Page 27 of Wicked Union

The car doesn't follow instantly, and I see why. They open the driver's side door and push someone out, someone who took a round to the chest, compliments of me or Sal. We can't stand here and wait for them to get their shit together, though, so Sal and I run the half-block to the garage entrance and dart inside.

My car is on level one, left here by Vic who drove us across town. Sal and I can't even unlock the damn thing. The keys are in Vic's pocket. So, Sal gives the driver's window a roundhouse kick and the glass cracks into spiderwebs. His second kick causes thewindow to shatter and glass to rain down on the ground and into the seat. He reaches in and unlocks the car, and we climb in.

He uses his pocket knife to break open the ignition, but it's pointless. These newer vehicles have an immobilizer built into them. There's no way he will get the thing started. It only shows his old-school techniques are because of his age. While he's dicking around trying an impossible task, I open the glove box where I keep two extra guns and a few clips fully loaded, then I reach into the center console where even more ammunition is stored.

"We have to get a different car," I tell him, already climbing out of mine. "That one… over there. The old Camry." There is a nineties model Toyota with rust trying to claim its rear bumper, and that's the only car I see in this damn garage he could hotwire. I just pray it starts. Those Russians aren't going to just run away. They'll be coming for me.

Sal jumps out of my car, and we hurry to the older model car. He has it started in under ninety seconds, and we're pulling out of the garage as the Russian vehicle rolls past. We turn the opposite direction, and Sal steps on the gas. I know these streets better than he does, so I give him directions to take us through alleyways and side streets, anywhere to lose our Russian tail as they pull a U-turn and gain on us.

I watch the rearview mirror like a hawk, expecting the Russians to open fire at any minute. Their boldness to target me in broad daylight on a busy street is startling. They don't give up once they have their target in their sights. And I'm their damn target. They want me dead, but that’s just not going to happen.

Bullets whiz past the side of my newly acquired ride, shattering the back window. Sal curses, ducking down as I reach for theold window crank in the passenger door. I roll down my window and start to fire. One, two, three… the radiator on their car blows out. Steam pours from their grill, and I know before long, they’ll overheat and lose power. But for now, we’re still in a fight for our lives.

"Nice driving," I tell Sal. "Now get us the fuck out of here."

He obeys without argument, turning down another side street and weaving through a maze of alleyways until we find ourselves in Russian territory with the potential to encounter more men who want me dead. I duck down as we pass by a group of men leaning against a brick wall.

"Shit, Sal! You just brought us to their fucking doorstep!" I yell, my heart pounding in my chest as I fumble for extra ammunition.

"I know, but this is the fastest route to safety.” His definition of safety and mine are polar opposites.

I bite my tongue as we speed past the group of men, all of them staring at us like we're their next meal.

"Just keep driving," I growl, my gun drawn and ready to fire at an instant's notice. One wrong move from any of them and they'll have a lot more than holes in their car to worry about.

The car screeches to a halt in front of my house twenty minutes later with one fewer person inside than when we left. Someone will have to explain to Vic's woman why he's not coming home tonight, but when Sal tries to stick around and talk it out, I snap at him and order him to get out.

Someone made an attempt on my life tonight, and I don't take that lightly at all. The Russians think they can move into myterritory and threaten me, and after what's been going on with the Feds and Dad having to deal with the money laundering threat, this just adds another complex layer to an already challenging problem. I need to relax.

I make my way upstairs to the bedroom where I know Aria will be this time of night. She's probably curled up with a book. She'll be curling her toes in a few minutes. I'm already peeling my tie off when I walk into the room, and she doesn't even look up at me. She's got her eyes closed, blankets pulled up over her chest.

"Take your clothes off. You're going to make my body explode so I can just fucking relax already." I've not been this demanding about sex since the first night she slept here, but I'm in no mood to coddle her emotions tonight.

"What?" she mumbles, yawning.

"I need to fuck, so take your clothes off." I undo my belt and begin to slide it out as she sits up and scowls at me.

"I was sleeping. I don't feel well." Her eyes blink slowly as she tries to focus on me.

"Alright, well we can skip the part that makes you feel good and you can just suck me off." I free my dick from my slacks and start to stroke a little, but she scoffs and turns over, lying back down.

"Fuck you. I'm not sucking you off. I'm not feeling well. Go find a whore." There is anger in her tone, and I have a mind to beat it out of her.

"Should I remind you that if you don't do what I say, I own your father's organization?" I ask. Yes, it's a threat. I don't give a fuck that I'm supposed to be her husband. She'll get the point. I'm in charge.

"Why don't I just resist you so you'll leave bruises on me and I can go home and keep all your money and manpower too?" Aria looks at me over her shoulder, and I'm so angry now, there's no way I'll ever get hard. So she's read the contract completely now and she thinks she knows the loopholes.

We'll see about that.

"Fine, I'm going to the club. Don’t wait up." If I can't fuck my wife, I'll go get wasted and make Tony drive. Something's got to give. I'm losing ground on every side now, even in the bedroom.

21

ARIA

Carlos drives me to my parents' house, though Tito's driver was supposed to. I sit in the back seat like normal, which has obviously angered Carlos. He's not my driver and he's not Tito's personal errand boy, but he's the one who volunteered. I've been avoiding him, having second thoughts about our little arrangement. I don’t know what I want anymore. Grief over Jasper has blinded me, and Tito's been so comforting. Seeing my husband hurt because of my choices and actions hasn’t been easy.

"We need to talk," Carlos says halfway to my parents' house. He's edgy. He hasn't stopped moving since he climbed in the car. He shakes his head and taps his fingers. I'm fairly certain he's either on something or going crazy because of anxiety.

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