CHAPTER 21 THE PRISONER EXCHANGE #3
Dominic’s men regrouped, their focus shifting to Dario and Evelyn. Dario fired again, but he was running out of ammo. "Now," he said, grabbing Evelyn’s arm. "Go!"
They bolted for the door, bullets whizzing past. One grazed Dario’s leg, but he didn’t slow. Evelyn stumbled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Dario hauled her upright, his grip bruising. "Keep moving."
They burst into the cold night air, the warehouse door slamming shut behind them. Carmine’s van was idling a few yards away, its back doors open. Carmine leaned out, his face grim. "Get in!"
Dario shoved Evelyn into the van, then climbed in after her. Owen was already inside, slumped against the wall. The van sped off before the doors were fully closed, tires screeching against the asphalt.
Evelyn stared at Owen, her chest heaving. "Are you okay?"
He nodded weakly, his eyes unfocused. "Yeah. Thanks to him." He gestured toward Carmine, who was already tending to the graze on his shoulder.
Dario leaned back, his breathing steady despite the blood soaking his pant leg. "Dominic’s going to escalate," he said, his voice calm.
Carmine nodded, wrapping a makeshift bandage around his wound. "He’s already escalating. You think he’ll let this slide?"
"No." Dario’s eyes met Evelyn’s. "But we got what we came for."
She swallowed hard, her fingers still clenched around the pistol. "What happens now?"
Dario didn’t answer. He reached over, gently prying the gun from her hand. "We survive."
The van sped through the darkened streets, the city’s lights flickering past. Evelyn leaned back, her body trembling with adrenaline. Owen groaned softly, his head lolling against the wall. Carmine adjusted the bandage on his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
Dario watched the road, his mind already calculating the next move. Dominic wouldn’t stop. Not after this. But for now, they had Owen. And that was enough.
The van's tires screeched as it swerved around a corner. Owen's breath came in ragged gasps, blood soaking through the makeshift bandages Evelyn had wrapped around his ribs. His fingers twitched against the metal floor, his skin pale as milk under the flickering overhead light.
Dario knelt beside him, pressing a fresh wad of gauze against the wound. "Stay with me, Pryor." His voice held no warmth, only the clipped efficiency of a man measuring seconds. "You bleed out now, I'm billing your estate for the dry cleaning."
Owen choked out a laugh that turned into a wet cough. "Always... a fucking joke with you."
"Not a joke." Dario's fingers probed the edges of the wound, his other hand braced against the van wall as it took another sharp turn. "Your lung's compromised. Evelyn—"
"Working on it." Evelyn snapped open a black medical case, her hands steady as she prepped a syringe. The van hit a pothole; she didn't flinch. "Carmine, hold him down. This isn't going to feel like heaven."
Carmine shifted forward, his knee pinning Owen's thigh. "Try not to scream, kid. Neighbors talk."
Owen's eyes locked on Dario's. "Tell Vincent—"
"Tell him yourself." Dario pulled a switchblade from his coat, flicked it open with a practiced twist of his wrist. The steel gleamed under the dim light as he pressed the flat of the blade against Owen's sternum. "Bite down."
Evelyn didn't hesitate. She drove the needle between Owen's ribs. His back arched off the floor, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as Carmine leaned harder into the hold. Dario's free hand clamped over Owen's mouth, muffling the sound. The van reeked of copper and antiseptic.
Owen's thrashing slowed. His pupils dilated, breath coming in shallow pants. Evelyn wiped her hands on a towel, her face grim. "Pneumothorax stabilized. For now." She jerked her chin at the blade still pressed to Owen's chest. "You planning to carve him open next?"
"Depends." Dario didn't look up. "Kid swallows his tongue, I'll need an airway."
Carmine snorted. "Great bedside manner."
The van braked hard. Dominic Moretti's voice barked from the front seat: "We're here."
Dario pocketed the knife. "Move him." He didn't wait to see if Carmine obeyed, already shoving the rear doors open to a dimly lit warehouse. The concrete floor smelled of bleach and damp. Fresh tire marks cut through the dust near the loading dock—someone had prepped this location in advance.
Vincent Moretti stood near a stainless-steel table, his shirtsleeves rolled up. His gaze tracked their entrance, lingering on Owen's limp form. "Alive?"
"For now," Dario said.
Vincent nodded once. "Good. We need him talking." His attention shifted to Evelyn. "How long before he's coherent?"
She peeled off her gloves. "An hour. Maybe two. That bullet nicked something it shouldn't have."
Dario stepped between them, his voice low. "He's no use to you delirious."
Vincent's smile didn't reach his eyes. "He's no use to me dead, either. Which is why you're going to fix this." A beat. "Personally."
The unspoken weight of the order hung in the air. Dario didn't react, but his fingers flexed once at his sides. Vincent wasn't asking him to play medic—he was demanding Dario guarantee Owen's survival. And they both knew what that meant.
Carmine exhaled through his nose. "Boss—"
"Quiet." Vincent didn't raise his voice. "Dario understands."
Dario met his gaze. Held it. Then turned toward Evelyn. "Get me the black case from the van."
She hesitated. "That's—"
"Now."
The new detail hit Owen's senses as he drifted in and out of consciousness—the sharp, medicinal tang of Dario's gloves as he snapped them on. Not latex. Something heavier. The kind surgeons used when handling toxic materials. Or when working with flesh that might carry consequences.
Dario rolled up his sleeves. "Carmine. Clear the room."
Vincent didn't move. "I stay."
Dario's voice went dangerously soft. "Then you follow my rules. No interruptions. No questions. And when this is done?" He looked up, the overhead light casting shadows under his cheekbones. "You don't ask how I did it."
Vincent considered him. Nodded.
Dario bent over Owen, his shadow swallowing the dim light. The last thing Owen saw before the darkness took him was the glint of something metallic in Dario's hand—not a scalpel. Not a blade. Something that made Evelyn Crane take an involuntary step back.
Then the world went black.