Page 15 of Matched into the Mob

Being Dane’s driver, I overheard tidbits of information, though the divider was usually up between us. But I picked up details here and there and pieced them together when I got home. One wall in my crappy apartment was covered with pics, dates, times, and arrows, along with string connecting each one.

Some of the best information came not from Dane who was tightlipped but the musclemen he surrounded himself with. They sometimes came into the staff room to get coffee and we chatted. Or more likely, they talked amongst themselves.

They were professionals, but if they were tired or pissed off, they often let slip something they shouldn’t. And they often forgot I was there, huddled in a corner reading a magazine that I’d looked at hundreds of times, the images blurring as I stared at a page while pretending not to listen.

But my big break had come when one of Dane’s assistants left his unlocked phone in the car. If Dane had been aware of that, he would have gone ballistic.

Baxter had shown me how to install spyware, and I took a chance the guy wouldn’t miss his phone for a few minutes. If I’d been caught… yeah, well. If he was smart, he would have checked his device every day. Maybe he would, but I might get something out of it.

But as I approached the staff room, I sensed I was being watched. Nothing unusual about that because there were cameras everywhere. Goosebumps spiked and sprawled over my skin, triggering my sweat glands. My palms, underarms, and feet were damp as I tried to remain calm and not give away my anxiety.

“Michael!”

Dane’s deputy, Blake. His snarl brought me back to the present. I tensed at his guttural voice but plastered a smile on my face and turned on my heel.

“Yes, sir.”

“The boss has to go out. Meet him at the car.” His sneer and his lips set in a straight line did nothing to inspire confidence that this was a normal outing. “Now!”

“Okay.” I kept my voice even, though nausea threatened to bring up the one bite of burrito.

The boss’s head bodyguard Cato was usually the one who messaged me when Dane needed the car. This was different. Different wasn’t good when undercover and surrounded by mobsters.

Someone had seen me with Flint’s brother. I could explain, but were explanations allowed in the mafia? Or was it shoot first and ask questions later? Shit, Blake was on my ass, herding me to the elevator.

“I’ll take the stairs. Good exercise.” I took a step toward the stairwell until a hand gripped my arm and a feral scent filled my nostrils. I was in more trouble than I thought.

“No need to worry about keeping fit where you’re going.”

This was it. My foolishness and headstrong ways were leading me to my death, probably a gruesome one.

“Where would that be?” I kept my voice light as his nails dug through the suit and shirt fabric into my skin. He was hurting me, but I refused to admit it. My belly rumbled, and I wondered if my bowels were about to explode. Ewww, messy. No one wanted to clean that up.

The elevator dinged, an ominous sound that heralded my journey to oblivion. Make it quick.

The phone bounced against my thigh as we walked into the small metal box, and Blake stabbed the button for the basement. I might not be alive when the doors opened. I needed to make a call, but the only people in my address book in this phone were Dane’s people.

Except one. The brother.

Blake’s gaze was fixed on me, but he’d released his grip. I had nowhere to run. In the movies, the hero removed a panel from the elevator ceiling and crawled out. But Blake had a gun, he made sure I could see the holster when he unbuttoned his jacket.

We were on the fifteenth floor, and I needed time. So I pushed three buttons for floors 10, 9, and 8, before Blakemanhandled me and shoved me against the back of the elevator, and I collapsed onto the floor.

My head lolled to the side and blood dripped from my ear. There was a pounding in my head as I groaned and adjusted my position, rolling on my side while sliding a hand into my pocket.

Flint’s brother had put his number in my address book, and he’d just shoved the device in my pocket. His contact details were still on the screen. Maybe if I calculated the position right and hit his number, I could call him. But did I need to press it twice? Damn, why couldn’t I remember? It was something I did every day, countless times.

I took a chance and pressed once and twice, everywhere on the screen. I couldn’t feel a vibration, so had I failed? And what if he answered with a loud, “Matt? Are you okay?”

But Blake grabbed my tie and yanked me to my feet, blood spurting from my face over his hand and cuff.

“Who did you call?”

How did he hear that? I’d been moaning and banging my heels on the floor to mask any dialing.

He shook me and yelled, “I should kill you myself, but the boss said?—”

The elevator doors slid open. Two of Dane’s bodyguards were waiting, and they dragged me toward the car, the one I’d been driving this morning. Dane was sitting in the back seat.

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