The Unforgettable Kind

by Melanie Munton

  Sam: It won’t take me that long.

  Kade: I don’t want you running around by yourself. No detours. Come straight here.

  I have to remind myself that his domineering attitude is coming from a place of protectiveness and concern. Plus, I’m lying to him. I really have no right to be annoyed by his commands.

  Sam: Ok. I’ll be home in about an hour.

  I delete his messages and am about to hand Jaz her phone back when Aaron’s response comes through.

  Unknown number: No problem. See you soon.

  After passing her phone over, I swipe the bill out of the server’s hands before she can grab it. “Don’t even try it,” I chastise her. “Everything’s on me tonight.”

  She smiles her thousand-watt smile. “I guess I’ll allow it just this once.”

  A few minutes later, we’re packing ourselves into the back of a cab because there’s no way either of us are driving. Her place is closest, so we give the driver her address first. He’s stopping along her curb within ten minutes.

  “Love you, hon.” I hug her close. “So proud of you.”

  Her eyes look watery when she pulls back. “Thanks. Love you, too.”

  Once I close the door behind her, I give the driver the studio’s address. I need my phone in case I have to make some immediate phone calls after Aaron and I talk. And if I need to take notes. I cringe when I imagine how Kade will react after he finds out about this. Because he will find out. It’s an inevitability.

  “Can you wait here for a few minutes?” I ask the driver after he pulls up in front of the studio. “I just have to grab something from inside, and then I’ll be right back out.”

  His face is already buried behind a newspaper. “Fine.”

  It’s dark outside but for the few street lights nearby. The studio is downtown—not exactly in the middle of the nightlife district—but the street is still unusually empty at this time of night. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I swipe my pass along the security pad at the employee side door. There’s that ominous feeling again of being watched, followed. I do my best to ignore the horrible feeling of unease as it crawls over me.

  You’ve been left alone for weeks. Nobody is following you. It’s all in your head.

  I hope.

  The editing staff typically works long hours, but even they have gone home by now, so most of the building’s lights are off. Hallway lights are left on for security purposes, but the offices and sets are pitch black. Adding to that eerie effect is the silence in the building. The only sound that can be heard as I walk briskly down the hallway to the bank of elevators is the click clack of my heels on the tiled floor. That, and the loud drumming of my heartbeat.

  That uneasy feeling grows substantially.

  My God, it’s another horror movie scene.

  You’re alone in here. Calm down.

  I know that no one can gain entrance to the building without a pass like mine, but that does nothing to allay my rising fear. Anxiety is now rushing through my blood like a raging river as I ride the elevator to the third floor.

  Just grab your phone and get the hell out of here.

  The red glow of the exit sign above the door to my right that leads to the stairs illuminates the third floor lobby when I step off the elevator. I swallow around my dry throat and half walk, half run to my office. I always have my car keys in my hands when I’m walking through the parking garage downstairs—a habit I’ve had since college—so I pull them out of my purse and clutch them between my fingers. I know that no one is here with me, but just in case. My body doesn’t seem to realize that, though. I’m practically hyperventilating by the time I reach my office.

  Something just doesn’t feel right.

  And I’ve learned to always trust my gut.

  I rush to my bookcase, yank my phone off the charger, and spin back around to get the heck out of dodge. I sprint back down the hallway as fast as my heels will allow, toward the glowing red light of the exit sign. My safe haven.

  I’m about to slam my palm against the elevator button when a chilling voice that comes straight from my nightmares breaks the silence.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  My lungs constrict.

  I can’t breathe.

  I squeeze my hands into fists as I slowly turn around to face three hulking black figures, two much larger and broader than the third, who stands slightly in front of them. I stumble back in fear, choking off a terrified scream. The faceless man in front steps forward. I take another step back. We repeat the process until his face comes into view. The red light that represented my escape only seconds ago now becomes my enemy, casting an insidious glow over the man’s features.

  My stomach clenches. I think I might vomit. The devil is real, and I’m staring right at him. His black, soulless eyes have me trapped in their evil clutches.

  I know who this is.

  And I know what he wants.

  Me.

  A sinister smile creeps onto his face. “Well, well. Samantha Lawrence. We finally meet. You’re even lovelier in person than you are on television. I’m Raphael Esposito. But you probably already know that, don’t you?”

  Any response is lost on me.

  My only reaction is the quickening of my heartbeat.

  He’s not fazed by my silence, though. I’m sure he takes great pleasure in terrorizing his victims with his dramatic intimidation and macabre theatrics.

  That horrific smile of his widens. “Let’s talk.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  “The Evil That Men Do”

  by Iron Maiden

  Kade

  I glance down at my phone again.

  Still no word from Sam. Granted, her last text from Jasmine’s phone about her staying out for another hour was sent forty minutes ago. So, I still have at least twenty minutes before I send out a search party to scour the city for her.

  Fuck the clock.

  Something feels off.

  I can’t say what it is exactly, but her texts from Jasmine’s phone sounded weird. I know how those two women can get when they’re deep in celebration mode. She could just be a little drunk. I swear, she better not have gone back to the studio for her phone after I explicitly told her not to. But when she sets her mind to something, and someone tells her she can’t do it…

  Goddammit.

