by S. Massery
Marco snorts. “I think you and I can agree that Grace had nothing to do with your plan. Sit down, Grace.”
I cast a helpless look at Javier as Marco gets up from the table. I slowly lower myself back into my chair. Dalton has been silent this whole time, and the twins are frozen in their seats. This might be their first taste of my father’s violence.
It’s unfortunate that I recognize it as synonymous with his very name.
Sal saunters around the table, dragging a chair out and sinking into it. There’s a spot of blood on his collar, but that’s all there is. The only point of contact that would indicate any trouble.
And Marco… Marco takes his place behind Dalton’s chair. Dalton’s hands are bound in front of him, wrapped with duct tape. His shirt is ripped.
“Say hello to the great Morning Star,” Marco says, yanking the hood off Dalton.
Dalton blinks in the light, a long strip of cloth tied tightly through his mouth and around his head, effectively gagging him. His nostrils flare when his gaze lands on me, but he doesn’t move. I can’t move, either.
“The man, the myth, the legend,” Marco continues. He pats Dalton’s shoulders. “Not so hard to conquer, though,” he says. “Did you know it was Grace’s idea to use you against my father?”
When Dalton doesn’t react, Marco grabs his chair and drags him around. The chair legs screech against the tile, and Marco leans in.
“Did you hear me, asshole?”
Dalton lunges forward, slamming his head into Marco’s face. I wince at the audible crunch.
Marco staggers backward, his hand coming up to his nose automatically. Blood gushes over his mouth, down his chin. It gives him a gruesome look, especially as he laughs. His teeth are stained red.
“Sal,” Marco growls. “Get him under your fucking control.”
My dad stands, pulling zip ties out of his pocket. He wraps them around Dalton’s biceps, attaching him to the chair. Dalton growls through the gag, struggling, but my dad presses his thumb into a spot in his side.
Dalton yells, fighting harder, until whatever wound my father is leaning on becomes unbearable. He sags backward, eyes on fire. I want to lunge out of my chair and put an end to this madness. Something stops me.
Maria’s hand on my thigh.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and find her watching her sister. Tia glances from her sister to me and slowly shakes her head.
They’ve never, ever liked me. Had a reason to be nice to me. Cared about me.
I wonder if they’ve been in more of these situations than they’ve ever cared to admit. Maybe they know how to survive it.
I look back at Dalton. He’s staring at me, even as Dad crosses back to his seat and Marco stands again. His attention should be on them. The danger. But he’s staring at me like this might be the last time—
“You’re the fucking prize. The carrot on the stick.” He smirks at Dalton, then turns toward his dad. “This is your downfall, old man.”
Javier shakes his head. “How’s that?”
“Bring them in,” Marco orders my dad.
I’m still trying to process the fact that my father is taking orders from a man twenty years younger than him. He leaves the room. A second later, more footsteps join his. The room fills in a matter of minutes. Cousins, friends. Men who have been counted part of the Argento family for years or hired hands.
Some are as old as Javier. Others are young, newly brought into the circle, with baby fat still on their cheeks.
“What is this, son?” Javier stands. “You can’t just—”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Marco snarls. He slams his hands down on Dalton’s shoulders.
I flinch for him.
Dalton slow-blinks at me. I really wish I could understand what it means, but I don’t. I shake my head, feeling more than helpless. Defeated, too.
Maria grabs my hand under the table, squeezing.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marco says. He throws his hands wide, as if to welcome them. “Thank you all for coming to my dear father’s retirement party.”
Javier’s face turns beet red. “Now—”
“Yes, now.” Marco smiles. “Your time has run out. This family is lacking the regard we used to have. People hear our name, and it’s not synonymous with fear anymore—it’s washed-out.”
Some of the men murmur.
“You agree,” he says to the crowd. “And it’s time for a change.”
“Hear, hear,” one of the cousins says.
“Do you agree, Dad?”
Javier puts his hands on the table. “Girls, leave the room.”
Tia rises—an instinct, I would guess. It’s a mistake. Marco is on her in an instant, grabbing the back of her neck and shoving her face into the table. He leans over her and whispers into her ear.
“Okay,” she murmurs.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry, Marco,” she says.
Only then does he release her.
I remember the feel of his hand on my neck and try not to cringe. Dalton catches it, shakes his head at me. I bite my lip and hold back my terror.
Maria slowly retracts her hand from mine. My palms are slick with sweat, and I wipe them on my pants. My pulse is a jackrabbit, barely contained by my rib cage.
“Grace.”
My gaze goes to Marco.
“You sit fucking still. Got it?” He grins. “You move, and your precious Morning Star will be the first to feel the consequences.”
It’s okay, I say in my mind. I’m paralyzed by fear anyway.
“Enough,” Javier snaps. “You don’t get to boss around my girls. You don’t get to order around my friend. This charade has gone on long enough.” He straightens to his full height. “If you were half the man I was, you would’ve—”
Marco hisses. “I would’ve what, Dad? Gone off and started somewhere new?” He laughs.
He’s lost it.
