by Shanna Bell
“This was bound to happen. Viking’s been looking for an excuse to put Morelli in the ground for years. There’s no way Kristoff can keep him off of him anymore.”
Right. She’d almost forgotten the Romeo and Juliet story that had ended in betrayal.
“I’m surprised he managed to rein in your brother’s rage so far,” she admitted. Viking didn’t seem like the guy who took orders well.
“Kristoff can be very persuasive.”
She’d only caught a glimpse of the Bratva leader the other day. For a man feared as much as he was, he seemed rather young. In his mid-thirties, perhaps. The most remarkable thing about him was that, unlike with the other men sitting at the table, he hadn’t shown a speck of emotion on his face while Viking drowned in misery. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Franco’s moods had been all over his face—rage, bloodlust, pettiness, cruelty.
Sy checking his gun made her forget about the Bratva leader and turn to him.
“One bullet left,” he said, sounding grim. He took her hand and they hurried down the steps. When they made it to the lower floor of the parking lot, he suddenly came to a halt.
She looked past him, right into the eyes of two men standing in front of a silver Mercedes. One of them had on a black tie. The other was Porky, the pot-bellied asshole she’d introduced to her pepper spray earlier. Judging by his burning eyes, he was all too glad to find her in this vulnerable position.
Sy pointed at a camera in the corner of the lot. “Smile at the camera and wave at Viking, boys,” he drawled. “My brother loves it when you do that. Those are live feeds, by the way.”
The guy in the tie flinched and lowered his gun. Apparently, Sy wasn’t all brawn, but thought quick on his feet as well.
“We got no beef with you or your brother, Sy,” Tie Guy said. “We only want the Caruso bitch.”
“We really fucking want her,” Porky said, keeping his gun pointed at them.
“That makes three of us, Stan,” Sy said, aiming his gun at Porky. “Now, tell your pudgy friend to fucking lower his gun.”
Stan frowned. “Look. We know she already signed the casinos over. But the boss can’t just let her get away with this. He said he’d kill her if she did. Give her to us and you can walk away.”
“The hell he can!” Porky bellowed. “I say we take him out too.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Stan hissed. “That’s Viking’s brother. You want that psycho coming for you? Well, I fucking don’t. They say he scalps his victims like in the old days, and then burns them alive. Damn crazy fucker.”
Sy cocked a brow. “Aww, such nice words for my bro. I’ll make sure to pass the compliments over.”
“Sure, it was a compliment,” Stan said, sounding nervous. “So, what d’you say we handle this between us? Just give her to us. After Keegan’s finished with her, we’ll return her to you.”
“What’s left of her anyway,” his partner said with a smirk.
“There’s only one problem with that,” Sy pointed out.
Just one? Carmen could think of several. If her heart hadn’t almost been beating out of her chest, tying up her tongue, she might have shouted them off in accordance of horror.
“What’s that?” Stan asked.
In a sudden move, Sy grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. His cold eyes looked her over as if she was just a piece of meat. Her stomach dropped. But, but… surely this was a ruse? Hadn’t he pledged to keep her safe, just hours before?
“I didn’t have time to sample the goods myself yet.”
A ball of nausea formed in her belly, slowly crawling up to her throat. She froze, completely turning into a statue. There was no fight-or-flight mode anymore. All she could do was endure whatever pain he was going to inflict upon her. Her eyes closed for a sec. It had happened before, in worse circumstances, and she had survived. She would once again.
“You bastard.” She spat in his face, earning a slap from him that knocked her off her feet.
“On your knees, bitch,” Sy snarled.
Carmen had never believed she was capable of hating anyone as much as she had Franco. She’d been wrong.
As she sat on the cold ground, on her hands and knees, looking down on his biker boots, she swore she would kill him. As long as she had a breath left in her body, she’d make sure he would rue the day he’d met her.
His fingers dug into her hair, pulling her face up to him. The sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants was like a cannon shot to her ears, deafening her.
Keegan’s men chuckled and came closer. Clearly, they wanted a front row seat to witness her humiliation. Porky even replicated Sy’s move, unzipping his pants, going as far as taking out his junk.
Carmen couldn’t help herself, and gagged.
“I bet she sucks like a damn vacuum,” Porky said as he started stroking himself. “Caruso must’ve trained the bitch well.”
The more the two men closed in on her, the more she trembled. Sy didn’t take his eyes off of her for a second. How could she have found those blue orbs full of a shared pain earlier? Why hadn’t she seen them for what they really were, a dead abyss.
“Let me go first,” Porky said eagerly. He put away his gun and reached for her.
She wasn’t sure which of them screamed first. Porky, whose face exploded when Sy shot him, or Stan, who got smacked in the face with Sy’s belt, right before he aimed his gun at her.
Sy did a crazy twist with his body, took a hit to his temple, and then a second shot rang out. Carmen screamed. When she re-opened her eyes, Sy stood right before her. He’d jumped in between and taken a bullet to his shoulder.
Then Sy went into action once more. He grabbed Stan’s gun and turned it on him. Without further ado, he blew his brains out.
