Page 77 of Auctioned Surrender

“Sammy works for me, not the other way around. I’ll smooth the way, and you’ll have top billing from now on during the weekends. I might need to send you over to one of my clubs farther south to get that place livened up and back to running in the black. I sent the manager of that shithole over an invitation to come see you dance tonight and to see how real talent draws in a crowd like nothing else.”

I’m reasonably sure whatever her plan is, it didn’t include R.J. showing up here. It’s pretty clear that although she’s seenBernatelli lurking around the clubs, he hasn’t recognized her as I at first feared, but R.J. is a different story altogether. The minute he sees her, the game will be over, and she knows it as well as I do.

“I need to meet with Sammy. I’ll take you to your apartment when you’re finished dancing, and you can thank me properly,” Bernatelli says to Layla, but there’s not a chance in fuck that’s happening.

“Are you going to watch me dance?”

“I’ll be watching alright, sweetheart,” he says, turning and making his way to the door.

I’m watching Bernatelli’s back through the screen of my phone, and as his hand reaches the door handle, I hear the unquestionable click of a revolver. My eyes revert to Layla and to the gun she now has pointed at the mafia boss’ back.

“We’re going to walk out this door, take a right, and go out through the back door. Any of your goons make one move, and you're dead. Let’s move, asshole.”

Son of a bitch. My fiery princess just put a gun to the kingpin of Chicago’s back and plans to take him hostage from one of his establishments point-blank. I nod to Liam across the room, who has his earbuds in and knows exactly what’s going down. As casually as we can, we both head for the doors on either side of the stage. The guards who should be back in the hall, protecting their boss, are out here ogling the lady on stage, but as engrossed in her as they are, they’re not about to let just anyone through those doors to the employee area without reason.

This situation just went from bad to worse in less than three minutes flat. We need to force the guards to let us through, which will mean endangering Layla further, or we can play it cool, wait for her to get Bernatelli outside, and catch up with them there. I shake my head to Liam, letting him know to hold back.

The burly guy who’s irritated beyond belief at having his show interrupted glares at me. “Sorry, man. I need to hit the head.”

He narrows his eyes at me and gestures to the other side of the room. “See that big ass sign over that door? It says restrooms,” he growls before turning back to watch the blonde woman on the stage who’s getting ready for the big reveal.

I turn, heading toward the bathroom, and then veer right, heading straight out the front door. I race around the corner just in time to see Layla peeling out of the lot with a slumped over Bernatelli leaning against the passenger side window. It’s way too late to catch her on foot. I barely have time to see the plates and snap a quick picture before rocks spray all over the place as she flies off the dirt road and onto the pavement that will take her to the highway.

“Son of a bitch!” How the hell can everything so carefully planned go straight to hell in a matter of minutes? In less than two minutes, she would have been safe, and Bernatelli would have been ours!

Trent meets up with me, coming from around the other side of the bar. “Damn, that woman can drive!”

“Uh-huh,” I say, beelining it to my car with him hot on my heels. Trent jumps into the passenger side, and we’ve almost made it out of the parking lot when the burly goons come barreling around the side of the bar.

I hit the gas. “Get your head down!” I say as we propel through the gravel, skidding just before we hit the pavement and slide onto the blacktop.

I hit the overhead, and Murph comes on. “We’re in pursuit of Layla and Bernatelli. They’re in a black Acura sports car, and my guess is they’re heading to the highway.” I hand Trent my cell. “The plate numbers are on the camera,” I say.

Trent finds the picture I took and rattles them off to Murph while I keep my foot on the floor and head towards the highway.

“Roger that. Hold tight, you guys, while we get into the city mainframe. We saw everything go down through the cameras. Liam was able to get out without being detected and won’t be far behind. We can get a good view of the cars coming through in three minutes; make that two,” Murph says, clicking away on his keyboard as we wait for the city mainframe to load.

“I’ll watch the cars coming through the toll cam, and get one of our guys to go through the loops in case they slipped through already.”

“They just left, but just in case, have them look back five minutes. It wasn’t more than that,” I say, navigating around the traffic that’s bunching up to get to the expressway on a Saturday night.

Murph comes back over the speaker. “We’ve got her. She’s heading south, flying like a bat out of hell, and heading straight for a speed trap about four miles down the road. If you can’t get to her before she reaches them, she’ll get picked up for sure.”

“Roger that. I have her in my sights just ahead,” I say, disconnecting only to connect with the team behind us. “We need to surround Layla and get her off the road before she hits a speed trap. Put your foot down, and follow me,” I tell Liam, who's driving behind me, giving the pedal more gas than it needs to surge ahead and begin closing the distance.

I speed down the middle lane, past the cars in the fast lane with my team on my tail, until I’ve pulled right up beside Layla. “Get in position behind her, guys. I’ll start nudging her over to get her to pull over at the exit coming up,” I say as they slip in between her and the car behind her.

I push the auto command to text Layla and wait while the line rings overhead. There’s a click on the other end of the line and then nothing but silence, so I call her back.

This time she answers after three rings. “You keep showing up, papi!” she fumes.

“Get off at the next exit. You’re going to run right into a speed trap a couple of miles up.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I don’t think you want to discuss the consequences in mixed company, and you’re on speakerphone right now,” I say, earning me an ear to ear grin from Trent.

“We can do this the easy or the hard way, princess. I’m asking you nicely—pull off at the next exit.”

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