Chapter 16 No playing
No playing
Dina
When I don’t answer, Connor chuckles and looks at me like he wants to murder me. My heart dances, fear over the way his chuckle and his smirk evokes an image of Massio Crossbow into my head making me sweat.
One time, I watched an interview with Massio, and the interviewer, a woman, pushed back against something he said. I remember his masculine chuckle and the deranged look he gave her.
Wait a second, didn’t Massio have sons? Twins? I can’t remember where I read that he had twins with that woman he murdered.
Oh no. Oh no.
Connor comes toward me, and I walk backward all the way to the glass door of my terrace.
“Baby girl, are you scared?” he asks when he reaches me.
“Yes.”
“Good. Fear of a real threat is healthy. Makes us think better on our feet. You know you have to come with me now. I shouldn’t have to work this hard to get you downstairs. I don’t like hard work. I like easy work.”
“You never told me your last name.”
Connor’s eyes soften. “Awww. You almost make me feel like I’m kicking a puppy.” With that, the man opens my terrace door. He steps out and looks around. “It’s nice out here.” He walks to the edge and gazes down. “Nice view.” He picks up my suitcase and throws it over the railing.
I gasp and cover my mouth. Oh my God.
Connor comes back in and closes the terrace door. “I can’t carry both you and the suitcase. I figured Declan would be sad if I threw you over the railing, so I chose the suitcase. Do you think I made the right choice?”
I nod vehemently.
“So you will come with me?” When I take too long to answer because I think his last name might be Crossbow, and that terrifies me, he says, “I can also drag you down the steps. Up to you how you want to get downstairs.” He checks his watch.
“We’ve been up here longer than I planned.
If my brother gets hurt because you can’t make up your mind…
” He simply shakes his head, disapproving of my utter shock and fear.
“Let’s go!” he shouts.
I startle out of my stupor and run out and down the steps. Once on the street, I grab my suitcase and throw it into the trunk. Just as I’m about to slide into the back seat, I hear someone calling my name.
My friend Martin pushes his way past the armed men, his arms outstretched. He’s not in uniform, only jeans and a green T-shirt, which is probably why the men holding up the barricade think he’s a civilian. But Declan knows. He’s seen him before.
“Dina, what happened? I was at the station, and they told me they released you. I came as soon as I could.”
Released me? They didn’t release me, Martin. A lunatic broke me out of detention.
“They said they released me?”
“Yeah. Said you went home with a man. I thought it was your lawyer.” Martin eyes the SUV he saw me throw my suitcase into.
“No, no, not a lawyer. It’s this guy I’m seeing.” Connor walks past us without even a glance at Martin, and I hope he stays out of it. Which he does. He sits in the car and slams the door.
“I’ve to go. See you around.” But will I?
Martin hugs me. It’s unexpected, and awkwardly, I hug him back.
A window rolls down, and I spot Declan lifting his gun.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Martin says. “But this blockade worries me, Dina. Who are you seeing? What’s his name?”
“Bye, Martin!” I push my friend away and slide into the car as quickly as possible. I go to close the door, but Declan lifts a finger. “Hold on.”
I leave the door open. Declan is leaning back, his face largely in shadows.
“Close the door,” Connor says.
I reach for it, but Declan tsks. “Martin wants to know who you’re seeing?”
“I didn’t know what else to say,” I tell him.
“Close the door,” Connor repeats.
Declan leans forward. The sunlight illuminates his angelic face, his mismatched eyes. “Come here, Martin. Take a look.”
Unafraid, Martin steps closer and peeks in the SUV. He looks from Declan to Connor, and then his face pales. He recognizes them. I don’t know how or from what, but he knows them, and judging by how scared he looks, these two men are fearsome. I’m pretty sure my assumption is correct.
“If you put your hands on her again,” Declan says, “the next thing you’ll be doing with them is using them to hold the shovel while you dig your own grave. Do we understand each other like men do?”
“Yes, Mr. Crossbow.”
OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.
I think I’ll have a heart attack. My heart’s beating a mile a minute, and I can’t breathe. I’m gasping for breath when Connor shouts, “Close the door!”
Martin slams the door, and the SUV starts up the street.
Declan searches for something in the side compartment. He takes out a paper bag and gives it to me. I breathe into it while he looks out the window. Next to me, Connor throws his guns on the seat across from him. He cups his head in his hands. “Remind me why I can’t shoot everyone?”
Declan sighs. “Right now, I’m struggling with the same thing, so I can’t. Maybe in a few minutes.”
“Fair enough, brother.” Connor leans back and turns his head toward me. “You poor thing. I don’t normally feel sorry for anyone, but I might feel something to that extent for you.”
With my breathing evening out, I fold the paper bag and put it in my pocket for later. I just might need it. “You’re the Crossbow twins,” I say more to myself than them. Of course, they know who they are.
“Don’t fear me, please,” Declan says.
Connor scruffs up my hair as if I’m a kid or a puppy. “You’ll be okay. I promise. Declan is only deadly to his enemies. To his friends, he’s really nice. He smiles often. And I bet his dick is big like mine, so you’ll be more than okay.”
“Stop,” Declan says.
Connor snickers. “It’s true.”
