Page 20 of Sin City Obsession

Rocco cursed. “How many?”

Something uncomfortable, like anxiety, bubbled up in her chest. They were talking about being followed. Whatever crewthe boy from before ran with had shown up, at least in part, to support their comrade. And they were making their move on the open road, because the road was their go-to stage.

“I’ve made five,” Ignazio replied.

We’re being chased.Alessa drew a deep breath and reminded herself this was in no way her first vehicular confrontation. It just happened to be her first since Al’s death.

“Let’s lead them somewhere less congested,” Rocco said. “Signal home.”

“Already done, sir,” Ignazio said. He slid the SUV into the slow lane.

Alessa flicked her gaze up to the rearview mirror and noticed a burnt orange car with a black racing stripe move in behind them.

Rocco’s grip loosened and he lifted his hand from her leg.

Cold.

The loss of his touch left her cold, and all at once Alessa felt as though she’d been stranded on the center of a thinly frozen lake.

Her arm shot out before she could think the action through, her fingers curling around Rocco’s wrist and holding tight. She stared at her hand latched onto his arm, surprised at her own behavior and well aware that she’d surprised him, too. It was her dominant hand. She would need that hand when the shooting started.

“Alessa?” Rocco reached around himself and pried her fingers from his wrist, guiding her hand into his. He folded his fingers over her hand and the gesture felt like reassurance. “You okay?”

Say yes. Pull away.It was the smart thing to do. She needed to retreat, to compose herself, to shake the shit from her head. But Rocco felt like strength. Rocco was sturdy. And she needed those things.

“Incoming,” Emanuele declared.

The sound of bullets impacting the shatterproof rear window heightened Alessa’s awareness. It did nothing for the claws scraping through her insides, but in a strange way, it helped her to focus. She could freak out later. First, she had to do her part making sure the people in the vehicle with her all made it home.

So she blew out a breath, tugged her hand free of Rocco’s grip with minimal resistance, and ignored his immediate frown as she reached for her handgun. She didn’t have anything sturdier on her, so her Glock would have to do.

Ignazio spun the SUV around with no warning, blocking the one-way street he’d detoured to, and he and Emanuele jumped out. Both were armed with semis they’d had tucked away under their seats. Both were smart enough to keep their bulletproof doors open and in front of them, acting as shields, while they aimed and fired back.

Alessa popped her door open to join them.

Rocco leaned across her, grabbed hold of her doorhandle, and jerked it shut. “No.”

She whipped sideways to face him, bullets continuing to ping off the car and explode rapid-fire from the closer pair of guns. “Excuse me? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

He laid the palm of his hand over the barrel of her gun as he adjusted to better obscure himself behind Emanuele’s vacatedseat. He gave a gentle tug on her hand, silently asking her to follow his lead, and said, “You stay in here with me. This is what they’re paid for.”

Alessa frowned. “I get this is what they’re paid for,” she said, “but it’s also my job. I need to—”

“Gwathneyis your job,” Rocco said, the hard tone of his voice carrying over the escalating melee. “Whatever you have to do to see that done, fine. But in all other ways, you are not a soldier here.” His hand snapped up until he had hold of her chin and he leaned closer. “I will not have you wading, unprepared, into a goddamn firefight. Now be a good girl and move the fuck out of range.”

Alessa faltered. Breath suddenly unsteady, she scooted herself away from the door—and the vulnerability of the crack between Ignazio’s open door and the side of the car—and closer to Rocco. She opted to keep her gun in her hand, though, just in case. It couldn’t hurt to be ready.

The SUV tipped, rocking briefly before seeming to settle. The motion lasted maybe two seconds, but it was enough.

Visions of a different SUV rolling off the road, the frame smoking from a hit the driver couldn’t hope to avoid, flashed through her mind. She hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen the accident. She hadn’t even laid eyes on the aftermath. But she knew enough about accidents and momentum and the various, gut-churning technical terms that had been relayed to her later for her imagination to supply the rest.

She didn’t hear her gun clatter to the floorboard.

She didn’t realize she’d even dropped it.

The SUV around her swam, blurring and shaking until she couldn’t be sure how much was really happening and how much was only happening in her mind. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her chest was too tight.

Al had died so much like this. Trapped in a car that had been forced onto a small, unpopular detour. Ambushed by gangsters who didn’t care what they were doing or who they hurt. Pinned by gunfire, unable to fight back, unable to escape, unable to protect his charge. It was a terrible way to die.

---