Chapter Twenty One, Long Ride
The car was silent. I sat stiffly, my hands bound in front of me, the coarse rope digging into my wrists.
My arms rested on my knees, my fingers twitching uselessly.
Atlas was beside me, his expression hard as stone, his sharp eyes locked on the rearview mirror where Danika’s gaze occasionally flicked back at him.
We’d been driving for at least forty minutes, maybe an hour.
The dark forest around us had given way to stretches of barren fields and lonely stretches of road.
The occasional streetlight cast fleeting illumination through the car windows, catching the tense lines of Atlas’ jaw, the faint gleam of Danika’s calculating eyes, and the vague outline of my own reflection, looking as grim as I felt.
Danika was calm, eerily so. She drove as if this were just another casual errand—a quick run to the store instead of transporting two prisoners to some unknown location. Her demeanor made my skin crawl.
She reminded me of Atlas, but not in the way I thought she would. It was more like I could see every facet of their matching souls, and the parts that he had worked to save. To turn around and use for good, not evil.
I could see just how hard he’d worked to make himself some semblance of a human after his escape from The Company’s torrid clutches.
My thoughts churned, replaying the conversation that had passed between her and Atlas earlier. Where she had explained in great detail just how much my father had paid to have her come and slaughter me and those I cared for. She’d said it so casually, like it was no big deal.
She said I was lucky that she had come for me. That it was she who accepted the contract. Not a faceless Company merc. Because she had been nice enough to let me have one last summer.
Lucky.
The word felt like a slap in the face. Lucky would’ve been not having my own father hire a team of monsters to track me down and put a bullet in my head. Lucky would have meant not being born into a family that thrived on power, violence, and betrayal.
Instead, I got Giorgio De Luca—a man who saw his children not as people to love or protect, but as pawns to manipulate, weapons to wield, or liabilities to dispose of.
The anger in my chest burned hotter with every passing mile. I stared at my bound hands, the frayed edges of the rope tight enough that I couldn’t escape. I clenched my fists, trying to channel the rage somewhere, anywhere, other than the tight space of the car.
I felt like this was my fault. It was my choice to ask Atlas not to kill my father. My choice to ask him to try things slowly. Sure, I’d done it out of love. I hadn’t wanted my siblings or mama to get caught in the crosshairs and pay for if we slipped up. But now… now it was almost too late.
Heather was alone in the wilderness. I was tied in the back of a hitwoman’s car, one who not only had a wage to kill me, but hated Atlas.
I knew what a sadist looked like, and I had no doubts Danika was one. The only question was to what end.
Atlas shifted beside me, his focus unwavering as he continued to stare down Danika through the mirror. His silence was heavy, but I could feel the storm brewing beneath it. I knew he would be thinking a thousand different thoughts, and eventually land on something that would fix our situation.
But me? I didn’t have that kind of patience when I was filled with regret and frustration at not letting him do what he did best all those months ago that he first asked.
I gritted my teeth, my gaze shifting to the passing scenery outside the window, wondering where the hell she was taking us.
To some safehouse? A warehouse? Somewhere my father would show up, smug and cruel, ready to finish what he started when he hired Danika?
Or would she not want to tell him I wasn’t dead? What was her plan now?
Did she even have one? Or was this just a fun thing that she made up on the spot?
My stomach twisted at the thought of facing him again. The man who should’ve been my protector, my guide, my role model. Instead, he’d been the source of nearly every wound, every scar, every moment of doubt that had shaped me into the person I was.
And now, here I was, tied up in the backseat of a car, being transported like cargo because he decided I wasn’t worth keeping alive anymore.
I wanted to gouge his eyes out. Tear his blackened heart from his chest. Maybe twist a blade in his gut until he squealed like a pig.
I wanted to treat him like he had Missy. A bullet in his head. Left to rot.
My jaw tightened, the anger giving way to a bitter sense of resignation.
This was the hand I’d been dealt, wasn’t it?
The great Giovanni De Luca, eldest son of his family line, first in line to inherit a legacy I’d never wanted.
A legacy I’d tried to leave behind the moment Heather kidnapped me and dragged me out of that world.
Heather.
The thought of her sent another pang of something sharp through my chest. She was safe.
At least, I hoped she was. Danika had said she wasn’t interested in her, but could I really trust that?
Could I trust anything that came out of this woman’s mouth?
Especially when she had said it was because Heather was beautiful, and sweet, and had morals unlike Atlas.
All things I either wondered how she knew, didn’t think was reason enough.
But Atlas said she was a woman of her word, and that our girl was fine. I trusted him. But what if he was wrong? What if Danika had changed since he knew her?
I glanced at him, searching his face for some hint of what he was thinking. But he was unreadable, his icy eyes still locked on Danika. A part of me envied that focus, that certainty. Most of me was glad I didn’t know the bitch who suddenly turned to face me.
If she’d been my friend once, it probably would have hurt worse that she was here.
“You’re quiet back there, De Luca. Has a kitty got your tongue?” Her voice broke through the silence, sharp and mocking.
I didn’t answer, and not just because Atlas delicately shook his head, telling me not to say a word.
“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” she pressed. “Not used to someone getting the better of you? Or desperate for a cry, now that you know your daddy thinks you’re only worth five million dollars to him?” She snickered.
Atlas shifted, his knuckles tightening against his thigh, but he stayed silent.
I bit back the retort bubbling in my throat, forcing myself to focus on the anger instead of letting her needle me further. She wanted a reaction, and I wasn’t about to give it to her.
Instead, I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment.
The engine’s hum filled my ears, a monotonous rhythm that did nothing to soothe the chaos in my head for the minutes that passed, until the car slowed abruptly, jerking me forward against the seatbelt.
