67. Bay
SIXTY-SEVEN
bay
It’s inevitable.
Kicking the back of the asshole’s chair who’s driving isn’t going to do shit-all but piss him off.
Screaming and threatening aren’t going to do it either.
I’m surrounded by two dudes on either side of me, pending my fate in their hands, and my heart hasn’t stopped slamming against my chest since.
And to my irritation, they’re good at what they do.
I didn’t hear them stalking us through the woods. Not one snapped twig. No rustling of bushes or trees alluded someone was behind us.
All I got was a hand over my mouth—he got an elbow in his ribs—but, again, didn’t do a fucking thing.
“Where are we going?” I prompt, not exactly excited for an answer but needing one anyway.
Nothing.
“ Hey !” I slap the back of the headrest behind the driver. “I’m talking to you, asshole.”
“Fuck off,” I hear him mutter, clearly uninterested in my question.
Or my fate.
“Sit back, and shut the hell up,” the guy in the passenger seat drones, stocky build, dark hair, loaded with tattoos that meet his ear—never seen him before.
“I will when you tell me—” He’s quick to move, his massive body leaning over the console as he glowers at me.
“Do you understand the English language? I said shut…the…fuck… up. ”
Dick.
Head.
I glare right back at him, crossing my arms along my chest because the scowl on his face…it’s not the warmest and fuzziest one on the planet.
“I have a right to know,” I mutter. “Tell me…and I’ll shut up.”
“You’re going to see Ramsey.” Then he readjusts himself in his chair and stares out the windshield like he didn’t just tell me one of the two worst scenarios available.
I had an inkling it would be him or Matteo.
I didn’t want to throw all my chips on it yet.
The drive feels like forever when we pull up to an Italian restaurant. It’s closed with no lights on, but the dude driving pulls in the back and parks.
“Downstairs,” he orders, prompting the two guys in the backseat with me to open their doors before the one on my left pulls at my arm.
“I can get out myself ,” I bark, ripping my limb from his grasp as I slide out. “Is this how you get a lady out of a car, dick?”
“Don’t see one.”
Touché.
I take quick note that he’s tall and appears a bit smaller than the guy in the passenger seat when he strides toward the back of the building and opens a brown door.
“C’mon,” he prompts with his hand, already eager to get rid of me. “We don’t have all day—” I spin on my heels to book it out of here, but I immediately slam into a hard body and stumble back.
“Boo,” the dickhead emits impassively, irking the hell out of me because it’s the guy who just bitched at me in the passenger seat.
“You’re quick for a big motherfucker,” I grind out. “Mind moving?”
He gazes down at me like I’m an annoying fly that won’t buzz off. “You mind reading the room? You’re not getting out of here, princess.”
“Ah,” I digress with a smirk. “See, you don’t know me that well.”
“Don’t want to.” He slices his focus over me and jerks his head. “Come get her before I break something.”
I tsk, but I’m tapped on the shoulder within seconds, causing me to turn around and find the asshole who tried dragging me out of the SUV.
“Move.”
I don’t have a damn choice, and I know that.
However, it still doesn’t get my feet to move.
“If you don’t get inside that building,” the guys behind me warns, “I’ll throw your ass down those stairs myself.”
I’m not looking to take that bet, so I round the guy in front of me and begin for the building. Meanwhile, the hairs on my arm stand on end. The voice in my head saying I might not come out of this alive and this might be the last time I’m outside.
Fuck this.
“Boys,” I coo, spinning around on my heels. “I could pay you to—” The smaller guy points at the door.
“ Now .”
Sheesh.
“Carry her,” the bigger one orders, influencing me to take another step away to keep their hands off me.
“We can talk about this,” I hedge. “He’s really not what he’s all cracked up to be.”
“I know,” the smaller guy says matter-of-factly before erasing the space between us and only giving me two options—I either move myself or he does it for me.
Without much of a choice, I grab the knob and rip the thing open, making it known I’m really not down for this.
A pair of stairs appears on my left, and I assume these were the ones mentioned before.
“Go on.”
Fuck me and not in a good way.
Hesitantly, I trudge down the first step. Then the second. All while my anxiety spikes to record heights.
This is such bullshit.
I’m not going to die here.
I refuse.
I won’t manifest this shit.
