Page 4 of Tortured Hearts
“Gianni?”
The memory fades, and once again, I’m in an interrogation room sitting across from two federal agents. Only this time, they’re not the enemy so much as a weapon.
I give them a slow smile. “Call me Johnny.”
Chapter One
JOHNNY/GIANNI
Providence, Rhode Island
Present Day
My shift at the docks ended over an hour and a half ago, but instead of clocking out, I stayed to run shipments with the second crew. As expected, that went over like a hand grenade. My boss argued with me about trying to squeeze her for overtime pay until I assured her I was simply working extra hours to make up for the time I was taking off.
Shockingly, she bought it, which disappointed me. I thought Alice was sharper than that.
Then again, people see what they want to see.
Shifting the forklift into gear, I turn the wheel, making a hard left away from the half-emptied cargo ship toward the warehouse. As much as I try to focus on my last moments on the job, I can’t. Even the roar of the engine isn’t loud enough to drown out the warning that’s occupied my mind.
“Don’t say a word to anyone the rest of the day. Keep your head down, and meet me in the port parking lot at six.”
Owen Holmes is a little high-strung but not one to act irrationally. However, as I walked toward the warehouse this morning, I heard the panic in his voice. I saw the proof in the text he sent me. This sudden upheaval is about more than the man I betrayed walking free. It’s the unraveling of a spider’s web of deception and broken alliances.
It’s the black swan no one predicted and everyone should’ve seen coming.
“This whole fucking thing has been a setup.”
A slight understatement.Once I clicked on that link, everything simultaneously fell into place and completely shattered.
Killing the ignition, I drag the back of my hand across my forehead and check my watch.
5:41 p.m.
Keeping my head down and rage in check has taken everything in me. It isn’t in my nature to maintain a straight face when there’s a knife in my back. Unfortunately, vigilante justice will only further tangle this twisted web of two-faced fuckery. So, instead of taking this barbed wire bullshit to its source, I’m forced to grind my teeth to every tick of the clock.
Anticipating it. Dreading it.
Because once six o’clock hits, my life in Providence is over.Leaving Rhode Island is the only way to ensure Becca doesn’t become another bloodstained warning.
I climb out of the forklift, clenching my jaw as my feet hit the ground for the last time.Stop thinking about her and focus.But the more her name spins inside my head, the harder I grip the lift keys. All I can think about is the way her long blonde hair looked splayed out across her pillow this morning, and all I can see is that damn white sheet wrappedaround her body, cocooning her from the avalanche about to bury her alive.
By now, I’m sure she despises me more than she ever did her father.
Something unfamiliar pulls at my chest—something that feels a lot like conscience, regret, and a four-letter word that doesn’t exist in my vocabulary. It’s that word that starts my feet moving, slowly at first, and then at a pace matching the erratic thump inside my chest.
Less than ten feet from Alice’s office, I stop.
No use in clocking out when I’m not coming back.
Returning to the forklift, I toss the keys on the seat, then walk away without looking back. Halfway to the parking lot, I check the time again.5:56 p.m.Keeping a close watch on my surroundings, I weave through the maze of cars, but there’s no sign of Owen’s SUV. I’m not sure why the prince of punctuality is late, but I’m not standing around with my dick in my hand.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I head to the far-left corner of the parking lot. Once I’m settled behind the wheel, I fight the urge to turn the ignition and hit the gas.
I’ll give Owen the benefit of the doubt,for now.
The car’s silent as I open the glove box and wrap my hand around the grip of my 9mm. It molds to my palm like a faded memory. Releasing the magazine, I verify it’s fully loaded before shoving it back inside the grip and locking it in place. However, experience draws my gaze to the open compartment where two more cartridges sit, taunting me.
