Chapter 2 #3
The back door crashes open, wood splinters flying before I can take a single step back towards the stairway.
I’m running even as it shatters. My body is moving on impulse and ten years of defensive training with Jay.
I round the corner into the kitchen just in time to see three large men, dressed in dark clothing, moving in perfect synchronicity, force their way through the doorway.
Held between two of them with his arms wrenched behind his back is Jay.
His lip is split open and bleeding, a bruise forming on his cheek already, but his eyes are on alert, fury evident in them. He fixes his gaze on me with an expression that screams at me to run. Instead, I freeze for a split second, my mind racing.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” one of the men says, a hulking figure of a brute with a shaved head and tattoos crawling up his neck from beneath his shirt.
He’s grinning at me like this is all just a game.
“Looks like we found another one. Bonjourno tesoro. Why don’t you come here nice and easy? We just want to talk.”
He moves toward me, reaching for me, his hand extended palm upward as if he simply expects me to comply with his request.
Ten years of fear, ten years of training to be able to defend myself in this exact situation, ten years of promising myself I’d never be helpless again, all of it collides in a single moment of clarity.
I move just like Jay has taught me. Like a viper striking, quick and smart.
My hand snaps out, catching his meaty wrist, its girth barely fitting between my fingers.
Using his momentum against him, I pivot, shifting my weight and sending him flying.
His massive body crashes into the floor with a thud strong enough to rattle the cabinet doors.
For one intense and glorious second, I feel utterly invincible. I did it, I think with relief. I’m not that terrified, incapable sixteen-year-old girl anymore. I’m —
My silent victory is cut off by the cold press of something metallic against the back of my head, shattering my moment of bravery.
I’d know that feeling anywhere. It’s a gun. Someone has a gun pointed at my skull.
“Don’t test my patience, dolcezza.” The voice is low, smooth, rich like liquid chocolate laced with amusement and something far darker. “Turn around. Slowly.”
Every muscle in my body locks into place all at once. The man that I’d thrown on the ground slowly gets up, an amused look cast across his face.
Slowly, I turn away from the sight of him regrouping to face the imposing figure who has a lethal weapon against my skin. The gun stays trained on me as I rotate on my heels, my eyes falling onto the most stunning man I’ve ever seen.
Oh.
I can barely breathe as I take in the sight of him. And for a long moment, I genuinely hate myself for having such an irrational response to the man who holds my life in his hand, quite literally.
He is beautiful in the way that a predator is beautiful because it’s dark and dangerous and untouchable.
Tall, at least six-two with broad shoulders straining against a perfectly tailored black shirt.
Dark brown hair that’s slightly mussed, strong jaw, shadowed with stubble.
And his eyes — dark blue, impossibly dark, and they’re fixed on me with such an intensity that my breath catches.
Just like the bald man, he’s covered in tattoos. I can see them peeking out from beneath his collar, wrapping around his throat and across his fingers and hands, disappearing beneath his sleeves. This is him, I realize — it has to be him — the monster the boy has been so afraid of finding him.
And he is impossibly, incredibly, infuriatingly handsome. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want to hit him, to lash out, to do something. To punch him in his all too pretty face. The urge is so strong that it takes everything I have to keep from moving.
The only thing that holds me in place is the barrel of the gun as I stare past it to him. My eyes are locked on him as his lips curve up into a smile, one that holds no warmth in it.
“Good girl.” His gaze rakes over me, assessing. “Good form on that move, however…” He leans in slightly, bending his arm to keep the muzzle of the gun pressed to my head as he does so, “… I don’t miss. So, unless you want to find out how fast I can pull this trigger, I suggest you cooperate.”
“Go to hell,” I spit the words at him before I can stop myself.
His smile widens, accompanied by a humorless laugh. “She has teeth. Feisty. I like that in a woman.” The amusement drops from his face as fast as it appeared, a cold, hard expression replacing it. “Where is he?”
“Where is who?”
“Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Small boy, nine years old, dark hair, dark eyes. My men tracked him here. Where is he?”
My heart hammers against my chest. I’m right. He is the monster.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Chloe,” Jay’s voice cuts through the tension, strained but firm. “You promised.”
I risk a glance at Jay, still held between the two men. Upon my second assessment of them, I realize they are both armed with guns as well, though theirs remain holstered, unlike the one pressed to my forehead.
“So, the lady has a name,” The melodic voice of the monster snaps my attention back to him.
“You now know mine. If you want me to tell you a thing, you’ll have to tell me yours first,” I challenge him boldly.
Something flickers in those dark blue eyes, surprise or maybe respect, I’m not sure.
“Fair enough. Basili,” he says sharply, his voice vibrating slightly. The sound of it does something to me that I don’t want to admit. “The boy is my son, and I am here to retrieve him. Now—” He presses the gun harder against my skin, causing me to sway slightly. “— where is Emmanuel?”
Emmanuel. Finally, I know the boy’s name. I blink at him, squinting my eyes slightly, confused. “Wait, he’s your son?”
“Don’t hurt her!”