• Four •
“We’ve arrived at the dungeon.”
Briar
Clenching my teeth tightly, I tried not to make a sound as the pain in my shoulder throbbed. Resting my head back on the black leather seat, I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. This wasn’t my biggest problem. It was a minor inconvenience. The fact that I was in an expensive SUV with a member of the Southern Mafia was my real problem. I needed to get fixed up and back to Dovie, then figure out what we were going to do next. We didn’t need to move again so soon. It cost too much money.
“Take me to the hospital,” I told Storm Kingston as he pulled out of the parking lot.
“No,” he replied.
Great. He was going to argue with an injured woman. He really didn’t like me.
“I have good insurance. Just drop me off at the door,” I lied.
“We don’t take this kind of thing to the hospital. We handle it ourselves.”
I inhaled deeply through my nose, wishing I had something to drink. Anything to take the edge off. “I’m sure you all keep it to yourselves, but I’m not one of you. I want to go to a real doctor.”
“Drew is a real doctor. He’s on the board at the hospital you want me to take you to.”
The annoyance in his tone pissed me off. What did he have to be annoyed about? I was the one who had been shot.
I winced, then opened my eyes to look over at him in the driver’s seat. He was so stupid hot; it was unfair. His jawline was chiseled, his lashes too long, his mouth almost too wide; a small scar on his right cheekbone didn’t take away from his looks at all. It only added to the sexiness.
“What if I don’t want to go to the dark dungeons of yours to see a doctor?”
He smirked, but didn’t look over at me. “Then, you should have left when I told you to.”
I sucked in a breath and waited a second for the shooting pain to ease some. This doctor he was determined to take me to had better have some pain meds. If he thought he was going to stitch me up without giving me something first, he was very wrong.
“I’m realizing my mistake,” I replied tightly.
“A little too late for that,” he pointed out, glancing over at me. He frowned then and reached over to open the glove compartment. The silver flask he pulled out had a K engraved on it. “Here. Drink some of this.”
I reached out to take it with my good arm, but when I tried to move my other arm so I could open it, I let out a small cry before I could stop it.
“Fuck,” he muttered, snatching the flask from my hands, opening it up, then handing it back to me.
I took it, watching him closely. Either I was delirious from the pain and blood loss or he was concerned. For me. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he sped up. Huh. Just like I’d expected. Storm wasn’t cold with shut-off emotions. He might kill and torture people, but they weren’t innocent. If they were stupid enough to get mixed up with the Mafia, then they asked for it by pissing them off. Like Jameson.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“Jameson? No. But you’ll need to find a new sugar daddy. He won’t be available any longer,” he said with sarcasm dripping from his words.
“He owed y’all money.”
Storm nodded his head once.
“For someone so successful, he isn’t very smart,” I said, then took a long pull from the whiskey inside the flask.
“Yet you were fucking him.”
The disapproval in his tone should bother me, but like I had already figured out, Storm was basically good. Even in this world he was a part of, he had some morals.
“And you kill people,” I replied, needing to point out his faults too.
He shook his head as a humorless, hard laugh came from his chest. “Not the same. I only kill those who deserve it.”
“It’s still murder. A crime in the eyes of God and the law.”
“Adultery is also a crime in the eyes of God and frowned on by the law.”
The urge to defend myself was so strong that I had to literally bite my tongue to stay quiet. This wasn’t something I needed to be talking about. I’d say the wrong thing and let it slip about Dovie. No one could be trusted with that. Especially a man who clearly had his opinion of me set.
“How much longer?” I asked him, wishing the whiskey were helping the pain.
He turned down a country road I’d never been on before. “Five minutes,” he replied. “Doctor will be there when we arrive. He’s already prepped the room.”
Impressive. “I need a ride home. Does Uber come out this way?” I asked closing my eyes.
“One of us will drive you.”
I shook my head slightly, unable to do more than that. “No. I don’t want y’all knowing where I live.”
A deep rumble in his chest had me snapping my eyes open and looking at him. He glanced at me, then turned his attention back to the road.
“We knew where you lived before we stepped into that bar months ago.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ve moved.”
“Yeah, we know.”
Scowling at him, I couldn’t decide if he was lying or not. “And why is that? Are you stalking me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t give a shit, but King does. He doesn’t trust you, and he’ll likely keep eyes on you for years to make sure your scumbag father is dead.”
They were watching me? Did they know about Dovie? Shit!
“He’s dead. I swear to God.”
Storm shrugged. “I believe you. King normally would trust that, but when it comes to his woman, he isn’t stable. He’s insanely protective of her, and I think, deep down, he wants Roger to be alive so he can be the one to kill him.”
Great. I’d killed a man. Gotten his sorry ass off this planet, and now, I was being stalked by the dang Mafia because of it. I didn’t need that kind of attention on me. On us.
Storm slowed the vehicle and turned right onto a driveway. The large white gothic-style house with a fabulous wraparound porch was lit up inside and out. It reminded me of something from a commercial about summer days, with kids running around in the yard and the perfect mother standing on the porch, smiling with a tray of lemonade and cookies in her hands.
“We’ve arrived at the dungeon,” he said, cutting his eyes at me before opening his door and climbing out.
I started to reach for the door and let out a small, strangled sound. That hurt like a son of a bitch. How was I going to play the guitar? I had to make money somehow. Sure, I had things that Jameson had given me that I could sell, but it wouldn’t be enough, and now, I wasn’t so sure it was all real. Had he bought me knockoffs?
This was a mess, and I needed to text Dovie. It had been well over an hour since I’d checked on her. But I couldn’t even open the freaking door. How was I going to get my phone out of my purse and text?
The door opened then, and Storm held out his hand to me. I stared at it, then lifted my eyes to his face. God, that face. I needed to stop looking at it.
