Obsession (Sinners of New Orleans #3)

Chapter 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

Madi

I t’s past noon by the time I finish telling Zoe everything. She lets loose a long exhale, and then looks at me and says, “We need a drink.”

Without missing a beat, she’s up, scouring my studio for any liquor. Finding a bottle of vodka in one of the cabinets, she grabs it along with two coffee mugs - each reading a different funny phrase. Pouring out the vodka, she hands me the mug that reads Van Gogh with the Flow before chugging a gulp from the one that says not paint water. I’m a sucker for funny mugs.

After she finishes off her vodka, she pours another two shots into the mug and tilts it back. She eyes me until I do the same. The warm liquid burns down my throat and warms my belly.

“Okay.” Zoe claps her hands together, her voice still sounding unsure. “I think we should call John.”

With a groan, I drop my head into my hands. “There’s no way this ends with a polite conversation.”

“You don’t know that. John can be very polite.” Even as she says the words, she winces, knowing they’re not quite true. With her, my cousin is a very different person. But with everyone else? Not so much. And John has been working to get Sam out of prison, so if he finds out that Adrian is going with the flow just to get him killed, he’s not going to take it lightly.

“I think I need to talk to Adrian.”

Zoe shakes her head furiously. “Terrible idea! What if he, like…chains you up to keep you from telling anyone! Or worse!” Zoe stands from her chair frantically, pacing back and forth. “That’s a bad idea, Madi. We need to tell John.”

My lips part, ready to once again explain why calling John is equally as bad of an idea, when I hear a single pop. “What was that?” I ask, my voice lowering as my heart rate spikes.

Zoe pauses her pacing to look at me. “What?” Her face scrunches like she’s not sure what I mean.

I don’t have a chance to tell her about the noise before the studio door swings open and the man who enters is not David. Fear pulses through my veins, a thick, sickly feeling as the man points to both of us, a gun gripped between his fingers. “Sit,” he orders.

Zoe and I both slump down into our chairs, watching with horror as he drags David’s body inside my studio. My lungs seize as nausea swarms my stomach, threatening to expel all the coffee I drank today. He swings the door shut behind him and uses his sleeve to wipe his forehead, the gun still pointed in our direction.

He’s tall, far taller than us, with a rugged face and cold, piercing eyes. I think I recognize him, but the fear of having a gun pointed at me rattles my brain and keeps the memories from surfacing. Something about those cold eyes feels familiar, though. But he can’t be a made man. My family wouldn’t send someone to hurt me and Zoe. Right?

“You.” He gestures the weapon at me. “Sit there and behave, and I won’t need to kill you.”

The words make Zoe whimper as they click in my head. He’s here for Zoe. He’s here for John’s girlfriend. Suddenly, I remember seeing the man around my Uncle Damien at the last family gathering, not thinking much of it then because lots of people were crowded around my uncle.

I try to search my surroundings inconspicuously as the man takes three steps forward, moving closer to Zoe. My only saving grace is he’s not immediately lifting his gun and taking his shot.

“You’re going to come with me, understood?” he asks as he crowds her. Zoe mumbles something unintelligible, and from the corner of my eye, I see him touch her face. “Say that again.”

I don’t have much time, and I know I need to act fast. My eyes scan the table next to me, finally landing on the wire cutter I use to remove pieces from the wheel. I glance over at the man, seeing he’s still focused on Zoe. I watch as he tucks the gun into the waistband of his jeans so he can grab zip tie cuffs from his back pocket.

“Put these on,” he demands, holding them up for Zoe to slide her wrists into. I can see the pain in her eyes as she begins to slide one hand into the opening of the cuffs.

He’s not paying attention to me. This is my moment.

Inhaling deeply, I count to three, and then I dart forward. Grabbing the wire tool from the table, I hold on to the wooden ends and wrap the wire around my fists the way I normally would when using them for clay. But I’m not using them for clay now.

I spin quickly, getting myself behind the intruder right as he reaches for his gun. Seeing I’m up to something, Zoe kicks her feet out as he grabs it, causing it to tumble to the floor right as I get the wire around his neck.

Pulling back with all the strength I have, we both begin to stumble. I know I’m not strong enough to strangle this man, so I twist my body around until he’s falling to the floor, his fingers clutching at his throat. I try my best to keep standing, pulling back with my body weight so the wire strangles him. Zoe gets behind me, holding on to keep me anchored.

Blood pebbles at the skin, the wire making a slow slice around his throat. He thrashes as he pulls at the wire, and it takes both Zoe and I to hold him there.

Finally, his fingers go limp, and he gasps at the lack of oxygen before his head falls back.

We let go of the wire, both of us falling backwards onto the floor and hugging each other tightly. The door to the studio swings open violently, and I scoot backwards, reaching for the gun our attacker dropped and pointing it toward the door hastily.

“Madi.” It’s Adrian’s voice I hear as his hands lift. Worry etched across his pretty face.

I want to drop the gun and run into the safety of his arms, but a sick thought crosses my mind that prevents me from lowering the weapon.

Is Adrian behind this attack?