Page 63 of Gunner

“Fuck, she’s a mess,” the first guy says. They all look similar. Black knit hats, camouflage fatigues, black combat boots. They aren’t wearing masks, and I can see that most of them have similar complexions to mine. Mediterranean.

It’s pretty unmistakable that they’re Italians.

They’re speaking English at the moment, and like Ronan and myself, they have almost no detectable accent. Professionals, to a man.

“Clean her up or her father’s going to kill us.”

My world crashes to a total halt. It’s not like I’m going anywhere, tied to a chair and tied additionally, still gagged, but the tears stop. My insides clench tightly. I wasn’t wrong back there in the woods, when I had that split second of suspicion before my attention was distracted.

This is both the best and the worst news.

I have a thousand questions, but I think I can surmise most of the answers myself. My father always had me watched. I assumed, but didn’t know for sure. Ronan must have evaded whoever it was for the most part, but not lately. Papa’s informant let him know something was off. Maybe there’s still hope. My father doesn’t know Ronan is the man who saved me. All that he was likely told was that a rough and tumble biker who was bad news in every sense of the word was hanging around. Worst case—they know who Ronan is. My father will be furious either way, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have Ronan killed. He’s probably being held somewhere for questioning. Light torture. And then an undecided fate.

I need to get my shit together, get my head unscrambled, and do something.

Maybe it was their plan to take the gag off all along, or maybe it’s my eyes, promising them each a slow, brutal death of their own that does it.

The scrap of fabric disappears. I don’t give anyone the satisfaction of wincing at the disgusting dryness in my mouth.

“We’re sorry, Signorina Cosmo. We were instructed to keep you safe at any cost. Your father figured you wouldn’t come with us nicely, if we asked.”

“We had to make sure you didn’t become collateral damage. It was our necks on the line,” Thug Two pitches in from behind the giant who held me, tied me, and carried me here.

I shoot them both death glares. “Untie me. Now.”

All three give each other uneasy looks. They switch to arguing in Italian. It’s been so long since I’ve heard my native language spoken in person that my eyes irrationally get hot, but this isn’t the way I wanted to hear it.

“What are you doing with Gunner?” I shout, cutting their angry argument off.

They give each other another long, slow look. Their silent communication game is weak. Do I beg and cajole for information or just skip straight to threats that I would never act on? These assholes have their orders, and those orders come directly from my father. The whole country, as well as his men, never got to see the side of him that I know. Luciano Cosmo is a fair man, but he’s also earned a reputation of being unspeakably cruel when it’s called for. I know they won’t tell me anything and I don’t have time to waste.

“If you don’t untie me right now, I’m going to tell my father stories. I don’t give a shit whether they’re true or not, they’re getting told and you won’t like what I have to say.”

The three men group up, the one a full head taller than the other two, all of them burly as any of the bikers back at Gunner’s clubhouse.

Merda.The clubhouse. My father knows that Gunner is a biker, but doesn’t he care? Does he not think that they’d be okay with something like this or see this kind of violence and destruction of their property as anything less than an act of war?

After a quick discussion, the giant steps behind my chair and undoes the bindings. He pulls out a wicked looking knife and cuts the ones at my arms.

I rub them out, wincing at the tingles, but only for a second before I turn the full force of my wrath on these three assholes.

“Were you instructed to keep him alive?” I get a whole lot of silence until I walk to the little island and bang my hand down on it. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” the giant mutters. “Your father wants him for questioning.”

Does that mean that my father is here? Shock, anxiety, and a painful amount of loving hope crash into me. I swallow all of it back. What the hell does questioning mean? All of this is my fault. If I hadn’t gone near Ronan, my father’s attention never would have been drawn to him. What about the rest of the bikers? Their families? I need to talk to my father. Immediately. “You could have killed him,” I accuse, shaking my head at all three.

“He’s alive.” The third man, who hasn’t said much of anything, speaks up.

“Did you not see how he hit his head? All that blood?” I snap my fingers together and put my palm out. “Phone. Now.” That earns me six bugged out eyes. No one is going to comply with that level of crazy. “I want to talk to my father.”

It’s the giant who is probably in charge, at least of this operation back here. “We can’t give you a phone right now. We’re waiting for further orders. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I gape at him.

How long will it take the men from Ronan’s club to get here? From what he’d told me, Satan’s Angels are security conscious. Do they have cameras on the place? If they were cut, that should be a very obvious tip off that something is wrong. I don’t like the answer.

Too long.

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