Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He gets up grimly and stalks to the limo. I’m sitting on the street, dizzy and disoriented, but even I can see all the blood dripping from the front seats. The driver is dead and the guard beside him is still like driftwood, and Carmine’s checking their pulses but he isn’t moving with any urgency, and it’s obvious they’re gone.
Sirens scream in the distance and Carmine’s pulling me to my feet. “We’ve gotta go,” he says and he drags me away from the wreckage of our car.
“But the cops will help,” I say dully, not thinking straight, but Carmine’s grip is iron on my arm. I stagger once and he scoops me up into his arms like a child, walking faster, into the trees lining the highway. I stare up into his face and wonder how the hell he’s doing this, how he’s carrying me, how he’s running away. “Won’t they know it’s your limo?”
“Not in my name,” he says and keeps pushing aside branches. We walk for a while until the trees turn into a suburban subdivision, and I wonder what these people thought of all the gunfire. Probably not much, it’s Texas after all. He puts me down on a corner and makes a phone call. When that’s done, he pulls me against him and hugs me tight.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper, still in shock, and it hits me how absurd the question is.
Those men tried to murder us.
I don’t know who they were—if it was the Greeks or one of Carmine’s other enemies—but all I know is, they pulled up alongside the limo and didn’t hesitate to open fire. They must’ve been following us for a while then, watching our every move, and I’m so freaked out I can barely stand it. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in my world, angry men with guns don’t show up and start shooting, people don’t murder other people in the middle of the day on some random back road in the suburbs of Dallas. This isn’t supposed to happen to me.
But my neat little life is over. I can see it now. It’s left behind in the wreckage of that car, and any illusions I might’ve still harbored about being the girl I thought I’d always be are shattered worse than that limo’s glass. I always thought I’d have a safe life, relatively comfortable, quiet by the standards of my class, a rich girl living a rich girl’s existence, maybe a nice family, maybe a few vacations every year, maybe some minor travel, but I never for a second thought I’d end up in a limo with a gangster getting shot at.
It breaks me. I sit there on the curb and I put my face in my hands and cry so hard it feels like I might be sick. My stomach aches and the muscles in my neck and arms and back strain as I sob like I’m trying to get something out. Arms wrap around me and it’s Carmine hugging me tight, and I lean against him for comfort but I’m also intensely aware that he’s the reason for all this, or maybe my father’s the reason for all this, or I don’t even know anymore and reasons don’t matter, because I’m in pain and I’m scared, I’m so damn scared.
And somehow, Carmine makes me feel better.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly, stroking my hair. “I’ve got you. I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let them touch you. God, Brice, I’m going to murder every single Greek in the goddamn country. I’m going to burn them all to the ground. I’m going to hurt them for you, filthy girl, hurt them so fucking badly.”
He goes on and on until another car shows up to take us back to his place, and the sickest part of everything is I want him to do it.
I want him to go on the hunt.
I want him to punish them, punish them all, make them pay for this.
Chapter 17
Brice
His private jet lands at a small regional airport south of Philadelphia and we’re whisked into a waiting limo before I have a chance to get acclimated. It’s colder up north and he has the heat blasting. His leg presses against mine in the back seat even though there’s plenty of room. Another man’s sitting on the bench seat facing ours looking grim in his dark suit with his dark hair and tired bags under his eyes.
“Boss,” the man says. “It’s fucked up, what happened down south. Real fucked up.”
“Angelo, meet Brice, my fiancée.”
The man Angelo nods to me. “Lovely to meet you.”
“And you as well.”
Carmine puts a hand on my knee. “Angelo is my right hand. He’s been watching things for me since I’ve been gone.”
“And it hasn’t been fucking easy. Do you have any clue how annoyed the capos are with you running around fucking Texas buying up shares in some fucking oil company like you’re a goddamn robber baron?”