Chapter 19 #2
As if the violence unlocked my immobile state, the shaking extends to my whole body. The bones rattle inside me. My teeth chatter so hard that blood fills my mouth as I bite the insides of my cheeks.
When he looks back at me, my handprint lies red across his cheek, disappearing into his five-o’clock stubble. I want him to fight back so I can punch him and hurt him like I’m hurting, but he only remains there on the spot, taking my assault stoically.
“I deserved that.” He lays a hand over his cheek. “Have a go at it again. Get it out of your system but we need to move now because we’re running out of time.”
“There is no us, Dante.” The overwhelming rage for the injustice suffocating me carries on my voice.
“The only one who’s running out of time is you.
The only one moving on is you.” I get into his personal space.
“Stay away from me, and stay away from Noah.” I point a shaky finger at him as if it’s a weapon I’m waving in his face.
“I’ll get a restraining order if you come near me again.
Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. I’ll go as far as I have to.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me behind him to the door. “So will I. I’m sorry, Tatiana, but there’s no other way.”
I dig in my heels, but it doesn’t help. Dante scoops me up into his arms and carries me across the room and down the hallway.
I fight him all the way, struggling so hard that one of my shoes drop off on the stairs.
He doesn’t stop to let me retrieve it. He’s like a beast with only one purpose in mind.
The banging of pots and pans comes from the kitchen at the back of the house where Jazz is preparing dinner. I don’t scream for help because I don’t want to wake Noah. I don’t want him to see his father, whom he adores, carrying me out of the house against my will like this.
On the porch, he puts me down. The moment my feet touch the ground, I run. I don’t care where to. I just need to get away from him and his lies and from the pain that’s tearing me apart.
The stockings Dante made me wear catch on the pebbles in the path that leads through the water features. Holes tear into the sheer silk of my shoeless foot. Dante’s men stand around uncertainly, their expressions surprised as I make a beeline for the gates.
The crunching of Dante’s shoes sounds too close behind me on the gravel of the driveway. I pump my arms, putting all my effort into it, but my speed is broken brutally when he locks his fingers around my arm.
Using every ounce of strength I possess, I manage to break free. The momentum flings me forward, making me lose my balance. I go down on all fours, gravel digging into the skin of my palms and knees.
Before I can find my bearings, I’m lifted into a strong pair of arms. My lungs and eyes burn. Everything hurts—my broken skin, my pride, and most of all, my heart.
Dante carries me swiftly to the front of the house where Kent stands next to one of the cars. Kent opens the back door without sparing me a glance. Dante manhandles me inside. He’s scarcely buckled my seatbelt and gotten in next to me before Kent takes off with screeching tires.
A car with guards pulls off ahead. Another one follows.
“Where to?” Kent asks.
Dante’s reply is clipped. “Just drive.”
Kent cuts me a hostile look in the rearview mirror.
Turning my face toward the window, I hug myself and huddle against the door. I’m thinking about jumping out as soon as we’re outside the property, but a click announces the activation of the automatic door locks.
“Talk, Tatiana,” Dante says.
Tears I don’t want to shed roll over my cheeks.
“Talk,” Dante says again. “Tell Kent where to go because I don’t want to make you.”
But he will.
I look at him, taking in the man who calls himself my husband. He’s not a merciful man, and he never stops until he gets what he wants. The necklace is my sole means of negotiation, the only chance I have of getting out of this life.
If I’d known he’d been after those diamonds all along, I would’ve traded it for my freedom sooner.
But I thought he wouldn’t let himself be bribed because he convinced me he wasn’t interested in anything other than vengeance. Believing him was my mistake, but it may not be too late to rectify that.
Steeling myself, I will my voice to sound normal. “If you have the necklace, will you let me go?”
His beautiful features harden.
I shake my head, blinking through my tears. “I’m sorry, Dante. Then we don’t have a deal.”
He splays his fingers over my jaw and asks in a quiet but deadly tone, “Do you think you can negotiate with something that already belongs to me?”
“It doesn’t belong to you.” I don’t cower under his ruthless stare. “It belongs in a museum.”
His smile is cold. “I did the impossible by getting my hands on that necklace.” Hatred turns his eyes darker. “Lee died because of that necklace and your father’s greed. I want it back, Tatiana.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “I won’t tell you again.”
Before I have time to digest his threat, we’re jolted violently as the car is hit from behind. The impact throws my body forward, causing the seatbelt to cut into my chest and stomach.
“Fuck,” Kent says under his breath.
Dante grabs a gun from the seat pocket in front of him.
I turn around to look through the rear window. The car behind us, one of Dante’s, crashes into us again, making my teeth clack together so hard the shock reverberates in my skull.
