3. Chapter 3
3
Luca
My ears ring like a motherfucker, and I swallow the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
“Fuck,” I hear Roman say as he groans next to me.
My body feels battered from the impact. One minute we’re cruising towards the club I want to buy, next minute we’re being chased and spinning out of control.
Just a normal night in the world of Luca Knight.
Glass shards pepper my lap and the floor, the deflated airbags look like popped saggy balloons, the windows around us completely caved in.
“You alright?” I ask, wincing as I lean forward, the seat belt digging into my bruised chest. It did its job but hurts like a bitch. “Fuck.” I hiss, as blood trickles into my eye. I wipe it away and my fingers come back saturated.
Why do head wounds insist on bleeding so much?
“Yeah. You?” Roman’s voice is gruff, but I sense him move next to me. Turning my head carefully, a shooting pain pierces through my temple. I clench my teeth and breathe through it, focusing on my anger, instead of how much my head is pounding. Every pulse of my heart feels like my head is beating along with it.
I’m going to kill the bastards.
Shouts and screams erupt around us, but my banging head is still catching up and processing what’s just happened, stars dancing in front of my eyes.
“Jesus Christ.” I touch the tender spot on my head again assessing the damage, wincing in the process.
The door to my right flies open, and Roman whips his gun out in a swift smooth move. Thank God one of us is coherent, because I’m downright fucked.
“Are you guys okay?”
The streetlights light the absolute beauty in an angelic halo as she bends to peer into the car. Her light blue eyes meet mine and I stare at her breathtaking face. Fuck me, I must have hit my head hard. I’m rendered speechless.
“Dude, are you okay?” she repeats. Her eyes look past me to Roman, who has already dropped the gun, hopefully before she saw the thing.
“Dude?” I mutter, shaking my head, trying to clear my blurry vision. Roman shuffles and unbuckles his seat belt, struggling to free himself and I just stare stupid as the woman crouches down next to the car and leans in closer to me, reaching her small hand toward my face. She tucks her fingers under my chin and tilts my head towards her, trying to get a look at my wound.
Eyes search mine.
I bat her hand away and she pulls back. “Can you move?” she asks as I start to wrestle with the seatbelt. “The car’s leaking petrol. We need to get you out and I mean now.” She disappears again, shouting something to people outside.
“I’m going to kill them,” I mutter, rage seeping into every part of me. “Roman.” Roman collapses back down next to me. “This was a hit!”
His eyes meet mine, his expression grim. He’s already come to the same conclusion.
He digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade, making quick work of his seatbelt, then mine. Which brings my chest instant relief. “They failed, so I would say the car about to blow is the more pressing issue.” He rams the car door with his shoulder; it remains closed. “Door's fucked.” He starts to climb towards me, forcing his long legs over the centre console. “Knight, come on, brother, you have to move.”
I’m sluggish, there’s no denying it. My head spins every time I shift position and my chest ripples with pain. Not to mention a blinding heat in my stomach.
“We have to go now.” The woman appears on my right again, her soft voice replaced with urgency. She looks over her shoulder and quickly backs away, her petite hand wrapped around my wrist as Roman pushes me from the left.
I stagger out of the car then pause, squinting against the lights of Kensington High Street, sirens wailing in the background. People are shouting and waving us towards them.
“Knight, fucking move.” Roman pushes me forward, and I stumble into the lithe woman whose grip is still firm on my arm, warmth radiating from her skin to mine. She tucks herself under my arm and I’m grateful for the additional support, Roman quickly joins her on the other side.
We’ve barely taken a step, when the car explodes, propelling us forward—heat tracking up my back—and throwing the three of us into the air. Her small yelp is the only thing I can focus on before we come back down to the pavement hard, the breath knocked out of me.
My head bounces off the road, and Christ if stars don’t dance in front of my eyes all over again.
“Luca!” Roman shouts. My ears are ringing, and I can barely see past the encroaching darkness. “Luca.” His voice sounds so far away. So, fucking far, yet he’s right here, and he roughly turns me over, his ugly mug shouting at me to get up.
My legs aren’t working.
Nothing’s working.
I can see panic in my friend’s face. Which is such a strange thing to see. Roman is always calm, always collected, it looks so foreign on him, and I frown.
I try to speak but my tongue feels heavy, my mouth thick like someone has put cotton wool in it.
“Luca.”
