37. Tasha
37
“Right here, luv.” Burley groans as he touches his biceps, where a pool of red is spreading on his white shirt. “And here.” His hand goes to the side of his butt, where his pants shine with blood.
“Put pressure on his arm,” I say to Matteo, who is sitting on that side, as I look down to put pressure on Burley’s butt. “I’ll hold on to you here. At least it wasn’t your chest or abdomen. How far do we have to go?”
I glance up to meet Matteo’s gaze. He looks at me with something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. I can’t even pinpoint what it is, too conscious of the sticky wet patch under my palm. His gaze travels my face, taking in my puffed-up cheek, the bruise I must be popping on my chin, then drops to the cuts on my wrists where the cable tie sliced into my flesh. I have to look away, but I feel his gaze burning on me. Fury. That’s what it is. Pure blazing fury.
“Five minutes to the barn,” he says, and his cold tone makes unease cruise down my back. “It’s half an hour to a boat ramp where a dinghy waits to take us to the yacht.”
We’re yacht people now. Okay. Whatever. “You’re going to have to hang in there, Burley,” I mutter, grappling with the idea that he needs to move twice, and Matteo said nothing about going to a hospital.
“I’m hanging, luv, but I’m not sure why you’re botherin’. You nearly gave me a heart attack this morning. Which is a very clean way to kill a guy if ever there was one.”
I glance down at my hands, which are stained with blood, my arms splattered with it. I want to retch, but my stomach is empty. I nearly killed a man. When I look up, Matteo’s gaze is still on me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I tried to stop that man from getting to him. My kidnapper, who I wanted to kill days ago. I’m sorry for trying to save myself. And for jumping. For my dad’s crimes. For everything that got us to this point.
“You did what you needed to do,” Matteo says. “We got out.”
I nod but find no assurance in his words. With one well-aimed stab I’ve been baptized into their inner circle.
The car speeds along the road. There’s nothing out here, not even a vineyard or an olive grove. It’s almost desert-like with barren land. We were totally isolated, which is great if you want to make sure nobody gets close to you. Or if you want to torture and kill people.
A scatter of farmhouses appears, and next thing we are turning into a gravel road that leads to a barn.
“We’re good,” Matteo says as no one follows us.
The barn is open, and we drive right in. The massive door rattles closed as soon as we’re inside. We’re draped in darkness again, but my eyes adjust quickly with light coming from missing tiles in the roof. Another driver is waiting in a white SUV with clear windows, a scented pine dangling from the rearview mirror. It looks like a taxi.
“Let’s get you sorted, Burley,” Matteo says as he opens the door and peels off his bulletproof vest. He strides over to the white SUV and the driver opens the trunk as if on cue.
“Come on, luv,” Burley says with a weak smile. “He’ll expect you to do one or the other, becoming a doctor as you are.”
“What?” I give him a wide-eyed stare as he gingerly eases out of the car and stands.
I clamber out and watch in fascination as Matteo spreads a sterile pad inside the open trunk. A medical case stands ready, and he pulls out everything needed for a bullet wound emergency.
“You need a hand, old man?” Matteo shoots back as Burley limps in his direction.
“Fuck you, boss. If I take another bullet in my butt for you?—”
“I retire you with a very lucrative package.”
“You’re my witness, luv,” Burley groans as he makes it all the way. “A very lucrative package.” He shrugs off his bulletproof vest, his arm just hanging.
Matteo is putting surgical gloves on and glances in my direction. I stand closer, thankful for the distraction. Less so when Burley unbuckles his belt in one swift movement and unbuttons his pants. “Sorry, luv,” he says as he turns his back to me, drops his pants and scoots his boxers down just far enough. He makes himself comfortable by lying down, half in, half out of the car’s trunk.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” I lie. I knew it, but knowing and seeing firsthand is different. Burley is built. As in heavy-weight wrestling built. Thighs that flex as he settles, sculpted ass in the air. An ass to die for, except for the round bullet hole leaking blood.
I look at Matteo, but he is already busy opening a bottle of disinfectant. He splashes it over Burley’s butt and the man growls. Once some of the blood is cleaned away, Matteo looks closely. “This one’s a keeper.” He glances up to me. “Gauze and tape to stop the bleeding.”
It’s as if his instructions zap me into motion. I pull on surgical gloves and do as instructed while Matteo cuts Burley’s shirt sleeve off. “You have everything here,” I say as I go through the medical kit.
“Not our first rodeo,” Matteo says as he tosses Burley’s blood-soaked sleeve to the side. He lifts Burley’s arm and inspects it. “The bullet went right through. You’re good.”
I shoot Burley’s arm a glance. The blood is already coagulating.
“Do the same here,” Matteo says. “Just stop the bleeding.”
I pause midair with the gauze I’m holding. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Aren’t you getting him to a doctor?” I’m weak in the knees.
“I’m good, luv,” Burley chirps in.
“He’ll manage,” Matteo says. “Plus, you’ll look after him.”
“I—” Where my hands were steady seconds ago, they now quiver. “Okay?”
“Good girl. Give him some of those painkillers.”
Matteo reaches for a ziplock bag and picks something out of his jacket pocket. He plops it into the clear bag.
An eyeball is staring at me through the thin clear film. Shock ripples through my body and I dry heave. Matteo drops in another one and follows it up with a finger that still holds a gold signet ring.
“What is that?” I breathe, managing to keep the bile down.
Matteo says nothing. Two ears join the rest and that’s when I spot the diamond earring, blinking where it isn’t smeared with blood.
You’re not the first order of business I’ll attend to in Sicily. Holy… holy… fuck.
I look up, scared to meet Matteo’s eyes. He pins me down with a frank stare and a quirked brow as he zips the bag closed and tosses it to the side. “Evidence.” He peels off the surgical gloves, shakes off his jacket, and takes some wipes to clean speckles of blood and battle dust off his face and hands. “I have business to wrap up, so I’ll see you on the yacht.”
“What? How?” It sinks in that Matteo isn’t coming with us. “Where’re you going?”
He picks up his baggie of body parts, this time putting it in a black shopping bag. I don’t want to know what he’s going to do next, but he can’t go out there. Not after what he’s done. Not while carrying that with him. He’ll be hunted and slaughtered— “Don’t leave?” I beg, the anguish in my voice real. “Matteo, I can’t…”
He touches my chin, gently tipping it to the side to see my cheek. “Whatever you do, kitten, don’t mistake me for the good guy.” He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. “And no more shenanigans, understand?”
It isn’t a request. It’s a command. No more cliff jumping. Look where it got me. “Yes,” I whisper, caving into him, his warm touch the balm I didn’t even know I needed. “Understood.”
“I won’t be long, and when I’m back we’re going to have a little chat.” The way he says it forces all the warmth to leave my body, his tone making chills run up my arms as he drops his hand away. “You know the drill, Burley.”
“Yes, boss,” he groans, but it sounds like it comes with an eye roll.
Matteo clambers into the black car’s passenger seat and gives the okay for the driver to go. The barn door rattles open, and the car drives away into the late afternoon heat.