Page 4 of Vicious Reign

2

LEO

Two of thehired muscles clamp their hands on each of my shoulders, maneuvering me out of the bathroom as if I wasn’t going willingly. Stupid fucks don’t realize that I’m practically setting the pace. Anything to put as much space between them and her.

Fuck.

I can’t even let myself think about what almost happened had that sick piece of shit not slipped and fallen. My chest squeezes at the notion that I might not have made it in time. Rage coils my muscles and I have half a mind to revive him just so I can kill him myself. It’d be a pretty sweet way to initiate into the family business if you ask me. Probably far better than whatever it is dear ol’ Dad is going to make me do.

Thug One digs his meaty fingers into my collarbone, but I don’t let an ounce of the pain show on my face. Assholes like this get off on seeing people in pain, so the best thing I can do is be a blank canvas.

All I have to do is hold out until backup arrives. I know my brothers will come. Annoyance flares in my gut that I even have to wait for them. If I would’ve joined the family—or fuck, just been around Matteo and Dante more—maybe I could muscle my way out of this and get back to my girl before she has a chance to properly freak out.

I know her well enough to know that she’s probably shoved all her panic down deep and sought out my brother like I told her to. She’s a fucking champ at compartmentalizing, better than me for sure. The best I can do is distract myself with rambling nonsense, which is pretty much what I’ve been doing the last five minutes while we skulk through a darkened hallway until we reach a door.

Charles Pinkerton’s uncle exits first, the humid night air rushing in to wrap me in its embrace. “Load him up, boys. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

I let them lead me to a town car parked along the edge of the valet lot. There are three other black town cars parked by it, but all four of them have enough room to get out.

Cicadas’ song fills the air, punctuated by the occasional bullfrog. The moon is high and the breeze is warm. It all feels very strategic, like something you’d see in a movie. It raises the hair on the back of my neck.

I contemplate making a run for it, just bolting into the nearby trees. Only the idea that they could easily go back in and snatch Maddie stills my feet.

Thug One and Thug Two flank me wordlessly, stopping at the trunk of the car closest to the road and my heart begins to race. What’s that statistic she told me the other day? We were watching some true crime documentary, something about leaving a location decreases your survival by fifty percent. Fuck, I hope I got the number wrong, because I don’t love those odds.

Not impossible, just more difficult.

“Hope you’re not claustrophobic, son,” Charles’s uncle says with a smile on his face.

I send him a fuck-you smile right back and say nothing.

He chuckles and then tips his chin to the guy on my right before he gets in the backseat of the car. I already know what’s going to happen next. The trunk pops open, and as I stare at the impeccable charcoal lining, I stare at the guy to my left.

“We’re not going to the sheriff’s office, are we?”

He grins, a manic sort of smile that shows too much teeth. I’m too wrapped up in the awful way he smiles that I don’t see the hit until it’s too late. The guy to my right hits me over the head with something hard, the butt of his gun, if I had to guess, before he pushes me forward. I fall into the trunk in an unceremonious heap, my vision fading around the edges.

I’m so fucked.

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