It’s her voice, and I feel her warm hands on my face. I want to lean into them, so soft and comforting. I can’t tell what she’s saying, but it’s soothing, and I hold onto it as the familiar darkness takes over and I fall into nothingness.
I wake to the smell of disinfectant and bright lights, grimace and clench my eyes shut again.
“I swear to God, if I’m in a hospital I’m going to lose my shit.”
“You’re such a pussy.” Roman’s voice is overwhelmingly loud.
“Whisper please, my head hurts like a motherfucker.”
“I know, you passed out like a little girl after the car exploded.”
Trust Rome to show not an iota of sympathy.
“Where are we?” I ask, peeling an eye open. I’m lying on an examination bed, the blue plastic top covered by a roll of paper, a pillow tucked behind my head. It’s clinical, but it’s too quiet to be a hospital.
“Doctor’s surgery off Kensington High Street. She suggested it when I started dragging your unconscious arse before the blue lights arrived.”
“How’d we get here?”
“I carried you, did anyone ever tell you, that you’re a heavy cunt. I’ve called Henry. He’s taking care of any cameras in the area, but a crash like that is going to draw attention.”
I glance at him and sit up, a wave of pain rippling through my stomach causing me to look down. My blood-saturated shirt has been cut open, and my stomach has a fresh dressing over it. Angry purple bruising runs across my chest from the seatbelt, breaking ribs in the process of saving me, guessing by the level of pain. But the alternative would be worse.
I touch the dressing, and tug at the corners until I get a good grip and rip it off, enjoying the sharp sting. Anything is better than the constant ache running through my body. My stomach has a three-inch gash, which has been neatly stapled together.
“She’s going to be pissed you just did that,” Roman mutters as I run my fingers over the metal clips holding my flesh together. Remembering I hit my head, I touch the top of my hairline, where lo and behold, I find more stitches. “Twelve stitches, and she’s removed some glass and metal from your stomach.”
“And she is?”
“Layla,” a woman answers.
Layla.
She’s standing in the entrance to the room holding two cans of Coke and a paper bag. “He said you’d do that.” She nods to the bandage laying on the bed before joining us in the small room, placing what she’s holding on the bed and washes her hands at the basin in the corner. “He said you’d be a pain in the arse and undo all my work.” She peers over her shoulder and those blue eyes meet mine.
I thought I’d been dreaming, and that voice.
I’d give anything to hear it moan my name.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
She rinses the soap off her hands and opens the cupboard to grab another dressing. “You need to take the next few weeks easy, otherwise you’re going to reopen that wound.”
Take it easy? Not when someone has just tried to end me. I’ll be doing anything but taking it easy.
She rips the back off the dressing and approaches, placing the fresh bandage back over my stomach, her fingers running gently over the edges to secure it.
And fuck me, my skin prickles.
“What am I doing here?”
Layla looks to Roman to answer, but he keeps silent, watching her do her thing.
She sighs. “He refused to stay at the scene, refused to take you to the hospital, then shoved a gun in my face when he realised I have medical experience.” I glance at Roman who shrugs. “We escaped down a small side alley, and now here we are. Drink this.” She hands Rome a can of Coke, then holds up a box of painkillers to me. “Take every four hours for three days. These…” she waves a second box “… you take as per the instructions until the full course has finished. As there was no hospital, there’s no tetanus shot, so let’s hope these antibiotics do the trick.”
Roman reaches out to take the boxes from Layla.
“Are you a doctor?” I ask.
“No, but I’m the closest thing to a doctor your buddy here will let you see. Now bearing in mind you’ve just ripped up half of Kensington High Street, and we’ve fled a crime scene I really would love for you both to get out now.” Her hand shakes as she runs it through her dishevelled blonde hair.
“Here,” Roman says, passing her the can. “I think you need this more.”
She snorts. “This is crazy.” She takes it, opens it, and I’m enchanted by the movement of her slim throat as she takes deep gulps from the can.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and she lets out a hysterical laugh. I don’t really care, she’s helped me, and she’s right, now it’s time for us to leave. We’ve got shit to do.
“Who are you two?” She laughs again and shakes her head. “What the hell am I doing,” she mutters to herself. “I’m going to get fired, look at the state of this place.”
I glance sideways at Roman, who is no doubt thinking the same thing: that sunshine here is about to have a meltdown. “You got any diazepam?” I ask.
“You can’t have that with your antibiotics.”
“No, but I think maybe you could do with some to simmer down.”