  I checked with Cris earlier in the night to make sure his guys were on top of her, which they were. Since I haven’t heard anything, all must be fine. But damn, I hate this shit. I’ve rarely not been by her side since the brick incident, and this is making me want to go all stalker, track her down, and stick to her ass like white on rice. I came back to my apartment tonight because she asked me to, not because I wanted to. And I’m trying to respect her wishes. Being a good boyfriend and all that.

  But that nagging feeling won’t go away. It doesn’t help that I know she doesn’t have her phone. I spend about thirty more seconds tapping the heel of my foot against my hardwood floor, debating.

  Fuck it. I call Jasmine.

  She picks up after two rings. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jasmine. It’s Kade. Can I talk to Sam real quick?”

  The tense silence that comes over the line sends a heavy pang through my chest.

  “She’s not here. We left the bar together almost thirty minutes ago. The cab dropped me off at my place first. She said she was going to your apartment. She’s not with you?”

  Adrenaline spikes through me at the uncertainty in her voice, the worry.

  “No, she’s not,” I say in a clipped tone. “Did she say she was going back to the studio to get her phone?”

  “No. She said something about coming home to you.”

  Doesn’t mean she was telling the truth. But Cris still hasn’t called, so there’s no reason to freak out yet. She could walk through my front door in the next ten seconds.

  “Oh, God,” Jasmine’s voice quivers. “What if something’s happened?”

  “I’m
sure she’s fine.” My attempt to console doesn’t sound convincing even to my own ears. “She probably just went back for the phone. I’m sure she’s on her way here now.”

  “Could you tell her to text me when she gets there? So I know she’s okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll let her know.”

  The second I hang up with her, I’m bolting to my feet, my mind going through the unthinkable possibilities. I’m about to call Cris and demand some fucking answers when his name suddenly pops up on my phone’s screen. I already know, deep down in my soul, that something is horribly wrong.

  “Where the fuck is she?”

  His voice is tight when he answers, “At the studio. My guys just called. Said they trailed her cab there, and then saw three men follow her into the building a couple of minutes later. They couldn’t tell for sure, but from the vague descriptions they gave it sounds like it could be Esposito and his men.”

  “Fuck!”

  They’re going after her. Shit, they might already have her. Panic and fury war for supremacy inside me.

  “My men were going in after them. That was right before I called you, and I haven’t heard anything since.”

  Pulse thundering in my ears, I swipe my keys off my kitchen counter and dart for the door.

  “We have to get over there. How the fuck did they sneak by your guys and get the drop on her?”

  “I don’t know, man, but I’m almost to your place. Be outside in ninety seconds.” He hangs up without another word.

  How the hell did he get from Brooklyn to Atlanta so fast? Doesn’t matter. Sam’s in trouble, and I’ll take whatever help I can get.

  Switching gears, I run back to my bedroom and grab my .45 Smith & Wesson from my nightstand drawer. I check the clip to make sure it’s loaded. I’ve never had to shoot someone with this before, but I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to do to protect Sam. I’ll kill for her, die for her. And I know Cris will be packed to the max. He always wears a shoulder holster and probably carries at least one more piece on him at all times.

  I reach the street just as Cris is pulling up in a black SUV with blacked out windows. He only brakes long enough for me to jump into the passenger seat before he speeds off.

  “Any word from your men?”

  He makes a sharp turn, his hand tightening on the wheel in a brutal grip. “No. And you’re not going to like what else I learned tonight.”

  My hands fist, nails biting into my palms. “What?”

  “Ken Greenbaum was attacked tonight outside of his home. Beaten pretty badly. He claimed it was a mugging and isn’t telling the cops anything else. But no self-respecting mugger I know would attack their target right outside their home without stealing anything more than their wallet.”

  Jesus Christ.

  If they went after Greenbaum in retaliation for his interview with Sam…

  “I swear to God if they touch her…”

  I can’t even finish the sentence. There’s no limit to what I’ll do if those bastards hurt Sam. I’m already in a fucking rage just thinking about Esposito sharing the same air as her.

  “Calm the fuck down, man,” Cris barks. “You’ve got to keep your head straight. Otherwise, you’ll be no use to her in there.”

  He’s right. “You packing?”

  “Always.”

  “I don’t expect you to go in there with me—”

  “Shut up,” he snaps. “She’s your woman, those are my men in there, and this is goddamn Esposito. This is as much my business as it is yours. I’ve got your back.”

  Thank fuck for that.

  I can hold my own against a couple of thugs, I know that. But even I wouldn’t feel good about my one gun going up against three of theirs. Plus, despite his businessman exterior and fancy suits, Cris is fucking lethal in a fight. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Anyone would want him throwing punches and bullets from their side.

  “You know your way around the building, right?” he asks. “You know where she’d be?”

  “Yeah.”

  I hope. That’s assuming they followed her to her office on the third floor. But really they could be anywhere in that damn building, holding her hostage. Or worse.

  Don’t go there. She’s going to be okay.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cris briefly glance at me. “We’ll get her back. You have my word.”

