Page 77 of Desire Me
“To Nathan? Christian and Stephen?” Rae’s voice broke on the last name, and pain squeezed Saint’s heart through his anger. “Even if you don’t give a fuck about anyone else, what about them?”
“They know how to keep their mouths shut,” her uncle finally shouted, “unlike you! I knew my brother was a goody two-shoes, but I thought my worries over that were done with him gone.” He punctuated every word with a jerk of his gun. “You have been the bane of my existence ever since that car crash. I only wish you’d been there with them.”
Rae gasped, her devastation clear in the sound. It made Saint want to kill the man slowly, excruciatingly slowly, but he wouldn’t have to. The asshole could spend an eternity rotting in jail until one of Di Angelo’s insiders managed to get past his guard and take him out.
Di Angelo seemed done with the family reunion. “Hand over the diamonds, Ms. Conté.”
“When hell freezes over,” Rae spat back.
Di Angelo smiled. “I can arrange that.” He snapped his fingers. “Men!”
Spinning on his heel, Di Angelo began to walk off as if this was a done deal. His men circled closer, while Rae’s uncle continued to hold them at gunpoint. Over his shoulder, Saint told Rae, “Get ready, cariño.”
“Ready for what?”
A shot split the night, and a man at the back of the crowd fell as his leg collapsed beneath him.
“For that!” Saint dropped to the ground, dragging Rae with him. A quick jerk rolled them both under the truck. Over the sound of screams and shouts, gunshots rang out from every direction. “Let’s go, Rae.” A push got her crawling until they emerged from beneath the opposite side of the truck. As Saint stood, he brought up his GLOCK and aimed it in front of them.
Where her uncle was rounding the trailer.
“Are you really going to shoot your own niece?” he asked, eyeing the tremor in the older man’s hand as Conté pointed his gun at Rae’s chest.
Greed shone in Conté’s eyes as he stared at the bag still in Rae’s hand. “I think a million in diamonds will assuage my grief nicely.”
A stray bullet clanked against the metal of the trailer, jerking Conté’s attention to the side. Saint used the distraction to pull Rae behind him, backing toward the front of the truck.
Conté quickly advanced toward them.
“You’ll have to go through me to get to her,” Saint warned him. “My team will never let you leave here.” His team wouldn’t let Conté kill them; already the sounds of gunfire were slowing around them. Saint just had to hold him off a bit longer. “A lifetime in jail for at least two murders. How does that sound?”
“Like a fairy tale. But this is no story; it’s reality.”
Saint caught the glint of moonlight on the ring on Conté’s finger as he tightened it on the trigger. He tensed, ready to push Rae out of the line of fire.
Like a ghost, Luka appeared out of nowhere. Before Conté could fire his shot, the big man stopped behind him, grabbed the back of his head in one massive hand and his chin in the other, and twisted fast. A sickening snap rent the air.
Rae’s uncle dropped to the ground.
Rae screamed.
Saint jerked around to scoop her into his arms, forcing her head to his chest so she couldn’t look at the body. As Luka moved to stand beside him, he realized the shots had stopped. His team had won.
He glanced at Luka. No one he’d ever known could move that fast, that quiet. No one he’d known could snap a neck without blinking an eye or showing remorse afterward. And there was zero remorse on Luka’s face.
“You are one scary dude,” he choked out, pressing Rae closer against him.
Luka stared back, unblinking. “You have no idea.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rae slept nearly twelve hours after she and Saint finally made it back at the hotel. Saint had contacted Jack Quinn before the police were called to the scene at Vernon’s, and after hearing Rae’s story regarding the Bangor office, Jack had contacted the associate deputy director of the FBI in Washington, a man he happened to be friends with. Apparently Jack Quinn and Conlan James knew everyone.
The special agent in charge at the Boston division, the FBI’s regional headquarters for the area, had arrived shortly after dawn to take over the investigation. Though there were multiple gunshot wounds at the scene, only Di Angelo and Uncle Francis had died, Di Angelo from a shot to the heart that bled out before he arrived at the local hospital, and her uncle from “an unfortunate fall after climbing to the top of a semitrailer to survey the truck yard.” It was the story they’d decided on before calling the authorities, and the one Rae felt comfortable sticking to.
No one needed to know about Luka. Hell, she didn’t want to know about what Luka had done. She’d be forever grateful to the man for saving them, but she also believed she’d be hearing the sound of her uncle’s neck snapping in her nightmares for the rest of her life.
They’d had dinner with the team and Luka when they finally woke, thanked them all profusely for their help, and sent them to the airport. Rae had wondered if Saint truly wanted to stay, if he’d meant what he said about staying with her no matter what she decided, but he had refused to get in the rental car when their meal was over. He was staying, and that was that. He’d seen his friends off, his arm wrapped tight around her to keep her warm, and then he’d driven her home.
