Page 46 of Lucky

“Where’s the brother?” he asks me. I shrug in response.

“Everyone who knows is either dead or missing. Jacklyn was apparently very tight lipped about where she sent him.

Scar’s fist slams down on the arm of the chair, his knuckles white. The force of it shakes the room, and I can feel the reverberation in my chest. He stalks toward me, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes the air between us feel electric.

“You’ve been known to be reckless before,” he simmers. “Don’t ever,ever, go off half-cocked on your own again.”

I swallow, meeting his gaze. If I have nothing, I have the sincerest respect for my older brother. If he tells me to kneel, I will bow down to him and hang my head in shame.

Scar runs his hand over his face, the frustration on his features momentarily giving way to a deep weariness. "Dammit." The word escapes him low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "We knew Russo was trouble, but this... this is a whole new level." He falls into a chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together as he takes a long, steadying breath.

I shift my weight, watching him. Waiting.

Finally, Scar speaks again, his voice steady, but edged with a hard determination. I can feel the shift in the air. Scar’s not just angry now; he’s planning. He’s ready to burn the city down to smoke out Daniel Russo.

He leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re hard, cold, and filled with a burning resolve. “I mean it when I say no fuck-ups, Lucky. Don’t make me lose my faith in you.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He stands, pulling his coat off the back of the chair, his movements swift and purposeful. “I want everyone ready. The minute Ryder gives us a location, we move on Russo. We’re not giving him any more chances to make a mess of this city.”

I follow him to the door, my mind already racing with the plan taking shape in the back of my head. We’ve taken down bigger threats, but something about Russo feels different. He’s dangerous in a way that none of us saw coming—a storm that’s gathering speed, threatening to tear everything down. But if there’s one thing I know about Scar, it’s that he doesn’t ever back down from a fight.

And we’ll be damned if we let Daniel Russo destroy everything we’ve built here.

24

JACKLYN

When I wake, darkness surrounds my heart, suffocating me.

There’s a gag in my mouth. I suppose it could be there because I let rip every curse word under the sun, eloquently followed by Daniel Russo’s name. Multiple times. I guess he didn’t want to hear that. Didn’t want to hear what an asshole he is.

My body is sore, every muscle and tendon screaming in protest. I’m bound and gagged—tied mercilessly to a cold, unforgiving chair. My wrists are secured with rope that is rough as it digs into my skin. The edges of the rope that bind my ankles are sharp, the skin at my ankles chafing with every little movement I make. I hiss at the burning sensation that sears my flesh as every breath I take sends a fresh wave of pain through my legs. But it’s not just the physical pain that makes my heart pound like a drum in my chest. It’s the weight of the mental anguish weighing me down. I’ve lost Marco. I’ve lost my men. And I’ve lost my brother.

If there’s any small mercy for me out of all of this, it’s that I sent Jack away. He won’t be here to suffer while he watches meforfeit my life. He won’t be left here on his own to pick up the pieces of an already shattered life. He’ll have the life that is owed him; he’ll have the care and attention he needs, even though he won’t have me. He’ll at least have life. And for that, I’m grateful.

There’s a single lightbulb overhead casting long shadows against the peeling walls. It’s too bright for my eyes, and I lower my lids to stem the stabbing pain at the back of my pupils. The faint hum of a fridge sounds somewhere in the distance, piercing the quiet and aggravating my burgeoning migraine.

There are no windows in this room, and the concrete floor beneath my feet is cold in a way that seeps into my bones. There’s the faintest sound, the soft yet angry, barely audible scrape of boots against the ground; fear hammers in my chest as it draws nearer then fades, then comes nearer again.

I don’t know how much time passes. My head rolls back and forth, and I fall in and out of consciousness as I lose all semblance of time.

"Wake up, Princess," a voice growls from the darkness.

My head snaps up, my body tensing instinctively. I don’t need to see him to know he’s back. I can feel his pathetic presence in the air around me. The quiet arrogance in his voice. The dangerous calm. The man who orchestrated all of this, the one responsible for my current misery.

My pulse quickens as the dim light reveals his silhouette in the doorway. Tall, imposing, with the unmistakable air of someone who’s here only to inflict more damage. His hair is dark, his face obscured by the faint stubble that shades the sharp cut of his jaw. His eyes, cold and calculating, glint at me as he steps into the room.

I watch quietly, my chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. But there’s something odd about the picture presented to me. I see him in shadow, then I see two of him. I seehim here, then he’s there. I see him everywhere, all around me as a dull pain radiates through me.

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” Daniel muses, moving toward me. “Still think someone’s coming to rescue you? Honey, there’s no-one left!” He cackles like a deranged hyena as he slaps a hand against his thigh, amused at his own words.

I glare at him, trying to keep my eyes open. I realize that one of my eyes in nearly swollen shut; I must have sustained some damage during the struggle with him. My head drops to my chest, feeling heavy.

“Oh yes, you might be feeling a little out of sorts,” he informs me. “Nothing like a good dose of coke to subdue Jackie the Wildcat.”

Fuck me to hell and back, the fuckwit drugged me.

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