  I might feel a little better if he had said we’ll get her back safely.

  I’m coming for you, baby. Hold on.

  Just hold on.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  “Hell’s Bells”

  by AC/DC

  Sam

  My eyes are glued to Raphael Esposito as he approaches me, oozing evil, leaving a trail of menace in his wake. He’s just as slimy looking as I’ve always pictured him to be. Tacky satin shirt beneath a deceptively elegant suit. Gaudy diamonds in his ear and on his pinkie finger. Stocky build that is no doubt packed with muscle beneath the pudgy top layer.

  The tyrannical leader of the Esposito crime family.

  The disputable Boss of the entire Italian-American mafia.

  And he looks like a skeezy nightclub owner. Or a crooked car dealer.

  But I’m not stupid enough to underestimate the power lurking beneath the mediocre façade. With this man, what you see is not all you get.

  I finally manage to find my voice. “What do you want?”

  His silent goons block my exits, one standing in front of the hallway of offices and the other guarding the glass double doors that lead to the sets. Raphael stands arrogantly before me in his expensive Italian suit and slicked back hair, grinning maliciously.

  “I thought I’d already made it clear what I want, Ms. Lawrence. Your silence.”

  “You’ve had it. I haven’t spoken to anyone.”

  He makes a tsking sound with his tongue. “Now, we both know that’s not true. You went to your boss with your suspicions, and then he passed it along to his superiors. Before you know it, far too many people know about my little operation. Do you know how men like me continue to make money, Ms. Lawrence?”

  My lips firm, but I say nothing.

  “They keep their fucking mouths shut about how that money is made,” he sneers. “And they eliminate those who refuse to do so.”

  My heart skips a beat at the word eliminate.

  His smile ices over another degree. “You see, the media darlings are always salivating for a piece of the five families. They’ve ripped apart my family’s secrets for decades, destroying our enterprises, driving wedges between loved ones. I’ve succeeded in my own ventures because I have a strict no tolerance policy against whistleblowers. That means I don’t offer second chances. Do you understand where I’m going with this?”

  His smug attitude and puffing chest rankle my nerves. My tongue loosens against my better judgment. “Do you see me accusing you of anything on the air? Have I smeared your name in front of millions of viewers? Has the FBI knocked down your front door? I don’t think so.”

  He tilts his head to the side, cold eyes narrowing inquisitively. “I knew you had a spine of steel. I can respect that. But I’ve killed plenty of men I’ve respected for much less. That alone won’t stop me from doing the same to you if you don’t give me what I came here for.”

  “Which is?”

  I’m scared shitless. There’s no point in denying it. But the longer he talks, the more time I have to come up with an escape plan. Keep him talking.

  “The name of the person who gave you this information.”

  That comment takes me by complete surprise. What the hell is he talking about? Confusion settles over me as he watches me expectantly.

  “No one told me anything. I figured it out myself.”

  He glares at me with eyes as black as coal. “You’re lying. I’ve had this operation in place for over seven years, and suspicions have never before arisen. You have connections. I want to know who told you.”

  Again, my sass gets the better of me and I
smirk. “Maybe your people are just getting sloppy.”

  All signs of his sadistic humor vanish from his face. “Or maybe they’ve just forgotten who their loyalties lie with, and they decided to talk to a nosy woman with a camera.”

  This doesn’t sound good for me. He’s clearly convinced that someone fed me information, and I doubt anything I say is going to change his mind. Or prevent him from taking his revenge out on me.

  “You can ask me the same question a million times, but the answer won’t change. I did the research, I did the work. I found something that didn’t fit. But I haven’t said anything to anyone else and I won’t. You’re getting what you wanted, so we can both go on about our business.”

  His rusty laugh is full of condescension. “Oh, you have no idea what my business involves, girl. Because that’s certainly not how it works. When there is someone out there who knows too much about you and your business, you simply remove the threat.”

  Those terrifying words resuscitate my self-preservation and take control of my body. My fight or flight instincts kick in, although my common sense might remain lying dormant beneath my determination to live. That’s the only explanation for what I do next. Whether wise or not, I don’t consider the consequences.

  The hand that’s holding my keys lashes out and catches Raphael on the cheek, the metal slicing across his olive skin. His bellow fills my ears as I dart for the—

  Dammit!

  The goon at the glass doors has moved to the side and now blocks the exit door to the stairs. My only option is the doors he just abandoned, the ones leading to the sets.

  As I reach for the handle, a strong hand grabs hold of my upper arm and hauls me backwards. Instinctively, my leg kicks out and the heel of my pump nails him right in the balls. He doubles over, clutching his groin, giving me a chance to push through the doors and run at a full sprint.

  This all happens in a matter of seconds.

  I can’t process what they’ll do to me if I fail to escape, especially now that I’ve pissed them off. I’m acting on pure adrenaline, fueled by the blind will of survival. It doesn’t immediately occur to me that I’ve just run headlong into a dead end. There’s only one way out of this room, and it’s the one I just came through. Shit. Maybe if I hide somewhere, I can evade and maneuver enough to sneak out after they follow me in here.