“Take a long drink first,” he suggested, nodding to the flask I’d stuck between my legs to hold it.
I did as he’d said, and the burn from the amber liquid didn’t even compare to the pain in my shoulder. Once I felt the lightheaded sensation, I stopped and held it out to him. When he took it, I inhaled deeply, then decided to make this quick. Like ripping a Band-Aid off.
Sitting up, I swung my legs over and started to get out when I lost my balance. Storm’s arms were around me. A musk, mixed with tobacco, scent met my nose, and I leaned in closer to inhale deeper.
Was this cologne or just him? I wanted a bottle of it.
“Are you trying to fall on your face? I’d have thought someone like you would protect her prized possession a little more than that.”
His words snapped me out of the momentary haze I’d been in from the smell that clung to his body.
Jerking back from him, I straightened and glared at him. “Just take me to the doctor.”
He kept his hand wrapped around my arm as if he needed to steady me. “Gladly. Can you walk without falling?”
“Yes!” I sneered.
He let go of me slowly, as if testing that statement. I motioned with my good arm for him to lead the way. His jaw ticced like he was clenching his teeth before he turned and headed toward the steps leading up to the porch. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would stop and appreciate the flower gardens as we walked past several. Seeing as I was concentrating on keeping myself upright, I didn’t do that.
The front door opened, and a petite, older woman with platinum-blonde hair styled in a short bob stepped outside. The pink apron she wore with white eyelet piping made her appear like the grandmother in one of those commercials I’d imagined earlier.
Where were we?
“Storm Kingston, I know you’re not leaving an injured woman to just walk by herself,” the woman said in a stern voice as she looked at Storm. When her eyes shifted to me, her gaze softened. “Poor thing. We will get you fixed up.” Then, she waved a hand toward me as she glared at Storm. “Get yourself over there and help her. She’s in a mess of pain. Look at how pale that pretty face is.”
Storm sighed as he turned around to me. “Might as well let me help you. She’s not gonna let this go any other way.”
I looked from him back to her. Was this his grandmother? She was too old to be his mother.
“I’m fine,” I explained. “He tried to help me. I told him I didn’t need it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Well, that’s not true. Even a man can see it. At least a smart one like Storm. There is no shame in admitting you need some help,” she said as she walked down the stairs, headed straight for me.
Storm stepped back, letting her pass with an amused grin tugging at his mouth.
“Come now,” she said, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I was several inches taller than her, but the way she held on to me with more strength than I’d expected made her appear as if she could pick me up if needed to, which was silly.
I glanced up at Storm as we passed him, and he continued to look as if this was amusing.
“Briar, meet Maeme. We all do what she says. Might as well accept that she will get her way and go with it.”
“That’s a straight-up lie, and the good Lord knows it. Like right this minute, there are at least two of my boys in the kitchen, eating the cookies I told them not to touch. They don’t listen to nothing. Not one thing.”
Walking up the stairs hurt more than I’d expected, but when we reached the top of them, I caught my breath and tried to breathe through the pulsing ache until it eased into discomfort. Once it did, I looked down at her.
“Boys?” I asked, curious as to who she was to Storm.
She nodded. “Yes, boys. The lot of them.”
“Is Storm your grandson?”
She smiled. “You could say that. They all are even if not by blood. Family isn’t just about blood. A bond is a bond, and family is family. Don’t matter how, just means they are.”
I had no idea what that meant. I didn’t ask for clarification because I felt like I wasn’t supposed to understand it.
“Doc D is gonna fix you right up,” she said.
I began to notice the house we were in. This was lovely. So bright and welcoming. We started to walk toward a hallway, and Storm moved past us to open a door, then stood back. I glanced at him. He was looking at my shoulder. I had not checked it out on purpose. Seeing blood didn’t bother me unless it was mine. Then, I got a little lightheaded. The whiskey had done enough of that.
“Do I need to take her down the stairs?” Storm asked. “I don’t want her falling and taking you with her.”
Maeme huffed. “As if I haven’t helped a bleeding one of you down these stairs before. She don’t weigh even half of you, and I have handled that just fine. But to be safe, go before us in case anything happens. I don’t want her any more hurt than she already is.”
Storm nodded and did as he had been told.
I would not be the reason this nice woman got hurt. Focusing hard on the stairs, I went down them carefully. I couldn’t believe I was in some stranger’s house, going into their basement to get stitched up from a gunshot wound. Part of me kept thinking I was going to wake up at any minute.
“Thatch called. He’s underground with the bastard. We gotta go,” a male voice called from the top of the stairs.
Storm lifted his eyes to look past us. “Go on. I’ll be there shortly.”
“He took a shot at you. You sure you don’t want at him first?” the guy asked.
Storm’s gaze dropped to me. “Wasn’t me he was shooting at.”
I stilled. Wait, had Jameson meant to shoot me? Was that what he was saying?
“Thatch said he was. Didn’t mean to hit her.”
Storm shook his head. “No, he meant to hit her. He thought she was working with us. I saw his eyes before he pulled the gun,” he finished, looking back at the guy behind us.
“Fucker,” the guy muttered.
“Get going, Sebastian. We got this handled here,” Maeme ordered.
Sebastian Shephard. Thatcher’s younger brother. I’d done my own research on the Georgia branch of the Southern Mafia months ago. I was sure I didn’t know who they all were, but the ones who had dated important people or come from wealthy families in the horse racing world were easier to find out about.
We reached the bottom stair, and Maeme held out a hand to Storm. “Come help her into the room. I’m gonna make a quick call.”
Storm moved forward, and a small lift of his eyebrows, as if daring me to argue with Maeme, was the only interaction we had before he wrapped an arm around my waist. That smell was back. God, that was wonderful.