Page 69 of Naughty Santa Daddy

And that’s when I decide that I’m going to put an end to this. I rev the engine, slam my foot down on the gas, and shoot forward as the SUV shudders. I grip the steering wheel so damn tight that my knuckles hurt. I’m playing a dangerous game. I don’t want to die. I’ll always choose life, but I’m going to do it on my terms.

When I get close enough, I’ll bail out of the SUV if they don’t swerve aside and let me pass. It’s desperate. I know it’s silly, but I’m not in the best frame of mind. I’ve killed a man and had sex with a stranger. Someone tried to kidnap me. Massimo knows secrets about me. There’re a hundred questions in my head, andI don’t have any answers. It’s one too many traumas in a short period of time, and I just need it all to slow down and stop.

I think my plan is going to work until I see Massimo climb out of the truck. He runs toward me in his expensive suit and Italian leather shoes. I see him slide on the ground as he approaches me and pulls a gun from inside his coat.

He’s going to kill me!

Wait. What’s happening!?

Massimo isn’t pointing the gun at me. He’s shouting and gesturing with the gun. That’s when I notice several more cars heading in our direction. I press my foot on the brake, slowing down the SUV as I barely manage to swerve the vehicle in time. I’m three feet from splattering his body across the frozen ground when I skid to a halt, grinding the brakes.

Massimo yanks open the driver’s side door and leans his head inside, smashing his lips to mine. “Move over. We’ve got to go!”

I don’t hesitate to unbuckle and scramble across the seats, dropping onto the passenger side and reaching for the belt. I snap it into place as he’s driving off, no concern for his own safety or the belt that could prevent his death if we crash.

“Do you know how to shoot?”

I blink. What?

“Hadley, do you know how to shoot a gun? Not just the reactive shot from Clyde’s. Can you shoot?”

He’s asking me so calmly, it’s like he’s asking my favorite color or what I want for dinner.

“Uh, yes.” I had to learn once, long ago.

My mind threatens to shatter with that memory. I don’t want to think abouthimor the reason I bought a weapon. I refuse to let the past claw its way in and ruin me with the reemergence.

Stay focused,I say to myself, clinging to the armrest and door as I tremble in the seat.

“Good to know.” He doesn’t give me the gun. “We’re going to one of my houses. Someplace safe,” he informs me. There’s no permission asked or granted. He doesn’t ask for my opinion. A man like him only takes.

I narrow my eyes and scowl. “For now.”

He snorts at my bravado. “You’ll like this place. It’s run by Greta. She’s a force of nature.”

Greta? Who the hell is that? “I don’t want to meet one of your girlfriends or wives.”

It occurs to me that although Massimo doesn’t wear a ring, he’s probably got girlfriends, mistresses, and wives like all the powerful mafia men do. He’s probably the head of his organization who wears a different woman on his arm as often as he changes his pressed, button-down shirts.

But if he is, why bother with me and the diner? Again, more questions without answers.

Laughter rumbles up his chest. It’s deep and sexy and almost alarming. He’s never laughed like this around me, and I don’t know why he’s doing it now. “You amuse me,Tesoro.”

I don’t reply.

He’s still got the gun in one hand, driving through the slush and sleet as we head toward the main road. We’re not alone. Behind us, the truck is following, providing a barrier between the SUV and the people chasing us. It’s all some fucked-up action movie where I don’t know the plot, the characters, or the ending.

I shiver as the cold penetrates the interior, and Massimo frowns. “Why the fuck isn’t the heater on?”

Before I can answer, he’s pressing on the touch screen, blasting the warmth through the vents as I chance a glance in his direction.

“You will take care of yourself, Hadley. You understand me? I won’t have you unwell.”

Whatever.I ignore the pulse of warmth in my chest with his words.

“We need to set some rules. No more wild car rides. No fleeing from me with a desperate escape plan. No wild ideas about how you’re getting rid of me.”

What a dictator. I scoff as the heat finally begins to chase away the chill.

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