Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Jenny
After lunch, we return to our spots on the couch. He flips on a Knights of the Night Podcast and we snuggle together. I tried to take Kingston’s tie off, but he growled, so he gets to stay as a sophisticated gentleman for a little longer. Everything is nice and warm… until Joey gets a phone call.
The ring tone is different.
His body goes all rigid as he stands, presses answer, and walks into the bedroom. The door slams behind him.
I’m playing a merging game on my phone while listening to the podcast, and I’m not really noticing how much time has gone by.
But Kingston lets out a low whine. Joey’s been on the phone for a while.
The dog’s potty dance will turn into potty howling if I don’t do something now.
Is a howling dog worse than a mess on the floor?
While Joey’s busy, I grab Kingston’s leash and take him out.
The elevator is annoyingly slow. I spend the time trying to trace together the Knights of the Night family tree and predict what will happen in the next book.
But even while I write fanfic in my head, whatever’s produced as canon will never hit the way I want it to.
Fanfic scratches that itch my soul needs and that TV producers will never allow.
That little mental tangent gets me halfway down the block before I realize it.
Kingston pees six times on various street poles, to the point I’m one hundred percent sure he’s lifting his leg out of habit and pissing air.
He trots along, equally distracted from the world, too busy doom scrolling on the doggie internet.
The lights are on in the Elysium Office.
Is Silvio still there? Maybe he’d like to see Kingston’s new attire.
The door’s open, which is weird, but whatever. Angry voices echo in the back of the office, and there’s a strange smell in the air I can’t place. Burning and some sort of metallic smell maybe. But red flags start to fly around.
Silvio’s office door is wide open and there are two men in T-shirts and black pants standing in front of him. Kingston walks around and starts sniffing something behind a desk. I don’t call out, instead I stop and listen. But they’re talking in a language I don’t understand, Italian maybe.
One of the men lifts his hand. Two loud popping sounds and flashes of light fill the space. Kingston yelps and runs back toward me. His nose is red and wet. That's when I see a woman’s legs on the floor.
I step back and knock over a cup full of pens. The two men whip their heads around.
Run the Narrator Lady screams.
Kingston and I sprint out of the office and toward the parking lot. We’re fast, but the pounding footsteps behind us are faster.
Get to Joey. Get help for Silvio and the receptionist.
Those two thoughts loop in my head. Only a few more feet until we’re in the privacy of the parking garage.
That’s when there’s pressure around my throat and fingers press against my airway.
I squirm and flail around, my knuckles crashing against something hard.
A shoulder? A cheek? I can’t tell. Hot deli meat stench fills my nose as whoever has me breathes on my cheek.
I try to kick my way out of the grip, scream or do anything from the years of self-defense courses my dad forced me to take as a kid, but nothing is working.
Both of my arms are grabbed and pinned to my back. It takes a second to realize both men are attacking me. Well, that doesn’t seem fair at all. The hand around my neck tightens and black and white dots flash over my vision. Everything is useless. What’s the point of fighting back anymore?
“Get your fucking hands off her.” A voice echoes through the cavernous space of the garage.
But this makes the hands increase their grip, and my breaths get shallow as sharp pain radiates in my spine and throat. Grunts and sounds in a language I can’t understand scream in my ear. Italian? I’m not sure, but it seems threatening, nonetheless. Blackness spreads across my vision and—
A loud popping sound rattles across the space, and the grip on my neck loosens.
There’s a splash of something, and my face is wet.
A second round of pops happen, and my body is launched forward as whoever was holding me drops to the floor.
Don’t turn around. Don’t question what happened. Deep down, I already know.
“Jenny!” His voice cuts through the chaos, and I drop to my knees. Kingston jumps on me with his front paws, and his tail is between his legs. I never dropped his leash.
Joey grabs my shoulders, his face contorted with a new range of emotions I’ve never seen. He’s been angry and annoyed with me, but this is different. It’s fear wrapped in rage, and it makes my stomach twist. I can feel the heat from the gun near my cheeks.
He blinks a few times. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes. “Get in the car.”
The three of us run to his car, and within seconds, we’re peeling out of the garage. The bodies of two men are heaped together. Joey calls one of his employees, or at least I’m assuming it is because he says, “I need a cleanup. No cameras.”
“Silvio’s been shot.” I admit. I don’t think it was my fault, but still guilt pulls at me.
Joey glares at me like he’s trying to understand the words, but he adds, “Send the doctor,” before he hangs up the phone.
We drive in silence, his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, his molars grinding together. His neck is so stiff, one sharp movement will snap it right off. Worst of all, I physically feel his anger.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” He slams the steering wheel with his palm.
“Kingston had to go out.”
“Let him pee on the fucking carpet. You knew it was dangerous. You could’ve died.”
“Will Silvio and your receptionist be okay?” How long can someone survive after being shot? Is it minutes, hours, days?
“I have one of our doctors going over there, but he’s already on another scene with someone else. The team will call the paramedics.” His voice sounds so sterile.
I hang my head low and twist my fingers into knots as Kingston hops from the back seat onto my lap.
Once at a traffic light, Joey turns to face me.
His mouth opens and shuts. He reaches across my body into the glove box and pulls out some wipes, then brushes the cool cloth against my cheek, slow and careful.
And for a moment, I feel precious and important.
But he pulls away when the person behind him beeps, going back to his rigid stance. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and he lets out a guttural scream.
I flinch and slide my body closer to the window as Kingston jumps from the front seat into the back.
“Fuck! You were never supposed to see the violence. The family stuff, sure. The luxury and money, absolutely. But never ever the violence.” He slams his fist into the radio, and it starts playing music as we speed away from the city lights into more darkness and the unknown.