Page 9 of Possession

He’s dead.

The horrible man I was about to be tied to forever … is dead.

Shots still echo around us, and no one cares about me anymore, which means I have one goal.

I need to get the hell out of here while I have the chance.

I kick off my stupid shoes and step over my dead fiancé, but Boz moves in front of me.

His chest rises and falls with deep breaths that I’m sure has nothing to do with his physique and everything to do with his emotions.

“Get out of my way,” I demand.

Boz is about to say something, but that’s when I lose sight of him. I actually lose sight of everything. Something is thrown over my head, and my bare feet lose all purchase on the floor below me.

I scream when arms circle me from behind. My arms are pinned. A hand clamps over my mouth.

The chaos surrounding me is muffled.

I writhe and fight, gasping to breathe the air that leaves nothing behind but the taste of death.

And just when I didn’t think my day could get any worse.

I’m jostled—my bare feet dragged against the floor. I can’t see anything, but if I were ever to be in a rush mob, I bet this is what it would feel like.

Until…

A woosh of fresh air hits my exposed skin as my captor pulls me into their arms as my wrists are bound in one hand behind my back.

There’s more shouting, but this time the dialects are different.

“That turned into a bloodbath.” A deep voice rumbles against me right before I land on my side. I scramble to yank the cover off my head, but a hand grabs my wrists as I hear a car door slam. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Something cuts into my skin around my wrists. Shit. I’m cuffed.

“Stop fighting and you won’t get hurt.”

Given everything that has happened, I doubt that.

My heart clenches as my emotions catch up with everything. Tears betray me, but I do everything I can to stay still. I know, growing up the way I did, that if I don’t cooperate, whoever this is will hurt me.

I need to focus.

* * *

Brax

I crossmy arms as I stare out at the parking lot. It’s littered with trash, potholes, and cracks. We’re far enough outside of town, we might as well be in the desert. Gone are the views of the ocean, mansions on the water, and luxury that drips in money. We’re back at the shithole motel that has become one of the long list of our meetups. We have them under surveillance to make sure no one follows us, but we still switch it up just in case. Habits and routines will get you burned.

And I’m dancing so close to the fire right now, I’m sure I’ve lost all fingerprints from being singed. Which is good, I guess. One less identifier.

“This was not part of the plan, Cruz. Start a war. Take the girl. Find her and bring her back so you could ingrain yourself deeper. We needed Damian Marino alive. I want to know who took him out.”

I turn to the men standing in the room behind me, but focus on my boss, Tim Coleman. I haven’t seen him in months. This operation was thrown together in a matter of days when the transaction with the Alba girl was announced. The op was solid. And given the fact everyone in this room is standing, living and breathing in one piece, proves it.

When Tim’s wife, Annette, hears about what went down, she’ll kill me and then she’ll kill him for jumping into the action. She’s the shit, but she also appreciates Tim’s job as a supervisor which usually involves sitting back to manage operations like this, not participate in them.

Even the best plans are subject to last minute changes. Damian might be dead, but it doesn’t change the end goal.

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