I braced myself, blinking groggily now that the blur of trees and empty highway had faded into something else—a lone gas station sitting like a ghost in the middle of nowhere.
Its ‘FAST SERVICE’ sign buzzed weakly, the neon letters casting a hazy red glow against the soft orange of the early morning sky.
The station looked like a relic from another time.
Rounded pumps painted a fading cherry red stood under the awning, their hoses dangling lifelessly.
The building itself was small, rectangular, and bright in a way that felt wrong—too clean for how desolate the surrounding area was.
A single vintage logo was mounted above the roofline, rust flaking off the edges.
It looked like a good place to murder someone.
A place to leave a body. Or two.
Danika pulled the car up to the nearest pump and threw it into park, the engine cutting off with a grumbling cough.
I shifted in my seat, flexing my wrists against the lingering ache of the ropes. Before I could ask, Danika turned in her seat, a knife already in hand. In one swift motion, she leaned across Atlas to reach me, her blade slicing through the remnants of the cord.
“You,” she said, jerking her chin toward the station. “Out. Stretch your legs. Get a snack. Whatever you need to do.”
Her tone was clipped, businesslike, but there was something mocking underneath it. Like this was all part of some sick game she was playing, and I was the pawn who didn’t know the rules.
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Did I stutter?” She tossed a crumpled wad of cash into my lap, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Go on. But don’t make me regret it.” She yawned.
“Oh, and if you try anything funny, I left Yakov stationed at your cabin. He would make your girl suffer with ease. And we both know it would be a shame to waste all that.” She moved her hands to her chest, making a vulgar gesture that made Atlas scowl and her laugh harder.
I hesitated to get out, my body tense as I weighed my options.
My first instinct was to fight, to grab her gun or that damn knife and end this right here.
But one look at her—the cold amusement in her eyes, the lazy way she leaned back with her weapon still in hand—told me exactly how that would end.
I wasn’t risking Heather’s life. Not for anything.
Begrudgingly, I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid out of the car. The early morning air hit me like a slap, cool and crisp after the stale confinement of the vehicle. I rubbed my wrists absently, trying to ease the soreness, and glanced back at Danika.
“Hurry up, pretty boy,” she called after me, leaning casually against the car door.
Her gun rested loosely in her hand, her fingers curling around the grip with the ease of someone who could shoot me without a second thought.
“I don’t have all day, and Yakov loves pointy things.
He’d be eager for any excuse to shove ‘em into your bundle of sunshine and make her squeal.”
I glared at her, but kept my mouth shut.
The fluorescent lights above the gas station hummed faintly as I approached, the glass doors smeared with fingerprints and streaks of grime. A small plastic bell jingled when I pushed them open, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent building.
Inside, the station was just as tired as the exterior.
Rows of wire shelves were stocked with dusty bags of chips, faded candy wrappers, and drinks that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years.
A lone attendant sat behind the counter, his head bowed over a crossword puzzle.
Clearly a man after my own heart. But he didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge me at all.
The smell of stale coffee and cheap cleaning products hit me as I got a couple of random sandwiches, then wandered toward the snack aisle.
I grabbed a protein bar for myself and a bag of pretzels for Atlas, my fingers lingering over a shelf of sour candies as I wondered if he would be in the mood for them.
Or if they would just remind him of Heather.
It was as I thought of our girl that I saw it—a small display near the end of the aisle, stocked with lighters, matches, and travel-size tubes of lighter fluid.
After a single glance out of the window, making sure Danika was distracted by whatever Atlas was saying to her, I hurried with my plan. I reached for a pack of matches and a tube of lighter fluid, sliding them between the snacks in my arms.
My eyes flicked to the attendant. Still hunched over his crossword. Good.
I paid quickly, the crumpled bills from Danika’s stash barely covering the cost. The attendant mumbled something that might have been ‘Have a nice day,’ but I didn’t respond. Instead, I made a beeline for the bathroom, pushing open the creaky door and locking it behind me.
The space was small and grimy, lit by a single flickering bulb that cast uneven shadows across the cracked tiles. The mirror above the sink was streaked with dirt; its frame rusted at the edges. I set the snacks and drinks on the sink and stared at my reflection.
I looked… rough.
Dark hair, messy and hanging into my eyes.
A smear of dirt on my jaw from god-knows-where.
The dark circles under my eyes had turned into permanent fixtures, and my shirt was rumpled and sweat-stained from sitting in Danika’s car.
I didn’t look like myself—not the version of me I’d been before all this started.
But my eyes…
They still burned. They still looked like Reaper’s eyes. The ones that had been hiding for all the months I’d hidden away with my girl, living the life I ached for.
The eyes of a man who did anything to get what he wanted.
My fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as I leaned forward. Taking a moment to think through my decision before I tucked the matches and lighter fluid into my waistband, the small items pressed cold against my skin.
I was going to kill my father. The minute we got away from Danika. Regardless of if one of us killed her, or if she chose to let us go.
Either way, my father was going to die today. I had to do it.
I had to do what I should have done years ago.
I was going to kill him. The consequences could come. I would handle them.
The bell above the gas station’s door jangled again as I stepped outside a moment later.
The sky had lightened considerably, a soft gradient of orange and pink spreading across the horizon.
The air was cool but carried a faint promise of the day’s heat.
In my head, all I could hear was my girl’s voice, complaining about her lack of tan or how she couldn’t wrap herself in a blanket.
All I heard was her telling me to stop being a bitch and come home.
To fight off the bad guys and come back to her.
Wherever Danika was taking us, whatever twisted game she thought she was playing—I’d find a way out of it. For Heather. For Atlas. For myself.
And when this was done?
Giorgio De Luca would regret ever thinking he could get rid of me.
He would regret the day he first handed me a gun and ordered me to become a monster.