Chapter 2 #3
The man shifts his gaze to his left until it lands on me.
He stares at me for a beat longer than expected, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.
It could be the entire situation—the fact I’m allowing the mafia to conduct illegal black-market arms deals in my club—but something about him doesn’t sit well with me.
What I wouldn’t give to go back to an hour ago, when I was far away from this world. When I was simply Rome Montgomery, billionaire business owner, not facilitator for the fucking Irish mafia.
“Is this the order?” he asks Tobias, pointing to the case.
Tobias sits up, stubbing out his cigar on one of my glass ashtrays with my club logo etched into the bottom of it. He takes a sip of his drink before looking up at his client, pulling his pistol with the attached silencer from beside him on the sofa and setting it on the table beside the ashtray.
“Money first.”
The air in the room is heavy and tense. It always is during the actual exchange part of the deal.
The man reaches into the front inside pocket of his suit jacket.
Despite knowing the security guards out front patted him down for weapons before allowing him to enter, Tobias’s shoulders immediately stiffen, his hand ready to reach for his gun if needed.
Tobias doesn’t take a breath—fuck, neither do I—until the man reveals several stacks of perfectly crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
He slaps them on the table beside the briefcase.
Grinning wide, Tobias leans forward, picks up the money, and quickly fans through them before casually waving his hand at the briefcase in a shooing motion.
The man bends, spins the case around, unlatches it, then looks inside. Once satisfied with its contents, he closes it and eyes Tobias, his mouth curling into a smirk.
“Pleasure doing business with the Irish.”
“What?” Tobias’s head snaps up.
Everything happens in a flash. The man’s hand darts out to swipe Tobias’s gun from the table before he stands tall and fires the gun, delivering a bullet directly between Tobias’s panic-stricken eyes. I watch the light in them die as quickly as the flick of a switch.
The man turns his attention to Marcus beside me.
He fires off a shot, and the bullet hits Marcus in the leg, making his knee buckle beneath him.
Before he falls to the floor, he manages to get a shot off his own gun and hits the guy’s arm.
Then Marcus cries out, landing on the floor in a heavy heap.
He curls inward, gripping his leg. Blood gushes and spills from his thigh.
The room is dimly lit, so it takes me a second to spot Marcus’s gun several feet from him.
I barely have the chance to lunge for it before the man is charging toward me.
What the fuck?
Marcus may have been able to injure him, but it hasn’t slowed him down.
He grits through the pain as blood spills down the length of his arm.
Using his entire weight, he lunges at me, crashing into me, and my back hits the edge of the bar, knocking it and every bottle of liquor down around.
I cry out as I topple to the floor, immediately lying in a pool of liquor and shattered bottles.
Shards of wet glass cut through my collared shirt and bite into my back as I fight off my attacker, flailing to get him off.
He lands a heavy blow to my face with his fist. Stars dot my vision, and there’s a sharp ringing drowning my ears.
He reaches forward, clasping one hand tightly around my throat. I wrap both hands around his wrist, hoping to loosen his hold on me. My grip pushes up his sleeve, revealing the snake wrapped around the entire length of his arm.
It’s the same as mine.
“Who the fuck are you?” The metallic taste of my own blood hits my tongue, and my back is on fire as I slow down, realization dawning on me.
His face is covered in shadows, but his eyes are fueled with fury and rage as he gives me a sickening, evil smirk, ignoring my question.
My eyes widen as he lifts Tobias’s pistol.
He uses the end to push against my jaw, digging it under my chin, making it harder to breathe.
Adding pressure against the weapon, he forces me to stretch my neck, allowing his grip on me to tighten even more.
I stare at him with hardened eyes but keep my panic hidden, tucked away deep inside.
“Why the fuck are you here?” Fuck, my throat burns.
“Poor little innocent Rome. Not so high and mighty now, are you?” His smirk transforms into a full-blown grin, taunting me.
Blood drains to my feet. I still have no clue who the fuck this guy is, who sent him, or why. All I know is we have the same tattoo, and he’s attacking me with one singular mission in mind. A combination I know can’t, and won’t, end well.
I quickly return to fighting. I scream and kick, doing anything I can to get this fucker off me.
“Fuck you,” I strain, my words scorching my throat.
I scramble to reach for his face, not caring about the gun held to my chin or the hand strangling my throat.
I manage to reach his head and wrap my hands around his skull, eventually digging my thumbs into his eye sockets, making him scream out in pain.
I’m sick from the feeling of his eyeballs resisting my fingers, but I keep going.
I want to tear this man apart, limb for limb.
He tilts his head, forcing his face up and away from the hold I have on him.
His grip hasn’t let up around my throat, making it impossible for me to shove him off me.
Regaining his bearings, he stares down at me.
Blood drips from his eyes as he tenses his arm even more, again adding more pressure, denying me oxygen.
He lowers his face to mine, his bleeding eyes searing with rage. “I was sent here to kill you. I was planning on making it quick and easy for you, but now I won’t be so generous. Fucking stronzo.”
When I raise my arms to fight back, they barely make it off the floor before falling back like two dead weights. Growing weaker means it’s increasingly difficult to fight back. Black clouds ebb my vision, and I feel myself slipping away.
He squeezes tighter around my throat, and I struggle to breathe.
My throat constricts and it’s painful to draw in a single breath.
My eyes widen, panic swallowing me whole.
The man holds the end of the gun under my chin.
I scream between gritted teeth, spit and blood flying from my mouth.
Of all the guns to be pointed in my direction, I never suspected it would be this asshole’s over a Capuleti’s.
The music pounding from downstairs drowns out my cries, making it impossible for anyone standing outside of the room to hear me.
These walls are soundproof. Not to mention the fact we’re in the middle of a fucking night club.
Every second that passes with this asshole’s hand around my throat is another step closer to death.
Maybe I deserve it. Maybe this is what I get for trying to move on from the past, pretending to be just another selfish, greedy, corporate fuck. I never learn. God, I’m such a prick.
This is how it ends. Staring back at my killer, I realize Julianna may finally get her wish. My death may finally bring her peace.
Dammit.
I begin surrendering to it. Surely death will be better than this miserable fucking life, anyway.
I’m ready to draw my last breath when the man above me suddenly loosens his grip. His eyes widen, the light quickly dying in them the same way Tobias’s did. Blood spurts from his temple, spraying across my face, landing on my tongue. It makes me want to fucking vomit.
He falls against me like a lead weight, pressing against my chest.
I gasp harshly, the oxygen grating like sandpaper as I try to figure out what the hell just happened. My chest rises and falls, lifting the man with it as I roll my head to the side. My cheek lands in a concoction of liquor and blood as I stare at Marcus.
His arm is outstretched, gun still pointed where my attacker’s head once was when he was very much alive and breathing. Marcus’s other hand is pressed tightly around his thigh, blood spilling between his fingertips.
He lazily drops his arm, his pistol falling to the floor beside him. The music downstairs pauses momentarily as the DJ switches to the next song, allowing me to hear Marcus’s next words. “Congratulations on your final deal,” he pants. “You’re free.”
“Ahh…” I groan, my voice hoarse, my back and throat searing with pain. “Fuuuuck.”
I roll my head back and stare at the black ceiling, wondering when and how the fuck I got here.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Montgomery?” Marcus shouts over the music. “You’re free.”
I close my eyes and imagine myself anywhere but here, because something about the dead guy lying on top of me tells me I’m anything but free.