“Simmer down,” she exclaims. “I’ve just brought two…two I don’t know what the hell you are, gangsters?” Her arms are up flailing around, and we are both still as statues. “Two gangsters into my place of work, and if I get fired, I’m screwed, no not screwed. I’m fucked. Royally. So, no, I won’t calm down.”
I’ve barely woken up, and the firecracker launches the can of drink against the wall.
“Huh,” Roman muses, watching the brown liquid hit the cream wall. “That looks oddly familiar.”
I send him a warning look, sit up and drop my legs to the floor testing my strength.
Roman grabs my suit jacket off the chair and I gradually stand. Layla says nothing, her attention on the sticky liquid running down the wall.
I put my arms through the sleeves as Roman lifts it over my shoulders, the staples pulling against my skin.
My blood is all over this small room. Someone will pay for this.
Blood for blood.
I take a few steps and stand in front of her.
“Remove the evidence,” I instruct Rome, knowing that he’s already in the process of pulling out a Ziplock bag.
Layla. She’s a little thing, her blonde hair piled on her head, her face makeup free, tendrils falling over her forehead onto her high cheekbones. I place my fingers under her chin and tilt her head giving her no choice but to meet my gaze.
Her body stiffens, and her breathing becomes erratic.
Those eyes.
Those fucking beautiful eyes.
I’ve seen beautiful women, wined them, dined them, fucked them. But Layla, there’s something so pure about her, something that calls to me.
I turn my head to the side as I search her face: is she affected by me? I’m most women’s wet dream; they’re called to the darkness, all desperate to tame the beast that lurks within.
I won’t let beautiful blue eyes get in my way. I’ve got shit to do, London is mine.
“Thank you, Layla,” I say, leaning in and kissing the side of her mouth. I reach for one of those loose bits of hair and tuck it gently behind her ear. In the next breath I’m gripping her throat and pushing her into the sink, adding pressure against her as she fights me with wide eyes.
“I think it goes without saying to keep your sweet little mouth shut. Roman here, he has some very unique skills. He can find out anything about anyone, all those secrets you bury deep, all those people you care about, he will find your weakness and he will exploit it.”
She stares at me. “Fuck you.” I grip her tighter, my heart beating wildly as she thrashes against me, my body tensing against her pathetic effort. “You’re a piece of shit,” she rasps.
I can’t help but grin and lean in closer.
“Now are you going to be a good girl?”
“A friendly piece of advice…” Roman adds, the tension in the room palpable. She lifts her chin, and I already know that this woman is going to become a problem. “Listen to his words.”
I let go, and she falls forward as I walk toward the door, looking back over my shoulder as Layla regains her balance, and her eyes meet mine.
Her face devoid of emotion, no tears, and I’m momentarily perplexed. Either this woman has an amazing poker face, or this hasn’t been the worst thing she has seen in her life.
And that right there has me intrigued.
“No,” Roman says as we leave the doctor’s surgery, and he pulls out his phone.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Then don’t fucking say it.”
“I need you to follow her.” I lean against the wall of the health centre, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
“I said don’t say it.”
“Who are you calling?” I ask, taking a long drag, puffing it out, the street around us quiet and still, the complete opposite to my brain, which is replaying the evening over and over in my head. Roman passes me the pain pills and I take them.
“An Uber.”
“An Uber?”
“Until we know more, we’re going to lay low.”
“Fuck that,” I say, flicking the butt of my cigarette, watching the ember fall on the road. “We are carrying on as if nothing happened.”
“Someone has just tried to kill you.” Roman says it like I haven’t been part of the party for the last God knows how many hours. What time is it anyway?
I pull out my phone and frown at the destroyed screen. The thing completely dead.
“It’s your uncle.” Roman holds up his phone.
“He’s probably disappointed to hear I’m still alive.”
“Really? Your uncle?”
I shake my head. “No, family is everything to him. Levi though.” I shrug. Would Levi have the balls to do it?
Roman assesses me. “Uber’s two minutes out. You go back to my place.” He passes me the keys and I take them, putting them in my pocket. “Go rest, you look like shit.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“As I’m told, like the good boy scout I am. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Don’t scare her,” I say as a Toyota fucking Prius pulls up. Damn. I miss the Mercedes.
“Because you haven’t done that already, have you?” I flip him the bird.
“Next time you say let’s go for a drink, remind me to say no.”
“Come on, brother, your life would be so boring without me.”
He looks at me, frowning, and I laugh in the face of the near miss.
It will take more than a fucking car accident to put us in the ground.