Page 11 of Unhinged Little Angel

“You’re not married, are you?” I plant my ass on the hood of his car, right where my handprints are still smudged, and unscrew the cap of the flask.

He chuckles. “No. Not seeing anyone either. Are we back to pretending you called me tonight for sex?”

I hum noncommittally and bring the flask to my lips, turning my head slightly so he won’t see the way I press my lips together and only pretend to take a sip. I hesitate for just a second. This isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done, it’s not even that bad, all things considered. Salvatore will be fine, and more importantly, so will I.

I hand him the flask and he doesn’t hesitate, lifting it to his lips, tilting his head back, and taking a generous gulp. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, my heart thundering so loudly I can barely hear anything else.

“You’re a good man.” I’m not sure what makes me say it, but I think I’m mostly right. As good as a career criminal can be, anyway. In a fucked up way, the fact that he’s a Moretti makes me trust him more than I trust most people. At least I have a good idea of what his deep, dark secrets are. “I bet you keep your promises, don’t you?”

He frowns and passes the flask to me. I pretend to take another sip and hand it back again.

“What promises, Angioletto? Is something going on? Do you need help?” The threatening growl in his voice is all the reassurance I need that I’m making the right call. I’ll explaineverything later and he’ll understand. Maybe he would have even agreed to it the easy way, but it’s too late to find out now.

He takes another hearty drink and then sways on his feet.

“Shit,” he slurs. “Something’s wrong.”

I nod and push off the hood of the car, hurrying over so he can brace his hands on me before he falls. He might forgive me for drugging him, but I think grass stains on his fancy suit would earn me one between the eyes.

“It’s okay. Let’s get you back in the car.”

He stumbles, trusting most of his weight to my shoulders as I ease him around the car towards the passenger side.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles, blinking slowly and shaking his head like he’s hoping that will be enough to get rid of the dizziness and blurred vision, or maybe hoping it will keep him awake. I manage to get him into the seat and lean over to buckle him in. His eyes focus on me for just a second, full of clarity and confusion. “You drugged me.”

Chapter 6

SALVATORE

Wisps of memories, or maybe dreams, flutter and dance in the periphery of my foggy awareness, more welcoming than the vague awareness I have of a sharp, throbbing pain behind my eyes, unpleasant knots tightening in my stomach, and the sense that the world is moving around me. It’s been probably fifteen years since I drank to the point of a blackout, but that has to be what this is. And since the dreams—I think that’s what they are considering how naked Dante is—are a hell of a lot more pleasant than facing the monstrous hangover that’s waiting for me, I try to use them to fight off the threat of consciousness. It creeps in little by little though, first with the feeling of heaviness in my limbs, then the twinge of a full bladder making me wonder how long I’ve been asleep, and finally with the knots in my stomach turning into something more urgent, forcing bile up into my throat.

The distant sound of a groan draws my attention to the hum of a car engine…mycar engine. People swear they know their own baby’s cry or their own dog’s bark, well, I would know thepurr of my Jag’s engine anywhere. And since I’m clearly not the person driving…

Another groan echoes in my ears, and this time I realize I’m the one making the sound. My mouth is dry, and my eyelids feel like they weigh one ton each, but there’s a niggling thought in the back of my mind that only gets stronger.Dante is in some kind of trouble.I force my eyes open and reach for my pistol in a single, groggy motion. My holster is empty though, and that realization sends a burst of adrenaline through me, burning away the lingering drowsiness, but unfortunately not doing a damn thing to cure my throbbing headache or the fresh wave of nausea.

“Pull over,” I bark.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

If I’m not mistaken, Dante sounds genuinely relieved. Did he expect I wouldn’t wake up? That’s only one of a hundred questions cluttering up my brain, adding to the building pressure trying to burst its way out of my skull.

“Pull over,” I demand again, grappling for the door handle and breathing steadily through my nose.

Dante hesitates for a second.

“Fine, but you should know I have your gun, so don’t bother trying to make a run for it.”

The jerk of the car as he guides it over to the side of the impossibly long, desolate desert road makes my guts lurch. The car is still rolling to a stop when I throw my door open and spill out into the sand and gravel lining the shoulder, barely able to keep myself upright as I stumble forward a few steps, brace my hands on my knees, and vomit up everything I’ve eaten in the last week. I think I deserve some kind of acknowledgment for managing to miss not only my clothes but my shoes as well. Who says you can’t learn anything useful in college?

Once I’m sure my stomach is empty, I straighten myself up, smoothing my hands uselessly over my wrinkled suit, and take in my surroundings properly for the first time. Sand, cacti, and a two-lane road that looks like it goes on endlessly in both directions. The only things that keep the desert from seeming infinite are the mountains that line the horizon.

I turn back towards my car to find Dante leaning against the hood, looking towards the road like he’s trying to give me some privacy during my best impression of Linda Blair inThe Exorcist. There’s a bottle of water and a few crumpled napkins next to him, and my gun held casually in his right hand. I don’t know if it was the vomiting that cleared the fog of my memories or something else, but last night comes rushing back with crystal clarity.

“Sorry I don’t have anything better for you to clean up with, just some napkins that came with the drive-thru coffee I picked up around four a.m. The water bottle is still sealed though, and you should definitely drink something.” He doesn’t look at me while he rambles, casually using the pistol to gesture over his shoulder at the napkins and water.

“You drugged me.” Between the vomiting and the dry mouth, my words are a hoarse whisper, but without another sound for miles, aside from my idling Jag, I know Dante hears me just fine.

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t dwell on that.” He pushes himself off the car and turns to face me. He looks nearly as rough as I feel with dark circles under his eyes and rumpled clothes.

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