Page 122 of That Girl is Trouble

“Shut him up,” Rossi says.

Patrick shoves a cloth into Axe’s mouth, muffling his shouts.

“I don’t want to hurt you, sweet girl, but I will if you fight me.”

“Fuck you,” I spit. “You can hurt me all you want. But you put that thing in my mouth, and I’ll bite down until my teeth touch.”

Rossi hums in response. “Patrick?”

Patrick runs his fingers over his brass knuckles and then digs his fist into Axe’s ribs. One punch. Then two. Then three. And I think I hear a bone break.

“Stop!” I yell. “Just. Wait. Wait. Please!”

“That’s enough,” he says, and on his command, Patrick stops.

His voice drops to a whisper, and the threat in his tone makes my heart leap to my throat. “I could… break his legs. The rest of his fingers. I won’t kill him, but I’ll make him wish I would. And you’ll watch.” He pulls open the button of his pants, and my stomach clenches as I dart a look at Axe. His chest bounces up and down, and he shakes his head, his eyes pleading, telling me to just let them hurt him, that it’s okay, because when it comes to me, he can do torture.

But I can’t. I can’t handle seeing him hurt. I can’t watch the blood pour from his body or hear his bones break.

Rossi wipes the tears streaming down my cheeks with his thumb and smiles maliciously. “You can cry, Katherine. In fact, I’d prefer that. I want to see those tears while I’m fucking your mouth. I want him to see them while I take his sweet little Kitty Kat.” He tugs his zipper down. “This is just a taste of what will happen if he crosses me.” He turns to Axe, who’s trying desperately to get free of his restraints. “Hear that, Donovan? Betray me, and I will fucking ruin her.”

The gunshot rings out loud across the barn, and I lunge for cover as Rossi ducks away, my body lurching with him as I struggle against his grip in my hair. Patrick falls to the ground with a hand clutching his arm. Another loud shot slices at my eardrums. Patrick has his gun pointed at the door, and he’s firing shot after shot at the two leather-clad men who’ve taken refuge behind a stack of crates.

“Run, Kat,” someone yells. Preacher, I think.

I kick away from Rossi, my scalp screaming as I attempt to untangle myself from his fingers. He falls to the ground, and I thrash and scratch and swing at whatever I can reach. Rossi grunts when I jam my foot between his legs, and his hold on me finally loosens.

I stay low as more shots are fired, and I crawl towards a stack of pallets for cover. I manage to get behind it, but Rossi is relentless, and he grabs me by my ankle and flips me over.

I stick my hand in my boot and wrap my fingers around the hilt of the knife. The weight of his body on top of mine is crushing, and I flail to get away, to press that little button at the side of the knife that will flip the blade open and save me. But my hand is slippery with sweat, and it slides out of my grasp. Rossi’s fingers close around my throat, his knee pressing on my chest. A terrible smile crawls up his face as he squeezes the breath from my lungs.

“This is how you die, little whore,” he sneers.

I claw at his skin, fighting back with everything I have, kicking out my legs, a scream I’m dying to release lodged deep in my throat.

Rossi catches sight of his ring on my thumb, and his grin broadens. “I told you I’d be getting that back.”

My head swims with darkness, and my ears pound as he clenches my throat tighter. It’s getting harder to grip his hand. It’s getting harder to see. There’s another loud shot, and then another. Panic races through me when I realize the guys can’t get to me. That the fight is leaving me. That my body is failing me.

Using all the fortitude I have, I reach for the knife again. My fingers slide over it, but Rossi’s hold on my neck gets firmer, and the black spots grow, making it almost impossible to see.

But I find the button and click it. The blade opens. I dig the knife deep into Rossi’s ribs.

The yell that falls from his mouth is satisfying, but not nearly as much as the air I pull into my lungs when he releases me. He stumbles up, a look of pure hate on his face. He presses one hand to his side while he moves the other behind his back and then pull out a gun. He aims it at me. I close my eyes, readying for the end.

The sound makes my whole body flinch. I wait for the pain, for blackness, for whatever waits for me in death.

Nothing comes. And when I crack open my lids, Rossi’s body is on the ground. Eyes wide but not looking at me, a hole in his forehead. And Axe in his place, bloody ropes hanging loosely from his wrists, gun in hand.

“Axe,” I choke.

Heaving out a breath, he drops to his knees. He winces when I jump into his arms, but he holds me tight.

Another shot echoes through the barn, and Preacher yells that we’re clear. Everything goes quiet. Quiet except for the beat of his heart pounding hard against my palm. I squeeze him tighter, and he lets out a soft groan.

“I’m okay, Kitty,” he murmurs, but I can’t let go. “Babe. Got a couple broken ribs, I think. Need you to let up a little.”

I laugh out a sob. He cradles my face with his bloody hands and kisses me. Soft kisses. Over my chin and lips and nose. And then he pulls me against him and tugs me up to standing. He sways a little, and I support him as he looks down at Rossi.

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