Page 53 of Murder & Mayhem

Flashes of her pretty corpse flash across my mind, causing a tightness in my chest. Yeah, I won’t be letting that happen.

Chapter 18

Trying not to let my frustration show at being summoned to Belle Donne on my day off, I attempt to set my features into a pleasant expression as I push open the staff entrance door and step inside the club. It’s not Franny’s fault that there’s a payroll issue.

The place is deserted as I make my way through the building, which is to be expected this early in the day. However, as I approach the office, the adjacent supply closet door swings open, and before I can so much as blink, I’m being hauled into the dark room.

“Hey—” I begin in protest, but a large, rough-skinned hand clamps over my mouth, muting my shocked cry as I’m flattened against a rugged, masculine body. An arm slips around my middle, imitating a steel cage as it pins my arms to my side and holds me hostage.

Despite the hand over my mouth, I continue to try and scream for help as I struggle to release my arms from the tight hold the asshole has on them, but the sound is barely more than a low wail.

“Shush.” The word is barked out in a low, annoyed growl, and I fall still in my captor's arms. My mind races a mile a minute as I try to figure out why Dante is holding me hostage in a supply closet, but before I can come up with anything, the sound of someone stepping out of the office garners my attention. I’m conflicted as to whether to call out or not. Dante has never indicated that he means me any harm, but equally, he’s the Antonellis’ head assassin, so…

Yet, something makes me hesitate.

“—some whore.” There’s a moment of silence followed by a cold chuckle, squashing any ideas I had about drawing any attention to our hiding place. “She must be one hell of a fuck. I’ll have to see for myself before I kill her.” His ominous words are followed by another laugh before he steps back into the office, the closed door muffling the rest of his words—not that I’m particularly eager to hear them.

My entire body is rigid in the wake of that one-sided conversation. I feel Dante shift behind me before the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoes around the small room like a death knell. I didn’t recognize the voice, but considering I had an appointment with Franny at nine in the morning—before the club even opened—there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m the person he was referring to—the one he intends to kill. It takes everything in me to suppress the shiver of fear at what would have happened if Dante hadn’t intervened. I’d have been caught entirely by surprise, most likely taken out before even comprehending what had happened. My stomach churns, and for one horrible second, I think I’m going to be sick. If it wasn’t for Dante’s painfully tight hold on me, my legs wouldn’t be capable of holding me up.

As if sensing how close I am to losing it, he relaxes his hand over my mouth, hesitating for a second longer before removing it completely. I suck down a lungful of air, then another, until my stomach settles and my legs feel stronger beneath me, even if Dante still has an iron-tight hold on me. Secretly, I draw some strength from his steady presence at my back.

Neither of us speaks—hell, I barely dare to breathe—as we hide in the closet, and when my phone vibrates in my pocket, I jump so badly that I would have stumbled into a shelf and given our position away if it wasn’t for Dante’s arm around me.

He curses under his breath so quietly that the sound barely reaches my ears. There’s a rustle of movement as he tucks his gun away before I feel his hands on me. His other arm stays banded around me as he feels for my phone, finding it in the back pocket of my jeans. Pulling it out, I cast a glance at the screen, seeing the Belle Donne’s office number before he presses the button on the side, silencing the vibrations and darkening the screen before slipping the phone into his own pocket.

Another rustle as he retrieves his gun before wrapping his arm loosely around me, the butt of the gun brushing against my top as he holds it firmly in his hand in front of me.

I lose track of time as we stand there, straining to hear anything outside our little safety bubble. I’m hyper-aware of Dante’s firm body pressing against mine, his arm wrapped around my waist, his tense posture as if he’s ready to spring into motion the second the door is ripped open. Somehow, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he will fire shots through the damn door if he thinks someone is about to discover us.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that, and eventually, we hear the office door open again. This time, whoever was waiting for me sounds less calm as they slam the door shut behind them and stomp down the hall, away from us.

Even after the footsteps have long since faded, neither of us moves. The only sound is our steady exhales as we wait with bated breath to see if the person comes back. Eventually, Dante must decide the coast is clear, and his arm drops from my waist as he moves around me. Pausing with his ear against the door, he listens for a moment before cracking it open, peering out.

Without looking back, he gestures for me to follow him, and not knowing what else to do, I move closer to his back. His hand wraps around my wrist, and in a lightning-quick move, he tugs me out of the closet and we hurry at a clipped pace along the hall in the opposite direction to where the footsteps receded.

He pushes open a back entrance door, and I stutter to a stop when I find a blacked-out sedan parked right by the door. “Get in,” he bites out, yanking open the back passenger door.

“What?! No!” I’m shaking my head adamantly, because as grateful as I might be, I sure as hell am not about to get into that car with him. For all I know, this could all have been a setup to get me to go willingly. He pulls on my arm with more urgency, but I fight back against him, holding my ground. “No,” I argue, failing to dislodge his hand from my wrist.

A venomous snarl rips out of him, and when he turns to look at me over his shoulder, violence shimmers in his dark eyes. I get the feeling it’s not aimed at me, however. “Do you want to stay here and get murdered?”

…or maybesomeof that ferocity is being directed my way.

I flick my gaze around the otherwise empty alleyway, chewing on my bottom lip as I struggle to decide what the right thing to do is. Stay here and possibly get murdered, or get in the car with Dante… and possibly get murdered. Not great odds either way.

Another noise of frustration bubbles up his throat, and he tugs harder on my arm, making me stumble. He takes advantage of my off-balance state, sweeping me into his arms and all but throwing me into the backseat.

“Hey!” I yell out as the door slams shut behind me. I scramble across the seats, grabbing hold of the door handle as he climbs in behind the wheel, but the damn door doesn’t open. I thump my fist pointlessly against the window before scowling at him. “Let me out!” I’m not even sure if I want him to leave me at the club, but I don’t appreciate the decision being taken away from me.

He ignores me, but I don’t miss the slight tug of a smirk at the corner of his lips as he puts the car in gear and moves down the alley onto the road. We slowly make our way through the city. From what I can tell, we’re heading north to the uppermost point of Antonelli territory. Slumping back in my seat, I mull over my options as we drive past street after street. Assuming that I’m not on my way to my death, this could be the window of opportunity we have been hoping for—my chance to gather the intel I need for the Rejects.

I frequently cast glances at my unlikely savior, trying to suss him out. I’ve tried my hardest to get close to him when he’s stopped by the club, but fucking hell has it been challenging. He’s not exactly an open book, and between what I know about him and what I’ve heard, he paints an intimidating picture. Yet, as I watch him now, he seems perfectly relaxed, navigating the city streets with ease.

“Where are we going?” I eventually ask as the usual cityscape gives way to larger areas of greenery and houses grander than anything I’ve ever seen before.

He briefly flicks his gaze from the road to the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t answer me. Gritting my teeth, I instead ask a question that’s been rattling around, unwanted, in my head since he threw me into the car. “Are you going to kill me?”

I make a point of keeping my features impassive as he looks in the rearview mirror, holding my gaze for an extended moment. I can’t read anything in his eyes and he once again ignores my question. Well, I’m not going to waste my breath repeating myself. Huffing out a frustrated sigh, I cross my arms over my chest and do my best to relax back in my seat, watching the landscape go by in a colorful blur.

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