Page 28 of Psychotic Faith
I throw the phone on the passenger seat and start the engine. The leather steering wheel burns under my grip, slick with sweat. The red dress rides up my thighs as I drive. The premiere venue is fifteen minutes away if I speed. Janine has already been alone with him for ninety minutes. That's ninety minutes too many.
The tires squeal as I pull out of the garage, nearly clipping the security barrier. Behind me, Luca's headlights strobe through my mirrors like a pulse, like his hands reaching for me through the darkness. Three minutes behind like he promised. Always watching, always following, always trying to protect me from the world.
But tonight I don't need protection. Tonight I need to be the sword instead of the shield.
How many Janines have there been while I played the long game? How many women broken or dead because I chose legal justice over immediate action?
Not tonight. Not Janine. Not again.
My hands steady on the wheel as I blow through a red light. Let Luca follow. Let him watch. Let him see what happens when you push good girls too far.
The gun weighs heavy in my purse, a promise and a threat combined. My father's gun, loaded with the bullets he bought to protect us after Mom died. Iron justice for monsters the law won't touch. My hands don't shake anymore. Twelve years of being good, and all it takes is one photo to make me my mother's daughter. Ready to fight back with everything except words.
Behind me, those headlights get closer, Luca pushing his car to its limits. But I know these streets better, know every shortcut from years of memorizing escape routes.
Two more turns and I'll be there. Two more turns and I'll stop another lamb from being slaughtered.
My phone lights up on the passenger seat, screen bright in the darkness. Not multiple texts now. Just one:
"When I catch you, little faith, you're going to beg."
The threat makes me press harder on the accelerator even as heat pools between my thighs, the red silk dress riding higher with each gear shift. His dress. Marking me as his even as I race toward another man. Behind me, those headlights get closer. Not just following anymore. Hunting.
The leather seat is already damp beneath me, my body responding to his pursuit even as my mind stays focused on Janine. This is what we are together: violence and desire tangled so tight I can't separate them anymore. He's going to catch me. We both know it. The only question is whether I save her first.
One more turn. My finger finds the gun's safety, clicking it off. The metal is cold against the heat building between my legs, the contrast making me shiver.
Come catch me, Luca. But I'm saving her first.
Then you can do whatever you want to me.
12 - Luca
The Maserati’s engine screams as I push it through a red light, following her taillights through Chicago’s maze of streets. She takes Lake Shore Drive—reckless at this speed—then cuts through Lower Wacker. She knows these streets better than I expected.
My phone shows her tracker moving toward the theater district. Janine. She's really going to try to save her.
11:05 PM. The chase ends where it started: with me following Faith into darkness.
Her taillights disappear into the theater's valet lane twenty seconds ahead of my Maserati. I counted while pushing the engine past safe limits, watching her tracker pulse on my phone screen. My cock has been hard since she fled her apartment in that red dress, the silk clinging to every curve.
The valet jumps back as I screech to a stop. I toss the keys without looking, my focus narrowed to one thing: Faith. My Faith, about to destroy herself for revenge while wearing the dress I chose to mark her.
The lobby parts for me. They always do when a Rosetti hunts. I note exits and witnesses automatically, but my real attention tracks that flash of red disappearing into the theater. The way that dress rides up her thighs when she walks, the way her hips move with desperate purpose makes me want to bend her over the concession counter and show everyone exactly who she belongs to.
Inside the theater, my eyes adjust quickly. Third row: Neumann with his hand on the young volunteer's thigh. Janine, the blonde Faith's been trying to protect. Walking down the aisle: Faith, her hand buried in her purse, fingers on the trigger of her father's gun. Her shoulders tremble with rage and adrenaline.
She's really going to do it. Step up and execute him in front of two hundred witnesses. Throw everything away for one moment of satisfaction.
Not on my watch.
I reach her just as she tenses to remove the gun from her purse. My hand clamps her wrist, controlled force, enough to dominate without damaging. Her pulse hammers against my thumb.
"Not. Here." The growl against her ear makes her shiver. I feel it through our connected hands, that involuntary response her body always has to me.
"Let go!" Her desperate whisper goes straight to my cock.
I don't respond, just apply pressure that forces her around and out. She fights beautifully: clawing, twisting, all while trying not to attract attention. Each struggle presses her body against mine, and I have to focus on not throwing her down right here in the aisle.