When I get to the bottom, the air is damp and colder. I freeze before getting shoved forward by the only two assholes it could’ve been.
“Don’t have all fuckin’ day.”
“I do,” I emit with some grit, then get pushed again.
The basement is nothing special.
Jagged stone walls, cement floors, and a bunch of wooden crates.
In the basement of a restaurant.
I’ve seen wooden crates at the ports, and they always have guns or drugs.
Huh.
“This way.”
The skinnier guy moves in front of me, leading the way to wherever, but I steal a glimpse over my shoulder to locate the big asshole who’s been in my way every time I’m looking to make like a tree and leave.
He quirks a knowing brow. “Going somewhere?”
Absolutely not.
Yet, it’s extremely difficult to follow the other dude because of all the warning flags in my head.
Levi must be beside himself.
Reeve is definitely freaking out.
They’re not going to find me. You’re on your own.
I’m jostled forward again and, if this guy touches me one more time, I’m going to lose my entire shit.
“Princess, if I have to tell you one more time.”
I glance up at the guy leading, stopped at a brown door. Passing shelves and more crates, I suddenly hear what sounds like a garage door opening. An outdoor breeze rolls through, alluding something has opened before I hear the shouts of several men.
“Load up! This needs to move tonight.”
“Make sure you have your phones on at all times, motherfuckers! We want updates on all movement or problems.”
Oh, it’s for sure illegal shit.
A large hand latches around the back of my neck, forcing me to my latest destination before I’m placed by the door frame. Inside is a small, dirty room full of old filing cabinets and chairs.
“Tie her fuckin’ ass up?—”
The words of the man behind me get cut off when the other dude is abruptly hit by the door he’s standing in front of.
He stumbles forward before another body appears out of nowhere and jerks him inside the room.
A pained grunt sounds before the clatter of shit falling to the floor trails behind it.
The big guy behind me thrusts past, getting inside just to receive a punch in the face.
It’s a brawl.
Whoever has been locked up in that room is fed up and has been biding their time for the perfect opportunity to strike.
What the hell is this?
“Boris!” one of the men yells out. “Get the fuck in here!”
Shit.
I’m about to take my shot and get the hell out of here when I connect with dark blue eyes and fury that suddenly shows up in my line of sight.
“ Go .”
Ozzy.
I stare at him—completely off-kilter by him being here, how he got here, what the hell is even happening—but I’m not going to leave him here.
“C’mon,” I quickly urge, reaching out for him. “We need to?—”
He lifts his left arm, revealing heavy chains, before he cocks back with his foot and lands a kick to one of the guys now on the floor.
Then he’s linebacked and disappears out of my sight.
“ Oz .”
I forge inside the room, stepping over the leg of the smaller guy because, of course, it’d be the big-ass one who didn’t go down.
He has Ozzy pinned against the wall with his forearm, and I jump him.
With my arm wrapped tightly around the dude’s throat, I use all my weight and allow my feet to dangle to choke him out.
He staggers back a bit, giving up a bit on Ozzy’s throat while my husband delivers a blow to his gut.
The man vigorously whips left and right to get me off him, but he’s no match to my positioning and how he’s about to go down.
“Go on,” Ozzy orders, delivering another punch to the guy’s jaw. “Let go.”
My face scrunches because…he’s my husband.
He’s protected me.
He’s been there.
I’m not going to abandon him.
“Boris!” the man chokes out again. “In here!”
“Where are the keys to the chains, asshole?” I grind out through clenched teeth, tightening my hold on the guy.
He answers by pivoting and slamming my spine into a metal filing cabinet.
Ouch.
I grapple a bit with my hold, getting some of his hair between my fingers and yanking at anything I can. “Listen, prick. I will choke you out. Where ?”
“ Bay ,” I hear Ozzy prompt. “Get out.”
Never going to happen.
Not in this lifetime or the next am I going to desert Ozzy in the basement of a fucking Italian restaurant.
Leaning forward—well, trying to—I attempt to get closer to this asshole’s ear. “Ten seconds,” I warn. “And then we’re going to see how long it takes me to bring your big ass down.”
He bows forward suddenly, sending my body toppling over his head and losing my grip.
The fucker is huge, and I’m about to fall face-first into the cement when I’m caught by Ozzy’s tight grasp.
He quickly gets me to my feet before he shakes me once to get his point across. “ Go .”
