Page 91 of His Passerotta

“Nobody?” Mustache laughs so loudly that I flinch and take another step back. “Did you bring a fucking girlfriend to my house, you stupid motherfucker?”

“She helped keep the Russian alive,” Corey says with much more calm than he had a moment ago. I can see in his tense posture that he’s faking it. He’s scared of this man. “She was just leaving.”

“No one leaves.” Mustache steps up to Corey and shoves him out of the way so we’re face to face. “If you’re stupid enough to bring your girl with you, then you’re going to share.” His eyes dip to my chest, and when he goes to finger a lock of my hair, I swat his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

His lips stretch into a wide smile, revealing decades worth of neglected dental hygiene. I can smell his breath without him even speaking. I don’t need him to speak. I get the message. He wants to rape me. He probably wants my little brother to watch.

Bile rises in my throat before my teeth bare.

“Oakland, man, leave her alone.” Corey tries to fit himself between us, but Oakland shoves him again, throwing him a menacing look before going back to me.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

His meaty chest shakes this time with his laugh, and I step back. I bump into someone, but he only pays attention to me for a second before carrying on with whatever he’s doing. None of the others seem to be paying attention to us. Only Bleached-hair peeks, but he looks like he’s trying not to draw attention. They’re all just a bunch of good little work ants.

“That’s okay,” Oakland says with a smile. “I don’t really give a shit anyway.”

He takes my arm and hauls me across the kitchen while I try to yank away, digging my heels into the broken tile in the process.

“Stop!” Corey runs in front of us. The noise dampens as several people now stare. “Please, leave her alone. W-we need her to take care of the prisoner.”

“W-we do?” Oakland mocks.

“Yes. His gunshot wound is?—”

“Get the fuck out of my way, maggot,” Oakland sneers, no longer sounding amused. “You’re lucky I’m letting you live for this. Don’t push it.”

“Corey, forget it,” I say to shut his mouth when he opens it. I don’t know Oakland, but I can tell by the energy in the room that he’s dangerous. He’s the leader.

Disgust sifts through me, but I’m oddly not afraid of this man hurting me. I’ve dealt with my fair share of psychopaths lately, and he seems the least threatening. Or at least dumber than the others. A few minutes alone with him, and I could probably find something sharp enough to slice that smile off his face.

But I can’t let him hurt Corey.

“Yeah, Corey, forget it,” Oakland mimics.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” I try to jerk from his hold, but his grip tightens. “Do whatever you want to me, but leave my brother alone.”

Oakland’s smile falls, and his grip on my arm loosens enough that I easily get away. I keep my eyes narrowed, but an uneasy feeling starts in my gut and moves throughout my body, smothering my anger.

“Brother?” Oakland turns to Corey, his stare menacing.

Corey lifts his hands. “I can explain.”

“You brought the Italian’s whore to our safe house?!”

My lungs tighten until I can’t get a breath.

He told them about me. He told them about Anthony.

Betrayal slaps me in the chest, but it’s quickly taken over by fear. The look on Oakland’s face is murderous, and suddenly, I question if I was wrong about him being less harmful than the other psychopaths.

Corey is one of them. He’s their people.

I’m not. To them, I’m the enemy.

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