Carmen heaved but nothing came out. Thank God for small mercies.
Sy staggered back a bit. Blood was dripping from his shoulder, covering his sleeve in crimson. If only her legs hadn’t turned into jelly so she could go help him. She should have known he was only putting on a show, that he’d never truly degrade her like that. Not when he had given his word that he'd keep her safe.
He tucked away the gun. “Gotta fix that camera,” he grumbled. At her look, he said, “You didn’t really think I was gonna shoot a man while on a live feed, did ya? You never know where something on a computer might end up.”
His hand went to her bruised cheek, and she flinched. He didn’t say the words, but his eyes apologized, and that was enough.
CHAPTER 11
CARMEN
Hours later, Carmen was back in the penthouse, standing in front of the bathroom door, fuming from the inside.
It wasn’t because she got hurt during the club shooting, which she had. Or because she had been afraid to get raped and killed, because she had been. No, it was because of a stubborn man who had taken a bullet for her, and was refusing to let her tend to his wound. Sy had effectively shut himself inside the bathroom.
Earlier in the evening, Vince had caught up to them in the parking lot. He had basically pushed her in the car, drove them home, and left as soon as he’d placed more men before their door. She wasn’t sure if it was to protect her or to prevent her from running away. Truth be told, it had crossed her mind to leave. After all, she’d been under their protection for less than a day and had ended up in a shooting.
Not that it mattered. All she could think about was the way Sy had jumped before her when Keegan’s man had tried to kill her. Sy’s action had surprised her and she wasn’t sure how to take it. She couldn’t help but wonder what his angle was. She’d already handed over the casinos, so that couldn’t be it. Why would he risk his life for a woman he barely knew? It just didn’t make any sense.
Praying for patience, she once again knocked on the door. “Could you please open the door so I can help?”
His response was a grunt.
“Stubborn man. You have a gaping hole in your arm. I doubt you can take care of it yourself
.”
Then the doorbell chimed. Finally, Vince was back home. Maybe he could talk some sense into Sy. She rushed to open the door.
“I— You’re not Vince.”
Before her stood a beautiful woman in a satin bodice that barely covered her nipples and pink hot pants that seemed to be painted on her.
Catlike eyes looked up and down her body. “Oh, I’m definitely not Master Vince. And who the hell are you?”
Master Vince? She wasn’t sure why that title rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was because of the girl’s hateful look, or the dismissive one that ended with a snort when eying her torn dress.
Carmen almost started to explain how she had scraped her back against walls while trying not to get murdered. Then she remembered she didn’t owe this girl an explanation.
“I’m Carmen. Who are you?”
“Dahlia,” the girl said and rushed past her, walking to the bathroom. From the way she found her way inside, it was obvious she’d been here before. “Master Vince sent me to give this to Sy.”
It was then Carmen noticed the first aid kit Dahlia was carrying.
“You can give that to me if—”
“I don’t think so,” Dahlia cut her off. She knocked on the bathroom door. “Sy doesn’t like people fussing over him. At least not that kind of fussing.” A wink followed. “Of course, if he wants me to help out any other way…”
Subtle. Real subtle. The only thing missing was for her to piss all over him to show her ownership. It was obvious Dahlia was strictly here on Vince’s orders and didn’t really give a crap about Sy. At least not that way…
The man deserved better. He had saved her life and she was going to return the favor, even if it killed him to let her do it.
Really? Even if it kills him?
Okay, that didn’t come out right.
She yanked the first aid kit out of Dahlia’s hand.
“Hey!” the girl protested.
The bathroom door opened and Sy appeared. She could see from the pinch in his eyes that he was in pain. Of course, he would never admit that. It was probably in the “how to be a tough guy” code or something.
“Oh good,” Carmen said. “You’ve finally decided to stick your head out of that cave. Now, are you going to man up and let me help you?”
Dahlia’s jaw dropped. She stood in between them, unsure of what was happening. Unlike her, Carmen knew exactly what was happening—she was calling him out. The knot in her stomach had unraveled, making her feel elevated.
Sy glared at her.
She sent him a smile.
What returned was a scowl.
Too late, big guy. You took a bullet for me. No way will you hurt me.
“I’m so sorry, Master Sy.” Dahlia gulped. “Vince sent me to—”
“Yes, he sent you with the first aid kit,” Carmen interrupted her, putting a hand on Dahlia’s elbow. “And it was very nice of you to deliver it. I will take it from here.” She quickly ushered the still protesting woman outside.
By the time she returned to the living room, Sy had actually stepped out of the bathroom. It was difficult not to notice his ripped stomach that ended in a deep V in his low-hung jeans. She looked away, feeling awkward when she found herself staring at him. Who knew real-life men actually had bodies like that?
She sat on the couch across the fireplace, with the first aid kid on her lap. “Come on, Mister Grouchy.” She patted on the spot next to her. “You’re not scared of me, are you? It’s not like I’m holding a needle. All I want to do is take care of your wound, so it doesn’t get infected. You know, so your arm doesn’t rot off.”
Without a word, he scooted over and sat next to her.