“ No ,” I counter immediately with furrowed brows. “I’m not leaving you, Oz.”
“Fuck off .”
Huh.
That still doesn’t work.
He should’ve started with that, and maybe—just maybe —it would’ve sparked a brain cell to heed his order.
It doesn’t happen, though.
Probably wouldn’t have happened with the fuck off either, but hey, he tried. Good for him.
I’m suddenly seized by the back of the neck like a baby cub and mercilessly yanked backward, falling to my ass when the grip releases and permits me to fall.
I grunt at the impact before someone mimics it right after mine.
Snapping my head up, Ozzy’s already delivered a punch to the big dude but ol’ boy counters one right back.
Then…my husband does some crazy ass shit.
Where he got a fucking pen is beyond me, but he thrusts the thing into the big dude’s shoulder. The room fills with a violent roar that sprints viciously up my spine in warning shit’s about to get real .
He lunges for Oz, shoving him backward but not before my husband yanks the writing utensil out of the big guy’s muscle.
Ozzy’s spine hits the drywall, but he’s quick to counteract. Pressing onward, he drives the pen forward.
However, the guy blocks his shot and contributes to the fight, clobbering Ozzy in the ribs before attempting to headbutt and gain some of the upper hand.
But his efforts are void when Oz dodges and shoves him.
Getting to my feet to help, it’s at that moment a swarm of men come in, and the party’s over.
I’m almost instantly held back by two dickheads, and Ozzy is subdued after he stabs a second dude with the writing utensil and that guy doesn’t take it as well.
Too bad.
“Where is he ?” Passenger seat asshole storms in for his men, pissed off and in pain.
“On the way,” another answers simply.
“Lock these two fuckers in here.” He begins for the door and doesn’t spare us another glance. “Get ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ozzy is released, but the pen is taken away, and he looks as though someone stole his favorite toy, and he’s already plotting revenge.
The men file out, slamming the door behind them, followed by a daunting click of a lock.
I would say I’m anxious as hell, but with Ozzy in the room, I don’t feel so lost and alone.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, still staring at the door and wondering when they’re going to come back. “How did you?—”
The first thing I notice is my head snapping back before I register fingers laced through my hair.
A large palm cradles the back of my skull before I’m realigned with Ozzy’s dark blue eyes and a glare that puts Torin’s and Cairo’s to shame.
“I said leave ,” he clips out as a muscle tics once along his jawline. However, I can’t seem to be a bit regretful of what I’ve already done and decided to do.
“I wasn’t leaving you,” I mutter softly, receiving a tighter tug along the roots of my hair. “And that’s final, Oz.”
“I asked .”
“I answered.”
His nostrils flare, and poor thing, he’s really not used to me like that.
I almost feel sorry.
“If you haven’t caught on,” I manage, trying not to wince at the flinching of his fingers only tugging more of my hair, “I don’t take orders very well. And I don’t leave people I like behind.”
He doesn’t respond.
His breathing is erratic.
His chest falls and heaves in short, uneven breaths as he continues to hold me like he’s always held me with no problem.
But he hasn’t.
Only the one time when he carried me.
Every other time, it’s been short and innocent brushes and palm kisses.
Nothing like this.
And I can’t say I don’t like it.
I also can’t truthfully acknowledge I’m not enjoying it either, despite where we are and what we’re about to face.
“There’s no me,” I say simply. “Without you. We’re a team?—”
“We’re not ,” he shoots back. “We’re not a team .”
Two sentences.
We’re getting somewhere.
“We’re married.”
“So?”
Mindlessly, one of my eyebrows quirks, but I’m not offended.
Shit, I didn’t even want to be married, let alone with a guy I didn’t know with the number of what-ifs and problems I had.
Yet, this guy—this silent mystery of a man who is covered in ink with the eyes that could steal souls—is mine.
And I’m never letting that shit go.
“That means we’re in this together ,” I vouch, pulling my chin down so, even though it hurts, I’m showing off that nothing he’s going to do is going to change that. Even pain. “Got that, husband? ”
I expect the same glower to paint his face—it does.
I also expect the grip on my locks to remain exactly as it is—which it does.
Nonetheless, I don’t expect the next words out of his mouth to clutch my gut or to send a turbulent shiver down my spine when he says, “Then get on your knees, wife .”