35. Hendrix #4
My eyes widen, then I slap a hand on the back pocket of my jeans, cursing everyone plus their mothers when I find it iPhone free.
And my shoulders…Saint’s Letterman free.
They both must’ve fallen off during the shuffle.
“ Mannaggia !” I rip a “damn it!” out of Carlo’s passport book, knowing Saint is going to lose his ever loving mind over me not listening and following him back to the private room.
“We have got to stop meeting like this.” A feminine chuckle comes from behind me, and when my head darts up I find Leerie, the girl from the Macy’s dressing room, almost as disheveled as me.
“What the?” I swing around, gaping at her. “When the hell did you get in here?”
“Probably thirty seconds before you did. Barely made it out alive.”
“Yeah, well, you look a lot better than me.”
She cringes. “Looks pretty gnarly.”
Way to twist the damn knife.
Leerie’s heels clank against the tile as she makes her way to the sink next to me. “Were the boys fighting over you?” she jokes as she washes her hands, revealing that subtle accent I can’t quite make out.
The joke is hilarious for so many dry reasons, until I remember the weird feeling I got the last time she started asking questions.
Same store?
Same club?
Same bathroom?
Yeah, I mean, Manhattan is a small island, and LACE is popular, but after the creepy dude I spotted watching me? I’d be a full-fledged idiot not to be on guard with anyone outside a mobster or a Royal Heathen.
Even a girl who was clearly knocked around like me.
When silence befalls us long enough to thicken the air, Leerie sucks in a dramatic breath. “Well, I’m gonna attempt an escape before the cops show up.” She drops a paper towel in the garbage pail. “Shall we do it together? Strength in numbers?”
We. Shall. Not. Leerie. I’d rather take my chances here than out there with the stampede and creeper possibly lurking around.
“Yeah, I’m gonna hang tight and wait for my…” The words trail off, once again feeling like I should shut my damn trap.
“Boyfriend, huh?” She grins a cheshire grin. “A new one or old one?”
This girl, man. Abrasive and intuitive.
“Good guess.”
“New or old?”
“Why do you wanna know?” I ask, a little sharper than I intended, but Leerie doesn’t seem to mind.
Instead, she shrugs, her eyes drinking me up and down. “Shooting my shot, I guess.”
Okay…so she is into chicks.
Or maybe just stalking them.
Another terrible reason to go anywhere with her, Hendrix.
Damn, conscience, at least give me a little credit.
“I’m flattered, but I’m straight, and obviously taken.”
“Alright, alright.” She holds up her hands, still working the playfulness on her way to the door. “I’ll take the hint and go.”
“No offense.”
“None taken.” Leerie hikes another Louie over her shoulder, winking as she says, “I was born with thick skin.”
In that, we do share something.
“Pretty clear skin too…I’m jealous,” I tell her, trying to ease the tension only I seem to be privy of.
“Ice baths, girl. You should totally try it.”
Water. Ice. Frostbite.
Yeah…hard pass.
“Maybe I will,” I lie, just needing her to get the fuck out so I can get the fuck out to find my guys.
With another wink thrown my way, Leerie pulls open the door, halfway into the emptying hall when she says, “See you around, Hendrix Montgomery.”
Thanks to my busted lip leaking again, I spend about five more minutes stowed away in the bathroom with a paper towel pressed against it, hoping the pressure will eventually do its job and stop it from bleeding.
It works, kind of, but I no longer have the patience to argue with my blood and its inability to clot.
Pulling the door open, I take a quick peek into the hall, not willing to enter until I’m convinced the stampede has come to an end. It has, with only a couple stragglers rushing to the exit and others still on the dance floor. Since apparently…a fight doesn’t call for shutting off the music.
“Carlo! Saint!” I yell, in hopes one of them will pop out of thin air.
They don’t, but what does? The worry of cops showing up.
I was contemplating returning to the dance floor to find my guys, but with Five-O potentially on their way? The last thing I need is to get locked up when I don’t actually deserve to.
So, like my ass is on fire, I make my way to the exit and am barely five steps away when someone whips the door open.
My blood runs ice cold when I realize who’s darkening the doorway.
The creepy guy watching me earlier.
But his features are a lot more readable now, none of which are helping the crippling dread.
