Page 54 of Whispered Surrender

3

MARENAH

As soon asPrez starts fighting, his steely grey eyes gesture me to the door. Three men come at him and he takes them out single-handed, but two more are heading his way and I can’t just leave him there to deal with this alone. I turn and bring one after another to their knees and then watch while Prez knocks them unconscious. Jesus he can move, stealth and sleek like a panther, and all that raw power.

He gestures again toward the door. “Do what I said and get the fuck out of here.”

I hesitate, but he growls at me again to go. This time I obey him, running and hitting the door with the only strength that I have left. As soon as I exit the bar, headlights almost blind me and a car squeals to the sidewalk. I try to outrun it, but a large man with strong arms scattered with tattoos jumps out of the vehicle and grabs me.

Instinctively, I swivel, and my foot captures him, kicking him in the groin and then projecting up to catch him mid-sternum. Another man comes at me, but the one I’ve hurt gestures him away, instead overpowering me and pushing me into the car before someone else slams the door closed.

“Got her. Drive,” the man holding me yells to the person behind the wheel.

“Easy, we’re the good guys,” the man says, looking back at me.

The driver peels away and then navigates the city traffic, slowing for all the intersections and crosswalks and then stomps on the gas as we clear the congestion and he heads for the residential area.

I’ve lost my first opportunity for now, but I’m watchful. As soon as another one surfaces I plan to pop the lock and roll out, but I never even get that chance.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“We’re friends of Prez. We’re trying to keep you safeguarded from the mafia.

“What? By kidnapping me? That does not make one bit of sense,” I say.

“We’re taking you somewhere safe until we get the word from Matt,” the tall, broad neanderthal says.

“Where, just where do you think you are taking me?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“You already said that. I asked where,” I say, narrowing my eyes at them. One of them laughs right out loud. “You are a little wildcat! Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

I glare at him. “I need to get ahold of my family, let them know I’m okay.”

“No can do, not yet. Sit tight, everything will be over shortly,” the man says as they pull into a side street and stop at the very last house in a cul-de-sac. There are candle lights glowing on a dining room table visible from the street. Anyone passing by would think it was a family residence and never in a million years think it was a safe house for the mafia or whoever the hell these people are. The car pulls into the three car garage, the door rolls closed behind us, and they let me out of the vehicle.

“You good with her?” one of the men asks the neanderthal beside me who takes my wrists and unlocks my cuffs.

“Yep, she’s not going to give me any problems. She’s going to be appreciative that we got her away from the mafia. She’s going to eat dinner, shower up and then go to sleep,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Aren’t you?”

“Sure, whatever you say, big guy,” I say, because I have no clue who these people are and for all I know they don’t even really know Prez.

He gestures me ahead of him into the house and the others leave, rendering us alone in a completely furnished two story home. He turns on the lights, closes the door behind us, and guides me into the foyer. Through here,” he says as we walk past the living room and head into the kitchen.

“You hungry?” he asks, opening the refrigerator.

I shake my head, but my stomach growls at the very same time calling attention to my lie. He scowls at me. “No one’s going to poison your food or hurt you. I was being honest. We’re friends of Prez and if he wants you safe, we’re going to make sure you are.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. Everything happened so fast and I’m still having a hard time putting all the pieces together,” I say.

“No need for apologies. Take a seat. Lasagna okay?” he asks, pulling out a square pan from the refrigerator and then placing a round glass dish filled with lettuce onto the counter along with four zip locked bags containing cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, and what appears to be either romano or asiago shredded cheese for the salad. My stomach growls again. Who are these people? “You wanna toss the salad while I heat the lasagna and breadsticks?” he says.

“Sure. Where did you see bread?” I say and he smiles. “Gaby takes good care of her boys. She wouldn’t let us go hungry. If you’re good, I may even share my dessert with you,” he says, scooping generous portions of the lasagna into two separate dishes and placing them in the microwave above the stove while I open the bags of veggies and mix them into the lettuce.

“We’ve got wine if you’d like a glass,” he says.

“After this day, yes please. I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you.”

---