The strong muscle cords of Sy’s arm contracted as she cleaned the blood from it. Looking at him, sitting cool and collected next to her, one would never think that just a short while ago, he’d first pushed her on her knees, scaring her, and then went on a rampage.
It reminded her of that time when Franco had been the target of an assassination and their house had been under fire. Bullets had flown through the windows and she had been petrified. Franco had run past her, in search of a gun. It had been Raul to come to her aid, sheltering her under the bed, taking a stand in front of the door.
And now it had been Sy.
Her eyes roamed over his body. He smelled of a fresh shower and manliness, a combination she couldn’t help but find attractive. To be honest, everything about him called to her. Filled her with new sensations she wasn’t sure how to handle.
Whatever spark rose up inside her, it dimmed the second she noticed the little, gray dots speckled all over his large chest. How had she not noticed them right away?
After she finished putting the last hand to his bandage, her fingers flew to one of the scars.
His hand covered hers. “Don’t.”
“These are…”
“Cigarette burns.” He didn’t look away. No, this proud warrior would never look away. He seemed the kind of man that would own up to any mark that covered his body.
She pulled her hand away. “I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing to feel sorry about. You didn’t flick cigs on me for fun, did ya?”
“No.” There were at least a dozen on his chest, and she’d bet that if she examined him further, she would find more.
“Guess you think them ugly, huh?” His lopsided smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Not ugly. I think they’re a testament of how strong you are. A survivor.” Slowly, she brushed away her hair and turned her back to him. Part of her brain screamed not to do this, show him her vulnerable side, but her gut told her to take a leap of faith.
His fingers brushed over her neck, right where her hairline was. She knew exactly what he was looking at.
“Rope burn?” he guessed.
“I have them all over my body. Some of them are burns from candle wax play.” It was odd how comfortable she was discussing this with him. Not even Jazzy knew how much her body was riddled with scars.
“The strongest horse I ever rode had scars all over,” Sy said.
“Did you just compare me to a horse?”
“Not just any horse. A strong horse.”
A smile formed on her lips and they exchanged a look that said it all. It was all on the outside anyway. How wrong she had been about Sy. From the moment they’d met, she had a preconceived notion about him being a big, bad brute of a man, who wouldn’t know to be gentle or selfless if it hit him on the head. She still didn’t believe him to be an angel—he lived in a too harsh world for that—but maybe they had more in common than she’d believed. And maybe he truly meant to honor their pact, temporary as it may be.
“You took a bullet for me.”
He grunted. “Goes with the whole ‘protecting what’s mine’ thing. Obviously, you didn’t pay attention when I said your body’s mine.”
“Aha.” Now how was she supposed to react to that?
“To do with as I please,” he continued, scrutinizing her with those pale blue eyes.
She ignored that last part and finished up with the gauze that wrapped around his arm. Luckily, the bullet had gone right through it.
“You seem like this huge, modern day warrior with frosty eyes, but you’re not what you look like, are you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Ah, hell. You’re not going soft on me, are you? Making up this story in your head where I’m some kind of hero?”
Despite the terrible night, she found herself smiling. “Don’t worry. Your asshole persona is still intact. I won’t tell anyone that underneath that grouchiness, you’re actually human.”
“Good. As long as we have an understanding.”
“So… crazy, right, what happened out there? I didn’t see Elena and Viking anymore. Are they all right?”
“Yeah. Morelli’s bitch is back where she belongs.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she sighed. “Back with her husband? Six feet under? I can’t read your mind, you know.
”
“She’s alive.”
He didn’t sound particularly happy about that. Apparently, that was all she was going to get from him.
“I saw what happened to the kitchen staff.” Just thinking about the bodies again made her stomach roll. “I hope everyone else was okay?”
Sy’s eyes turned to shards of ice. “They’ll pay. Both of them. Everyone knows Flux is neutral territory. You don’t start a fucking shoot-out in a club full of people. It’s bad for business.”
He got up and examined his shoulder. “You’re not half-bad at patching me up.” He glanced sideways at her. “You’re not bad at wielding a whip either.”
“I’m excellent at wielding it.”
She glanced at his upper arm where she could see the damage her whip had done. His flesh had turned a purple-blue. Shame filled her. She’d done to him what Franco had done to her multiple times. Granted, it happened in a spur of panic, and at the time, she’d believed he wanted to hurt her, but still.
She rose on her feet and touched his wound. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t even apologize for hurting you.”
“Little thing like you can’t really hurt me anyway.”
“Thanks. I feel so much better now,” she said dryly. When he blinked, a crease formed between his eyes and she remembered the second reason she’d wanted him out of that bathroom. “You might have a concussion.” After all, he’d gotten a blow to the head.
“Yeah, and how would you know that?”
She shrugged. “I know the signs.” No way was she getting into her history of pain with Franco. Memories that hurt were better off locked up in a deep, dark vault inside her core, never to resurface.
His gaze held hers for the longest moment, heating up her face. And her body. How was it that this man, whom she’d known for less than a day, had penetrated through her wall? What was it about him that made her want to ask him to wrap his big arms around her?
Only one time before had she followed her heart.