A mountain of a man, with dark, menacing eyes and a scruffy jaw. He’s got a black bomber jacket zipped tight over his front, black jeans, one hand in his pocket hiding fuck knows what.
On instinct I reach for my bag to pull out my stun gun, but curse my damn laziness when I remember Carlo has it.
The guy’s smile is nothing short of sinister as he peers down at me, stepping closer to allow the door to click closed behind him.
For a long moment, shock holds me completely immobile, the only part of my body working being my throat as I swallow hard.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” I demand, fingers curling into fists just in case.
Yes, I’m aware I wouldn’t stand a chance against this guy, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go down fighting regardless.
No answer.
At least not in the form of words.
The guy reaches out abruptly and snatches my arm, dragging me out the door and into a dark alleyway as I scream for help. Of course with my luck nobody is out here, probably because most were on drugs and had the same suspicions as me about the cops.
The one damn time Carlo isn’t stuck at my hip.
He keeps pulling me, but this time toward a black van he’s got waiting for us in the shadows.
Oh my God.
This man is going to kidnap me.
Real deal shove into a van, blindfolded, then kill you kinda kidnapping.
The fuck he is, Montgomery! Pull your shit together.
Fight or flight kicks in, and I dig my heels into the concrete, thrashing in his arms like a bloodthirsty shark on the way to the van. All while scratching, pulling, and slapping any part of his body in an attempt to subdue him.
It slows us, but doesn’t stop us, and now that we’re at the side of the van, I’m left with one hail mary before he gets me inside.
The way the asshole is huffing, puffing, and cursing makes it pretty clear he did not expect the fight he’s getting, something I plan to use to my full advantage in three, two, one …
He hauls me up to toss me feet first into the van, but only makes it halfway when I jam my feet against the bottom of it, using every aching muscle to kick off.
It works, and in seconds we’re flying back first onto the ground.
I’m jolted, but thanks to dickhead cushioning the fall, it’s not enough to stop me from rolling off him and jumping to my feet.
Then…I’m running.
So fast I don’t see the pothole in front of me until I’m tripping over it, careening to the ground with a heavy thud. My jeans rip on impact, along with the skin on my knees.
“Fucking, fuck!” I curse, rising on wobbly legs, ignoring the burning pain as I take off again.
I dodge dumpsters, rats, even jump over a damn cat, all in an attempt to make it to freedom.
A.K.A. the loud, busy ass street.
Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I find the guy moving in fast, something that wouldn’t be happening if this damn city fixed potholes like they’re supposed to.
“Someone help, please!” I belt out a cry when his footsteps grow louder, louder, until they’re deafening, and I’m convinced for sure my efforts were for nothing.
Please, please, please, feet. Don’t fail me now.
Lights from the street are about four car lengths away, but four cars too many compared to the man I feel closing in behind me.
The truth hits me hard at this moment:
Telling me I’m about to get taken. Most likely killed.
Never see the people I love ever again.
Never see him again.
Defeat appears as a sob ripping past my throat, the only fight left in me is to keep running and brace for impact.
But…the impact never comes.
At least not for me.
The loud thud of a body hitting the ground has an already horrified me jumping out of my skin and into the nearest brick wall, rolling to a stop along it.
I whip around, finding my assailant half hidden behind the side of a dumpster, with a maniacal Saint raining down hell on what I can only assume is his face.
“Saint!” I call out, my feet moving on their own accord to get to him, but I’m stopped by the sound of a masculine voice hissing from my right.
“ Signorina !”
Carlo.
I run over to where he’s hiding in the shadows, my heart leaping out of my chest for, I don’t know, like the millionth time tonight.
But at least now it’s for the best of reasons.
The second I collide with Carlo my arms fling around his neck, breathing in his musky scent and squeezing so hard I’m sure to be cutting off oxygen.
He backs us up into the darkness of the shadows.
“It’s okay, signorina . You’re okay…”
“I-I don’t know what happened…that guy came out of nowhere and tried to kidnap me. Why?”
“Shhhhhhhh…” he lulls me, rubbing soothing circles along my back, even though his heart is beating almost as fast as mine. “It’s all- eh gonna be…A-Okay.”
I breathe a chuckle of relief. “Hey, I taught you that.”
