Page 47 of The Taker

Gio’s brows dip as he rubs his goatee in thought. I almost feel bad for lying to him. “I know how much you love to read, and I’m sure you need the distraction right now. Can you think of anywhere else it may be?”

“Um, either the kitchen, or Rocco’s bedroom I guess?”

“Okay, you check his bedroom, and I’ll check the kitchen. Don’t worry. We’ll find it.”

He lumbers off to the kitchen, and my mouth drops at my dumb fucking luck. All I need to do is get past the front door, and I’m good to leave.

I speed walk as quietly as I can to the front door, and see another guard there, who’s name I unfortunately can’t remember. He’s as big as Rocco, and at least thirty pounds heavier.

“Mr. Costa, you can’t leave the penthouse. Mr. Vettore’s orders,” he firmly tells me.

How the fuck am I going to move a man Rocco’s size out of the way? I hate myself for it, but there’s only one way I can think of.

“What did you say, I can’t hear you?” I lie.

He takes a couple steps toward me. “Mr. Costa, Mr. Vettore said you’re not to leave the penthouse,” he repeats himself.

“Oh my god a spider!” I shriek, pointing to the wall across from us.

He swivels his gaze to the wall, standing in place. But at least now he’s a few steps away from the door and distracted. I knee him in the balls. He falls to the floor, howling in pain so loudly that I jump over him, leave the penthouse, and book it down the emergency stairwell before the other guards can catch up to me.

They may be bigger than me, but I have speed on my side. Once I’m a few floors down, I hop on the regular elevator. As soon as the doors close behind me, I hit the lock button and take a deep breath and assess my next move.

If I go to the lobby, the plainclothes guards will block me. Rocco doesn’t know I know they’re there, but I heard him mention them in a conversation with Giuseppe a couple days ago.

“Mr. Costa, open the doors immediately. You need to come back to the penthouse!” Gio shouts as he bangs on the doors.

Fuck!How did they track me here? Rocco probably has the whole fucking place decked out with cameras. I look at the bank of buttons on the wall, and notice that one says Pool and Spa.

Of course Rocco would live in a fancy as fuck building with all the bougie bells and whistles.

And thank fuck he does, because if there’s a pool, there’s probably a back entrance the maintenance crew uses for the chemicals. There’s no way they’d use the one all these ritzy fuckers take daily, because chlorine smells awful. I hit the button, and once I reach the pool/spa floor, I scan my surroundings, looking for anything remotely resembling a staff door.

There’s a man I’ve never seen before with a Vettore Enterprises polo on. He holds his walkie-talkie to his mouth as he says, “Wait, blond hair? He’s right here on the pool floor!”

Great, even the staff are looking for me. I run in the opposite direction, and slip into the men’s locker room.

Fuck, how am I supposed to get out of here? I have no weapons, and everyone in the building is probably looking for me.

The guy runs in after me, and I think fast, picking up a hair dryer off the counter.What kind of locker room has hair dryers for people just sitting on the counter?

“Leo, you have to go back home,” he says as he slowly approaches me.

“You need to back the fuck up,” I shout.

“Mr. Vettore is the boss, and if he says you need to stay home, that’s how it goes,” he enunciates each word to me as he keeps coming closer. The counter is behind me, and I can feel myself getting trapped in by the second.

He’s close enough that he can grab me now. I turn the hair dryer on as high as it will go, aiming it right for his face.

“FUCKING SHIT!” he screams as hot air assaults his face.

I don’t stick around to see the damage, running out of the locker room and right into a door with aStaff Onlysign on it.

Bingo!There’s a freight elevator, and I take it right out the loading dock in the back of the building. Fate obviously wants me to do stupid shit, because she’s on my side tonight.

After a block of running, I see the car Ronan mentioned in our text. It’s a red sports car idling in a parking spot. As I approach it, the driver’s side window rolls down.

Ronan smiles at me in all his smug glory. “Jump in cutie. We have a trade to make.”

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