52. He’s a Dead Man
52
HE’S A DEAD MAN
AIDAN
R ory watches me like a deer in headlights. Frozen in fear or panic. Torn between staying and fleeing.
I catch her before she can run, pulling her close and caging her in my arms. Ensnaring the fallen Russian angel before the shadows can swallow her again.
I can see on her face she thinks about resisting, but puts up little-to-no fight. And once I have her in my arms, I hold her stiff body tight to me until she relaxes. Her skin is ice, and she trembles lightly against me, soaking wet. Her white bandage dress, sleeveless, offers her little warmth. How long has she been outside? Out here?
And to think I’ve been inside running drill after drill for hours, trying to get this very girl out of my fucking head.
She flinched.
She flinched when I reached for her just now. Blue eyes flashing with fear at my sudden movement. Full of apprehension and panic since I caught her hiding in the shadows. I take advantage of her proximity to further inspect the purple bruise high on her cheek. Her busted lip is out of my current line of sight.
Grinding my teeth, I have to resist the overwhelming urge to hop on my bike and pay the Italian Consigliere a much overdue visit. I need to torture him until blood drips from every inch of skin and he’s no longer able to beg for mercy. I do the next best thing. I offer her my dark promise.
“He’s a dead man.”
Something went down. My strong, defiant little ice princess is a shivering mess of fear and anxiety as she stands before me with uncertainty shining in the gray of her eyes. Uncertain if she can trust me.
Releasing her, I rip off my hoodie and pull it over her head. It’s wet but not yet soaked through. The hem of it falls to her knees. Good. It’ll at least help block the wind.
“Get on.” I swing my leg over my bike, revving it up.
Rory’s slow to follow, still second guessing her decision to run to me.
I pull out my phone and type out a quick message before sliding it back into my pocket. The way we left things earlier this week… the way I threatened her . She must be desperate to come here, to come to me… Still, she climbs on the back of my bike, wrapping her arms around my middle, awakening every nerve through my thin, wet t-shirt.
I do a cursory sweep of the lot. It’s empty, but the way Rory’s eyes keep darting wildly around tells me we need to get off the streets. It’s not like I don’t know she’s supposed to marry the Italian Consigliere tomorrow…
“You ready?” I ask, my hand on the throttle. “If you do this—there’s no going back.” And I’m not talking about her family, or the Italians, for that matter.
“I know.” She tightens her hold on me, her fingers twisting into my t-shirt. I’m hyper aware of every point of contact between us.
“Hold on tight.” Rolling back the throttle, we take off into the night. Rain pelts my face. Normally, I wouldn’t risk putting her on the back of my bike in this weather, but the rink isn’t far from the loft. And something tells me we don’t have any time to waste.
After a few minutes on the road, Rory’s grip relaxes a little, and she rests her head against my back. A wave of unexpected warmth surges through my soaked t-shirt, sending a jolt through my body and quickening my pulse. Despite the way the wind from the storm whips past us, and the darkness chasing her, there’s a calm in the way she’s holding on to me. Her body relaxed against mine. Trust.
When I’m sure we weren’t followed, the parking garage offers a welcome reprieve from the relentless pelting rain and rolls of thunder. We’re both drenched. I don’t bother parking my bike, instead pulling it right up to the curb by the private elevator.
I hold out my hand to help Rory off the bike. The nerves are back. She’s anxious. Trembling fingers meet mine and my eyes catch again on the bruise just under her eye. I have to suppress another surge of rage meant for the man who’s done this to her.
She’s quiet—in shock, maybe. Her blue eyes are glazed over like frost on glass. Once she’s off the bike, instead of letting go of her hand, I lace my fingers through hers and tug her along with me. “C’mon,” I move us toward the elevators. She trails behind me, her fingers closing around mine. A flash of hope in her eyes. Hope that I won’t betray her.
“Ace.” The guard at the desk offers a nod of acknowledgement, his eyes flicking to Rory for half a second before turning the key to unlock the private elevator.
We step inside and Rory attempts to let go of my hand, but I keep hers hostage. My gaze on the doors, watching the lights as the elevator ascends to the top floor.
The doors open up to a very pissed off Koen. His hard gaze lands on me before dropping slowly to Rory. She tries to take a step back, to retreat further into the elevator, but I take this moment to tug her into me, wrapping an arm around her protectively.
I see the moment Koen’s eyes notice her split lip, following it up to the dark mark marring her cheek, her red-rimmed eyes… His gaze softens. We exchange a long look.
“Is that Aidan?” Liam comes around the corner, his phone pressed up against his ear.
The phone in my pocket has been going off nearly non-stop.
“What the fuck?” Liam glares at me, coming to stand beside Koen. “You can’t send out an SOS text and then STOP responding…” He notices Rory at my side for the first time, and his steely expression changes. “Oh, hi, little Kostalova.”
I turn toward her. “Do you remember where my room is?”
Rory nods, looking nervously between my brothers and me. I nudge her forward, to the far hall and the bedrooms. “Go. I’ll meet you there in one minute.”
“Okay,” she answers quietly, letting go of my hand. I resist the urge to pull her back. Watching until she disappears down the darkened hallway before turning my attention to Liam and Koen, who are watching with rapt attention.
“Call Alex.”
“I already did. He’s five minutes out,” Liam confirms.
“Good.” My face twists, the anger I’ve been holding onto finally burning through to the surface. “He doesn’t live to see sunrise.”I stare down both my brothers.
Koen and Liam straighten, their faces serious as they exchange glances.They know exactly who I mean.
A dark smile appears at the corner of Koen’s mouth. “The cars or the bikes?”
“The bikes.” My jaw flexes.
“I want him to hear death coming for him.”