.” I put down my fork and spoon. “I’d gone to a mall to get food, but I sensed someone following me in the crowd.” My dad had taught me to check the exits wherever I was so I always knew how to get out of a burning building.

“I raced down a fire escape, but as I reached the first floor, I looked up and the guy leaned over the railing and shot me.” There’d only been a pop, so he must have used a silencer. I’d recognized him as the one who shot Dad.

“From there, I headed to your hospital, tying a spare shirt around my arm and covering it with my hoodie.” I was sure he was going to ask how I knew he was working and where to wait for him.

“Dad and I had watched that documentary you were in and you said you mostly worked nights. It also showed you getting into your car and the level you were on.”

I should have showered because I must stink, but exhaustion was strangling me, and I just needed to put my head on a pillow and close my eyes. I shuffled to the couch, but Treyton directed me to the small bedroom.

“The sofa’s fine. I’ve been sleeping on it all day.”

He folded his arms and waggled a finger at me. “I’m putting on my midwife’s hat and telling you to take the bed.”

I hid a smile because he was adorable when he was pretending to be stern. “Do midwives wear hats?”

He grinned which became a giggle, a chortle, and a belly laugh so infectious that I joined in. I held my tummy because the jiggling hurt my arm, but despite the discomfort, it was good to laugh.

Treyton stood up, tears glistening on his lashes, and my heart reacted with a ker-thunk. I expected my cock to take notice but that was it. Perhaps I just had a heart murmur or something.

“Get some rest.” Treyton grabbed a toothbrush and toothpaste from the shopping bag.

A noise outside made me jump, and the toothpaste fell out of my left hand, but Treyton caught it. Wow! He must have been on every high school sporting team with those reflexes.

"What if the person who shot me finds us?"

"They won't." He picked up the gun. Being linked to the mafia, he must know how to shoot. “I’ll stay awake tonight and make sure nothing happens to you."

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