Dante wraps an arm around my waist, bracing my body as Kent slams on the brakes. The brake lights of the car in front of us are on. An SUV has pulled in front of Dante’s guards, forcing the driver to stop. Our car skids over the tarmac before ramming into the stationary one in front of us.
The only thing preventing my head from hitting the headrest is Dante’s arm that’s locked like a band of steel around my waist. His hold is so tight I think he may crack my ribs. His face is tense as he scans the surroundings, but his grip on the gun is steady.
Kent cusses and swerves to the left as another SUV comes out of nowhere and nearly forces us off the road.
I twist in my seat, my pulse all over the place. The SUV behind the vehicle following us accelerates, going full speed at the guards.
Dante removes his arm from around my waist. Cupping my nape, he pushes my head in his lap. “Keep down.”
The tires complain as Kent steps on the gas. Metal groans around me. Gunshots go off.
That’s it. This is where I die. And I haven’t kissed Noah goodbye. I left him sleeping without telling him how much I love him. Without getting him a dog.
More gunshots are fired.
Dante covers me with his body, his hand pressed firmly on the back of my neck to keep my head down.
“Motherfucker,” Kent mutters.
We’re hit from Dante’s side, the force of the collision sending the car into a tailspin.
One of the windows explodes with the unmistakable sound of glass shattering.
A smell of burning rubber hits my nostrils.
We smash into something, the car coming to a complete stop.
A loud pop sounds followed by the click of the door locks that are automatically deactivated in the event of an accident.
The cocoon of Dante’s body that’s been wrapped around me vanishes. He grips my shoulders and pulls me into a sitting position.
Framing my face between his palms with the gun still clutched in one hand, he scrutinizes me. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” I say through numb lips.
“Good girl.” Despite the strain that’s evident in the tight set of his features, he offers me an encouraging smile, one that exposes his dimple. “Stay low.”
Kent pushes the deflated airbag out of his way and opens his door. That explains the loud pop I heard. He jumps out and takes shelter behind the hood on the side of the car with his gun pointed in front of him.
I grab Dante’s sleeve as he reaches for his door handle. “Dante.”
He pauses only long enough for our eyes to meet. “Stay down.”
And then he gets out.
The bang of the door as he slams it feels too final.
The gunshots continue close by while I’m trapped in here alone.
The world outside stinks of smoke, oil, and burnt tires.
Yet a whiff of Dante’s aftershave remains, clinging to my clothes and my hair.
It’s soft and subtle, but I smell it over the odor of chaos that’s everywhere.
Getting down on my knees, I huddle on the floor. I’m shaky and nauseous from adrenaline. Terror claws at me. My instinct is telling me to run, but Dante has been fighting these wars since he turned fifteen. In this, I have to trust his judgement.
A shadow moves past the window on my side. Holding my breath, I try to make myself smaller. A second goes by. Two. Just as I’m about to let out the air that’s trapped in my lungs, someone opens my door.
A man in a ski mask and army fatigues grabs my arm and hauls me out of the car.
I scream and fight, getting in a kick, but my efforts have no effect on him.
I land on my knees on the tarmac, barely feeling the new scrapes on my already broken skin.
I try to crawl away, but he jerks me back by my hair.
Wrapping an arm around my waist from behind, he lifts me off my feet.
I fight like an animal, clawing and twisting in his hold as he runs toward a side street. My gaze falls on Kent, who’s crouched next to the car. Dante’s guard doesn’t lift a finger to help me. Instead, he watches with a hateful, cold blue gaze as my assailant carries me away.
I scream at the top of my lungs. “Dante.”
He’s caught up in the gunfire, fighting for his life. My voice doesn’t carry over the noise. I already know it’s too late. I know exactly what awaits me as my attacker clamps a hand over my mouth. I bite, but he’s wearing gloves.
A van is parked up the street. Someone opens the sliding door as we approach. The man throws me inside. Pain shoots up my side where I land on my hip. The interior goes dark as the man who grabbed me shuts the door. The windows are covered, not letting in light.
I try to get up and fall when the van pulls off before speeding away.
I knock my head hard against the door, tasting blood where I’ve bitten my tongue.
The interior light in the roof goes on, washing out the darkness.
The man who opened the door from the inside wears the same ski mask and army fatigues as the one who grabbed me.
He grips my wrists behind my back and secures them with something hard that bites into my skin as he ties it too tightly.
“Who are you?” My voice is unsteady. “What do you want?”
His reply is to shove a piece of fabric scrunched into a ball into my mouth and to pull a bag over my head.
That’s when it sinks in with startling clarity.
This is the end.
TO BE CONTINUED