“This is my home. My streets. You can’t run me out.” He paces behind Dalton and Tia. There’s still blood pouring out of his nose, but he doesn’t seem to care. He swipes at it, grimacing, and says, “You’re going to be resistant, aren’t you?”
“I won’t let you do whatever it is you’re trying to do,” Javier says.
Marco jerks around to my dad. He’s been leaning against the doorway, half out of sight. He hasn’t looked at me since he brought Dalton in, not that I blame him. All the hate I’m feeling would probably come pouring out of my eyes like death lasers.
“Sal,” Marco barks.
Dad comes out slowly, pushing against shoulders. People have stopped respecting him, too. The smell of alcohol, the lack of control… family notices. They move quicker when Marco snaps his fingers, and suddenly Dad is at the forefront of the crowd.
Marco crosses his arms. “Kill him.”
I gasp, but my father doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. He reaches behind him and pulls a handgun from the waistband of his pants. Checks once to see it’s loaded. This is what he does.
Everyone holds their breath. He could just as easily turn on Marco for ordering him to kill his friend. But Dad fires three shots into Javier’s chest. Each one makes us jump—me, Maria, and Tia—like we’re the ones being hit. Shock echoes through my chest.
Javier falls backward against the wall. His face is pale. Blood blooms through his shirt, and he slides to the floor. He clutches at his chest, making an awful gasping noise.
I shake my head. I wish I could fucking black this out. No one should have to see their dad murder someone. To see their dad hurt… whoever the fuck Dalton is to me.
“Don’t,” Maria says under her breath. Her lips barely move. “You can’t reason with them.”
Dad turns his gun toward Dalton, and I automatically stand.
“Dad, don’t you dare.”
He casts a single glance back over his shoulder, scowling at me.
Marco is giddy. “Grace,” he says. “What did I tell you?”
/>
To sit fucking still.
I swallow.
Marco grabs Dalton’s jaw from behind, twisting his head to the side. The column of his throat is exposed, and suddenly there’s a knife in Marco’s hand.
“Please don’t,” I moan.
Marco touches the blade to Dalton’s skin, and Dalton grimaces. My legs shake. This hurts worse than if he had done this to me—and that’s the whole fucking point.
“Everyone out,” Marco orders. “Sit down, Sal. I’m curious to see how your daughter begs.”
We’re immobile while they file out. My knees bang together. I can’t breathe with a knife to Dalton’s throat. He doesn’t deserve this.
“All right, Grace.” Marco nods in my direction. “Make it good.”
“I—” I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make him let Dalton live.
Beg.
I meet Dalton’s eyes, and he slow-blinks at me again.
Marco has been obsessed with me since we were younger—and it’s not because I’ve ever fucking begged. Taking a big risk, I walk around the table. I step over Javier, past Tia, and come face-to-face with Marco. Dalton’s foot is close enough to touch mine. He slides his forward, the tips of our boots brushing.
It gives me strength.
“You want to break me?” I ask. I keep my face smooth.
Marco narrows his eyes.
“You want me crawling to get to you, because you’re my fucking world? You want to hit me until I stop mouthing off? You want a broken bird for a wife, locked in a cage?” I lean forward. The knife is right there.
His grip on it is easy. Loose. He’s barely holding Dalton’s head anymore. This time it isn’t a question when I say, “You want to break me.”
Dalton’s eyes are fire, seeming to burn a hole in my face.
I ignore it.
“Answer me,” I snap.
“Yes,” Marco growls.
I throw my arms out, mirroring his earlier movement. This is his own personal invitation. “Then stop taking it out on other people.”
He releases Dalton and stalks toward me. I back up automatically, until my foot catches on the leg of Tia’s chair. I’m mid-fall when Marco catches my arm, hauling me upright. His face is inches from mine.
I hate you.
“You told me to go after Javier, love,” Marco says. “If anything, this mess is all you.”
I shake my head. He releases me, and I stumble away from him.
“Tia, Maria, get the fuck out of here,” Marco snaps.
They’re broken from a spell, shoving out of their chairs like they were cut loose. Maria steps over her dad, choking on a sob, and her sister pulls her out of the room.
It’s just me, Marco, Dalton, and… my dad.
Traitor, evil bastard, the devil, and a drunken fool.
“What’s your plan?” Dad asks. “Kill the boy and take my daughter?”
Marco shrugs. “Maybe.” His eyes glint. “Or maybe I’ll keep him around. It seems to do wonders for keeping Grace in line.”
Dalton bites down on the fabric in his mouth, and all of a sudden, the room is in chaos. He lunges forward, still attached to the chair, and tackles Marco. They both go to the floor, and there’s a sharp crack as the wooden chair splinters. Dalton gets one arm free, blocking the knife Marco tries to bring down on him. They grapple.
My stomach is in my throat, and suddenly Dad is right behind me, dragging me away from their fight. I cast a quick glance at him, but both of his hands are on me. Which means…
I turn into him, throwing my arms around his waist. “Dad,” I say, trying to sound frightened. Honestly, it isn’t really faked.
I close my fingers over the grip of the gun, and I yank it loose before he can register. He makes a grab at me and misses, and I step onto a chair, up onto the table, to go toward the door. Plates crunch under my boots, and I nearly slip. I jump down, turning back toward the fight.
