Page 19 of My Mafia Queen

“Open the fucking door, Carmina. You have something that’s mine,” Beau says.

This is only getting worse.

He hits the door, and the wood groans and cracks under his fist, the sunlight sneaking inside and glowing across the floor.

Beau’s arm slides through the opening before I spot his crazy eyes peering inside.

“Looks who’s fucking here,” he says, reaching inside to unlock the door.

I drop the bag and flick my gaze to the baseball bat tucked behind the door.

I never thought I’d put it to good use someday, but I grab it and smack the door hard.

He pulls back, and they bark at each other, making derogatory comments.

“I’ll get this cunt. Don’t worry,” Beau says, all business all of a sudden, as if the only reason he is here is to appease the guys he’s with.

Conversations from the past remind me of how suspicious Jen was about Beau’s plans and intentions.

Nothing is out of the question, it seems.

“Go away,” I shout, desperately wanting him to disappear.

If I had the slightest chance not to get caught, I’d try to force my way out, dash to my car and leave.

I know that can’t happen.

It’s impossible to go past them.

There is no way I can make it to the car.

No way.

“You’ve messed with the wrong people, you little cunt,” Beau mutters again, wrestling with the rusty lock. “You thought you’d get away with it, fucking piece of shit. I knew you’d come back. All I needed to do was to sit back and do nothing. And here you are. You are fucking mine now. And I will fuck that little pussy of yours until you cry for help, and then I’ll pass you over to my friends, so they can get a taste of you. We all will. And then we’ll ship you to Colombia. Or Mexico.”

I freeze for a second before swinging the baseball bat again and hitting the door over and over again until he gives it a shove with his shoulder, and I’m convinced I’m done.

Desperately, I look around searching for a solution, waiting for them to enter my place, and I grab a knife from a drawer when rumbling voices echo outside.

Men bark orders, and soon after, there’s only silence.

The door is still cracked open, but no one walks inside.

Sweat dots my brow, and I’m still heaving with horror as I tilt my head to the side and peer through the door to see what is happening outside.

Three men block the sun and the exit.

They’re big and dressed in black.

Someone directs Beau and his buddies. They face the house and are completely frozen.

“Hands up where we can see them,” the newcomer says, and two men cock their guns before pressing them against the men’s heads.

One of them holds two guns. Holding one gun, the man talking yanks something from Beau’s waistband and tosses it away.

It’s either a knife or a gun.

They’re not the police––I can tell that much.

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