“You can’t go around threatening men for touching me.”
“Okay, I won’t threaten them anymore.”
Connor snickers. “Let the bodies hit the floor.”
“Nobody is talking to you, man,” Declan says. “And why are you sitting back here with us?”
“Because you guys are fun. This is fun. It reminds me of the time when Uncle Endo kidnapped the doc and brought her into the Keep.”
Endo. I’ve heard that name somewhere before. I snap my head his way. Is he joking? “Your uncle kidnapped someone?”
Connor nods. “Mmhm. She’s not with him anymore. Ran off with another man, but yeah.”
“I don’t blame her.” My God. I slump against the leather seat. Should I consider running away? Well, not exactly running because I’ll die of exhaustion in about twenty feet, but I should try to escape these men. I would have to leave Selnoa.
But my daughter lives here, as well as my dad. Selnoa is all I’ve known.
How did my life get so fucked?
I’m not sure how much more I can take before I reach the breaking point.
First, I found out Sergei cheated on me.
I ended a long friendship and broke up with him.
At least I had my apartment. Now I don’t have a roof over my head anymore.
I’m a fugitive, though Martin said they released me, probably to save face.
And, oh, my business is about to tank because my clients will go elsewhere to get their hair done. During the time I spent in detention, I wasn’t making money at my hair salon. Rent is due on the first of every month. My landlord doesn’t care about my life unless it affects the rent.
I could do house calls. Like the house call I made to the client who stayed at the Crossbow mansion that one fateful day when I ran over Declan Crossbow. What are the odds?
“Of what?” Declan asks.
“Excuse me?”
“You asked what the odds are.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. Suddenly, I’m aware of how clean and put-together he looks in his tailored suit and how those pants fit his long legs.
I haven’t bathed in three days. My hair is greasy, and I probably smell. Gross.
Declan repeats. “Of what?”
“I was mentally recounting the string of bad luck that I’ve had since divorcing Sergei and meeting you.”
“You’re not divorced yet,” Connor says.
“Thank you for reminding me a woman can’t divorce a man fast enough because of the bottlenecked old laws that work against women when it comes to marriage. Luckily for me, I consider myself divorced.” I shrug as if I’m indifferent, but I’m not.
Declan opens the compartment under the seat and pulls out a sweater. He hands it to me. “Put this on.”
I accept the sweater, but when I go to put it on, I frown. “Is this a bulletproof vest?”
“Mmhm.” He removes his suit jacket and the crisp white shirt underneath to reveal a toned upper body covered in tattoos of different objects and shapes all put together like puzzle pieces to create one massive tattoo of a skull and crossbones.
Now I’m even more aware of my ragged appearance, even my age and my body. Throughout my married years, I gained fifteen pounds, and the cesarean scar won’t go away. It’s right above the pregnancy pouch I can’t shed.
Heat crawls up my face, and I look away from him. If he noticed I was checking him out, he doesn’t remark on it, but makes efficient work of putting on his vest.
“How about Connor?” I ask.
“I’m already wearing one, but thanks for asking,” Connor says.
I fix my clothes, but there’s no way I can iron or wash my dress. If I finger comb my hair, I might cry when I rip out the knots I know are in there, so I leave it all alone. “Where are we going?” …that requires a vest.
The car climbs. I roll down the window and take stock of our surroundings, then roll my window back up. Oh, heck no. “Are we going to the Crossbow mansion?”
Declan purses his lips.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoot toward him. “We can’t go to the mansion. The police are there.”
“The police got sent home.”
I blink, glitch, more accurately, because my brain can’t even process what he’s saying. I almost ask who he thinks he is, but then remember he’s a Crossbow. He can send cops home the way petulant children get sent to detention.
“I don’t know much about your father, but the Selnoans think you two aren’t involved in the family business.”
“We weren’t,” Declan says.
“Past tense,” Connor affirms.
“If the cops aren’t there, why are we wearing vests?”
“A precaution,” Declan says.
I have to answer my own question, which I can’t do because I’m not privy to knowledge of Selnoa’s criminal underworld. Luckily, I don’t have to wonder too long. The answer comes from a guard dressed in a black tactical uniform who approaches the driver’s window when we pull up to the gate.
Another guard joins him on Connor’s side.
Connor whistles the old song people sing during a soccer match.
We cheer for the same team, which is great.
I’d comment on the song and our common team affiliation if I weren’t so terrified of how comfortable Connor looks with the prospect of a violent conflict.
The guards carry rifles over their chests and hold them at the ready. Connor positively salivates. Declan, though, he’s…quiet, watchful. More steady. I’m over here wanting to jump out of my skin.
When the guards back away from the car and point rifles at us, I break down into tears.
Declan puts a hand over mine. “Stay in the car. I’ll take care of this.”
“We’re all going to die.”
“Maybe,” Connor says.
“He’ll let us in,” Declan says. “It’s either that or he sends a message that he’s afraid of us.”
“Who are we talking about?” I ask.
“Ivan Holloway.”
“Don’t they call him the Bloodletter?”
“They do, baby, they do. But they call me Declan Crossbow. One is a nickname, the other a real name. They’re not one and the same.”