I squeeze the trigger, aiming at the wall. Marco and Dalton freeze. Dad raises his hands, and I almost snort. I wouldn’t shoot him. A quick inventory shows that the knife is nowhere to be seen, and Dalton has managed to get loose from the chair he was bound to. His hands are still tied. The zip ties are still around his arms, but the chair is in pieces.
“Stand up.” I gesture with the gun, and both men scramble upright. “Don’t fucking test me, Marco. I will shoot you if you give me a reason.”
He glares at me.
“Where’d that knife go?”
Dalton just shakes his head.
“Okay, fine. Come on, then.” I wait until he’s beside me, then hand him the firearm. I snatch a steak knife off the table and slice through the binds on his wrists.
He gives me the firearm back and yanks the cloth from his mouth.
“Let’s get out of here.” He guides me through the house, letting me keep my eyes on my dad and Marco. I’m unable to trust that they’ll stay in the dining room. “You got a phone?”
“When would I have managed that?” I mutter.
“Fair point.”
“What happened to you?”
“Oh, just some torture by dear ol’ dad. Yours, for the record.”
I snort. At this point, I’m just glad he still has a sense of humor. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not at the moment.”
We get to the front door and bolt out onto the front lawn. Cousins are milling around, probably waiting for more action, and they all turn to us.
We freeze.
“Was this in the escape plan?” he asks me.
“I didn’t have an escape plan,” I answer in an even tone. “I was winging it.”
They draw weapons, and all of a sudden two black SUVs fly around the corner, screeching to a halt in front of the house.
Four men jump out, carrying much larger guns than the Argentos. They start yelling, almost in unison, for everyone to get on the ground.
They move like a tactical team, sweeping up the front walkway. The Argentos react quickly, some lowering their weapons and others running. Some stand with their guns raised, frozen and unable to comply.
When the team gets to us, one reaches out and pats Dalton’s shoulder. “You good?”
“Peachy,” Dalton replies.
“Great. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We’re surrounded, and they guide us to the vehicles. I yank the back door of one open, sliding inside, and Dalton is quick to follow me. We have exactly two seconds of quiet before the driver and passenger seat are filled, and then we’re off.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, staring at Dalton.
The guy in the passenger seat spins around. “What an entrance, right? I’m Zach.”
“Right.”
Zach hooks his thumb toward the driver. “And that’s Jackson.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Dalton laughs, but the sound slides into a groan. He holds his palm into his side.
“Are you okay?” I lean into him and try to see where he’s hurt.
He slides closer to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. I don’t realize I’ve been shaking until he presses me against him. My body keeps quaking.
He touches his lips to the top of my head. “I’m good,” he says. “Don’t worry about me.”
Zach coughs. “Didn’t think you had nice in you, D.”
“I can be nice,” he grumbles. “Hadley thought I was nice.”
I stiffen, and his grip tightens on my shoulder.
“Griffin’s girl,” he mutters to me.
“Yeah, right,” Zach says. “She said you were friends because she was zero-commitment.”
“She was joking,” he grumbles. To me, he explains, “That’s when she had cancer and refused treatment. She’s in remission now.”
“Oh, good,” I say. This is almost too much to process. “Where are we going?”
“A safe house,” Jackson says. It’s the first time he’s spoken.
We follow closely behind the other SUV.
“They were tracking you?”
I shift. Dalton’s body is hot. I wish I could climb inside his skin and hide there until this is all over. “We couldn’t figure out how.”
Jackson grunts.
I tilt my head back. I bring my hand up and brush his neck, touching the small cut. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should’ve just shot him—”
“Don’t,” he says. He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t need to carry that with you.”
I shiver at the darkness in his words. I don’t think we handle trauma the same way other people do. His past—with the contractor, with the Marines—seems to have reached up and swallowed the light inside him.
I don’t think I’m going to see the light until this is all over.
As if determined to prove me right, he says, “I’m going to kill them all.”
I nod. On a subconscious level, I understand he’s including my dad in this. He was tortured at the hands of my father—what exactly happened, I don’t think I want to know. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and he lifts me so I’m sitting on his lap. He hugs me tightly. I rest my head on his shoulder, exhaling, and let his friends sweep us back into the unknown.
26
DALTON
I hold Grace until she drifts off. I cradle her head against my chest and match my breathing to hers. It’s either that or completely flip out.
“How you feeling?” Zach asks.
“It’s been a fun few hours.”
He snorts. “We told you not to meet with her dad.”
“Yeah, well.” It was a shitshow from the beginning—not that it surprised me. I walked into the private room and sat down across from him. He poured me a drink that must’ve been laced with something, because everything went blurry after that. Two men came in and helped him carry me out, into a moving van. They brought me to a warehouse.
I try not to shudder. He stabbed me with this thin little knife before we left. It went right below my rib cage and into the muscle. A shallow wound, not deep enough to hit any important bits, but that sucker burns. Especially when Sal drove his finger into it, putting on a show for Marco and Javier.
“We witnessed a coup tonight,” I tell them. I meet Jackson’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Families are fucked up.”