Page 21 of Tossed into the Mob
He blinked. “What? No, we can’t.”
“Treyton, you’re part of a mafia organization. Have you never broken the rules?”
“Not really.” He stroked the back of my hand, and the tension in my belly eased. “You forget one thing, or maybe four things. The bodyguards. They’re not going to let us wander around the city, and if I know my cousin, he’ll have told them not to allow us to leave.”
I peered out the window. “It’s too high to tie sheets together and shimmy down the side.”
Treyton snorted. “I have a vision of you holding onto those sheets with your good hand and swaying in the wind while you pedal your legs in the air.”
It was ridiculous, and I laughed along with him. “Why would I be pedaling?”
“I don’t know. Visions don’t always make sense.”
Using my uninjured arm, I pulled him onto the sofa, lifted my legs, and began pedaling. He joined in, and the room was filled with friendship and laughter.
“Have you forgotten there’s a man wanting to kill you?”
“Nope.” I popped the P, putting an obvious period at the end of the word. I’d been so desperate for mafia protection, and now I was suggesting we escape it. But Flint’s response last night,or lack of it, gave me the courage to seek some of the answers myself.
“Your painkillers. I left them in the car.”
“You didn’t.” I pulled the bottle out of my pocket.
He told me to play along, and adrenaline flooded my veins. We were doing something we shouldn’t, and I was oh so ready for it.
He phoned the guard, even though he was just outside the door, and explained we’d forgotten the pills. He radioed through to the guys in the basement, but they said they couldn’t find anything.
Treyton opened the door and huffed about doing it himself as he sported a world-weary expression, but the guard refused and spoke into his walkie-talkie. He told Treyton to get inside and he’d be right back.
I grabbed my pack, and we slipped out of the apartment and headed for the stairwell at the opposite end of the hall. I thanked Flint for one thing and that was for the doctor who gave me the painkillers. And now we were taking control instead of hiding and waiting.
"There's a service exit on the second floor,” Treyton pointed out. We hurried down the stairs, and I was glad we were only on the fourth floor. “It leads to an alley behind the building. We can catch a cab from there."
“We’re really doing this. Running away from the mafia.” Too late I worried about the consequences for Treyton. Gods, would Flint execute him? “Wait, should we go back? What will Flint do to you for disobeying?”
“There’ll be blood. Not a lot, but some.”
Shit, that sounded painful, and it’d be my fault, but Treyton shrugged and led me toward the street with his pack slung over one shoulder.
“The gun.” I couldn’t recall where it was.
“In my pack.”
Maybe I needed to take a course in mafia methods, because I’d forgotten about it.
During the cab ride, I studied people on the street as they went about their lives and wondered how my world had become so complicated.
"You okay?" Treyton asked quietly.
“Trying to process everything, but I don’t know what everything is.”
The cab pulled up at a sprawling complex of buildings surrounded by a high fence. The facility was empty, suggesting it wasn’t open to the public, and I shivered. If I was murdered here, no one would ever find me.
We made our way through the maze of narrow corridors, and he held my hand, anchoring me to this life, until we found the right unit.
"Here we go," Treyton said, punching in the code. The metal door rolled up with a screech, and I took it as a warning of what I’d find.
The unit was filled with cardboard boxes, but everything was labeled with names and dates. Thank goodness for mafia efficiency.
