Page 76 of Twisted Fate

I hear his feet on the pavement, gaining on me.

Heart slamming against my ribs, I tear across the parking lot, chest heaving, legs pumping.

If I can just make it to the Emerald…

Suddenly, a dark sedan pulls directly in my path, tires squealing, cutting off my escape.

30

Alina

A second dark sedan pulls in behind the first. The doors fly open. Four men step out, all dressed in black.

In the split second before I recognize them, my terror expands and swallows me whole. Then Damian holds out his arm and I run to him, throwing myself against him. He pulls me in to his side, his arm a band of steel around me.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice deadly calm. Despite that, I can feel the rage pounding through him.

“No,” I whisper.

He looks down, catches my chin and tilts my head so he can look into my eyes. His expression is flat, cold, his demon-angel eyes burning. “Did he hurt you?” he asks again.

“He yanked my arm. Dragged me away from the club.”

He nods, then glances over to where Luca has Enzo pinned on the ground. He walks over and stands over Enzo, then puts his foot on Enzo’s wrist pinning it to the ground. He takes his gun from his waist and slowly screws on a silencer, taking his time while Enzo struggles and spits curses.

“You laid hands on her,” Damian says, his voice like ice. “Grabbed her, you fucking worthless piece of shit. You bruised her. Hit her.” He leans down and places the silencer against the back of Enzo’s hand where all the tendons cross the wrist.

He fires point blank.

Enzo howls and jerks against Luka’s hold.

I wrap my arms around myself and stumble back, sagging against the side of the car. From this distance, in the darkness, I can’t see the blood and bits of shattered bone, but I know they’re there.

Damian glances at me, then at Joe. “Alina might be more comfortable in the car,” he says. “Put the music on. Something loud.”

“No,” I say, straightening of the side of the car. I’m not going to hide. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what Damian does, who he is. What he is.

He holds my gaze for a long moment, then gives a short nod. Turning away, he shifts his stance, squatting down so he’s eye level with Enzo.

“You killed my father,” he says. “Thank you for the admission of guilt, by the way. That was easy.”

“I admitted nothing,” Enzo snarls.

“But you did,” Damian says. He pulls out his phone and plays back his voicemail, which cuts out right after Enzo admits to killing Damian’s father.

“You bitch,” Enzo howls, struggling against Luca’s hold, his face contorting with hate and rage and fear as he tries to lunge for me. “You fucking bitch.”

Damian backhands Enzo hard enough to send his head snapping back. “Watch your mouth,” he says.

He rises and presses the sole of his shoe down on Enzo’s other wrist.

“Wait,” Enzo says, struggling, trying to pull free. “You don’t need to do this. Wait.”

Damian laughs, the sound chilling. “You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t need to do, Bianchi. But I’ll tell you what, though. Answer my question, just one question, and this all stops.”

“What question?”

“Who paid you?”

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