Chapter 1 #3
“Yeah, yeah.” Goon One nods, then throws his cigarette butt on the ground and twists his foot over it. “Let’s go,” he grumbles and nods back to the main road.
I debate it for only one second, but then . . . fuck, I need to know where they’re going.
I don’t have a car, but thankfully, they don’t get in one either.
After making my way down the fire escape and running to the main road, I find them only about one block away, so I do what I promised I wouldn’t and follow them from a good distance.
I think it’s safe to say that my theory on the mystery hitman is as confirmed as it can be without talking to him.
He definitely doesn’t work for the Italians, so he’s Irish, and for some reason, he’s been quiet.
The uneasy knot in my stomach is all I need for resolve to strengthen my spine.
Only five blocks away from the travel agency, Goons One and Two walk into a warehouse I’ve never staked out.
That’s a problem.
I don’t have a favorite spot to watch from, so I keep to the shadows of the neighboring buildings and try to find a hiding spot that will let me see inside. All the windows are boarded up on this side of the structure, though.
Knowing this might be one of my stupidest ideas—and boy, that’s saying something—I circle the property and on the opposite side from where they went in, I find one single window that’s not boarded up.
Plastered against the brick wall of the next building, I suck in air five times, trying to muster the courage to actually walk up and look.
I’m not proud of how long it takes me, but eventually, I do make my way to the glass and peer in. It’s full of crates. Rows and rows of big crates. I have no idea what’s in them, and I can’t see anyone around.
Then the shadow of a man passes in front of the window. I scramble away and back, almost losing my balance over a damn rock, but when I look up again, there’s no one there.
Fuck, whoever that was can’t have seen me, right?
There would be shouts if he had . . .
I walk up to the glass again, this time staying to the side and in the shadows so hopefully no one inside can see me.
Again, there’s no one around, and I sigh in resignation.
This was a royally stupid waste of time.
I take one step back, and drop my shoulders. In defeat or in relief? I’m not sure to be honest, but—
My thoughts screech to a halt when I feel it—pressure on my back.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Something sharp hits me on the side of the head, and before I can turn around, everything goes black.
“You’re fucking useless.” The snotty, whiny voice is the first thing I register. You don’t come across a lot of men with whiny voices but this man has one. “Wake this fucker up,” he snaps, and a second later, icy cold water covers my body.
“God,” I can’t help but shout. Or at least I try.
There’s something in my mouth . . . Tape? I feel a hand on my cheek a second later, and then—
“Fuck!” I can’t help but scream. God that hurts, worse than I ever imagined.
I open one eye and regret it instantly. The lights in this . . . room? Wherever I am, they’re too fucking bright. The pounding on the left side of my head comes alive with a vengeance, and I try to put the pieces together. I can’t really see anything, but I’m clearly not alone.
I was . . . yeah, following those . . . Fuck, what did I call them?
Right, goons, I—
“Open your fucking eyes,” someone, a different someone, shouts. I’m not sure if that hurts more than the light, but it’s less annoying than being doused with cold-as-fuck water again, so I do my fucking best.
I try to pull a hand up to stop the light from hitting my retinas directly, and that’s when I realize my arms are tied behind my back.
Understanding the situation I’m in, I start to panic, because . . . well, of course I fucking panic.
“Fuck, did you kidnap me?” I ask, enraged more with myself than any of these fuckers. I should’ve known better, I really should have, and I normally would’ve thought of something better to ask, but in my defense, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion, and I’m fucking cold.
I look down and see they took my fucking clothes.
At least I left my wallet at home this time. There’s no way they can know who I am . . . unless they’re the type to watch the news.
I look up and see the two goons and a shorter, stockier, bald man who I recognize instantly. Yeah, they’re Italians all right.
I really fucking hope they’re not the type to watch the news, and that maybe the way the sides of my head have gone full gray in the last year will be enough for them to not even think they recognize me.
One of the goons takes two steps forward and pulls his arm back.
I know it’s coming, but that doesn’t help in the least. I don’t think he’s broken my nose, but I feel the blood flowing down my lip.
That’s unpleasant.
I pretend it hurts a lot more and try to think. Bad news is that, unlike the last time this happened to me, the first thought that pops into my head is Maggie.
I look up and search for a window, any way I can figure out what time it is. I think it was eleven when I saw the goons go into the warehouse. How long have I been out? Fuck, I have to be back home at eight. Maggie—I can’t—
“What the fuck were you doing snooping around?” The other goon talks this time—barks. I should call them dogs instead of goons with the way they talk, but I actually like dogs, so I won’t.
Fucking hell, Colby, focus. I hear Dad’s voice in my head, but again, unlike last time, it doesn’t help calm me down.
“What time is it?” I ask stupidly. I know it’s a bad idea, but I can’t help it.
“It’s time for you to answer some fucking questions.” Enzo Di Leo, the whiny one who also happens to be the head of the Di Leo family, stalks closer while he rolls up the sleeves of his awful burgundy button down, and I know that can’t be a good thing.
A story starts to form in my head.
Something—anything—that I can tell these assholes so they’ll let me go. I don’t know if such a story even exists, but I need to try.
And fuck, I can only pray he thinks of fucking things up for them tonight. That would be a great distraction.
Preferably very soon.