He chuckles too, but it’s muddled with grief. “ Mi dispiace, signorina . I’m- eh so sorry.”
“You do not have to apologize, Carlo. This isn’t your fault.”
Whether he understands me or not, he chooses silence.
The complete opposite of Saint as he bashes my would-be kidnapper’s skull repeatedly into the ground.
I demand Carlo to step in, but he shakes his head, telling me it’s more important for him to get me out of here.
“Saint will kill that guy.”
Or at least the other him will.
Carlo shrugs, like it wouldn’t matter to him either way.
Ugh. Why do homicidal men have to be so damn stubborn?
Guess I’m taking matters into my own hands.
Without warning, I march out of the shadows and over to Saint, who’s got a whole lot of blood, but a dangerously low amount of expression left on his face.
“Hey, Letterman,” I gently call out, and although the bashing stops, Saint doesn’t so much as blink my way.
Or even blink at all.
Shit.
Carlo reaches my side, eyes widening as he takes in the bloody man and vacant boyfriend staring down at him like a predator slowly tilting his head. “ Signorina …” he mutters, and I can tell the unease in his voice has nothing to do with the former.
Carlo may have seen Saint’s nasty side, but he sure as hell has never seen his Vicious side.
In an attempt to de-escalate the situation, I lower myself slowly, hoping some eye-to-eye with Saint will help keep him with me.
I’m halfway to my haunches when Carlo snatches me upright by my pained arms, making me wince—and Saint’s lack of response is all the confirmation of how far gone he either is or is about to be.
I shrug Carlo off me, ordering him to stand down and let me deal with Saint. “He won’t hurt me,” I reassure him, the fact undeniable no matter which version I’m about to face.
This time when I kneel down, Carlo’s at my side gun in hand, but doesn’t try to stop me.
“Hey,” I call out to Saint again, debating on using the catch phrase I’ve heard Theory use before, but for some reason it doesn’t feel right. So, like the last time I watched Saint losing himself in his dorm room, I reach out my hand inch by inch until I’m covering his.
It’s shaking, wet, and clenched so tight his knuckles stab my palm.
Damn it, Letterman, come back to me, I internally beg, but stay silent caressing him with my thumb.
During what feels like an endless amount of erratic heartbeats, I remain this way, and just like I knew Saint would, he finally blinks out of the stupor. Then…darts his head to me.
“Jimi...” He shoots to his feet, rounding the guy he’s beaten.
And Carlo, with a cautious eye, steps out of the way so Saint can help me up. “You’re hurt.” His nostrils flare as he looks me over. “This motherfucker hurt you.”
“I’m fine, Saint. They’re mild cuts and bruises.”
He turns a fiery gaze on Carlo, then steps to him. “How the fuck could you let this happen?”
Carlo raises his gun in defense, but I can see guilt in the anger twisting his face.
“It wasn’t his fault!” I jump in front of him, and Carlo immediately lowers the weapon. “He was protecting me, but we were up against too many people.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Saint seethes. “Then he should’ve started shooting motherfuckers.”
Exactly why I knew I couldn’t tell Saint about the guy.
“You know he couldn’t do that…they were innocent people.”
A sound escapes him, bone deep cold. “And I would’ve blown the heads off each and every one of them if it meant protecting you.”
Stirring sounds from my assailant behind us, reminding me cops may be swarming the club. Granted, there’re no sirens or lights, but still. Not a chance I’m willing to take with any of us.
Both my guys hover over him as he groans, putting his hands up. “Please…don’t. I can explain everything.”
For some reason the offer has them looking between each other, a silent agreement taking place before Saint steps on the guy’s mouth.
Then, I watch as Carlo reaches into his pocket, pulling out something shaped like a cylinder.
What the?
The guy attempts to pry Saint’s sneaker off him as Carlo twists the object over the muzzle of his gun.
That’s when it hits me.
Holy shit.
“Jimi, turn around. Now ,” Saint orders, but I’m rendered frozen as the man who tried to kidnap me squeals and thrashes under his sneaker.
“Jimi…” Saint repeats, with a bleak warning as Carlo points the weapon.
But still, I can’t find it in me to look away.
Not even when two silent shots are fired into the guy’s head.