This Thing of Ours (The Gamblers Spin-off Novel)

by Sarah Curtis

  She might not know who her captors were, but what she did know?

  They’d just declared war.

  Chapter Five

  Gabby heard the door open at the top of the stairs, and a few seconds later a man came into view. He held a plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. But even as hungry and thirsty as she was, she still feared his arrival.

  Sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the stone wall, she tucked her knees under her chin and hugged her legs, making herself smaller. The storeroom was cold, and she already had the only blanket they’d supplied wrapped around her shoulders, but she still pulled at it, covering her body more completely.

  The man’s looks were deceiving. She’d naively discovered that firsthand. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, good-looking, and young, he had fooled her into letting her guard down.

  And that’s when he’d pounced.

  She would never make that mistake again.

  Forgoing all pretense this time around, he gave her a sinister smile when his feet hit the bottom of the stairs. “Hungry?”

  He didn’t have an accent, which had been another one of her pitfalls that first day. Add that to his good-old-boy attitude, and he’d made it easy to forget how dire her situation was. He’d told her to call him Peter. Gave her food and a blanket. Kept asking whether she was comfortable. Even apologized for the crappy accommodations. He’d stayed with her for over an hour that first time before he’d left, apologizing again for having to lock her in, but telling her to knock on the door if there was anything she needed.

  She hadn’t been nervous to see him when he’d shown up hours later.

  She should have been.

  Her mistake.

  Peter set the plate down on the floor beside her, and she visibly cringed from his nearness. His smile widened. He liked her fear. “I asked if you were hungry, and I expect an answer.”

  Growing up surrounded by dominant men, she knew better than to antagonize him. Taking a shaky breath, she replied, “Just thirsty.” And she hated to admit even that.

  She kept her eyes on her feet, but his hand came into view, the water bottle clenched in his fist. “This what you want?”

  She wasn’t stupid enough to reach for it. Knew doing so would come at a cost. A cost she wasn’t willing to pay.

  Tauntingly, his hand moved from view, but she kept sight of it in her periphery. It wouldn’t be smart to lose track of his hand—a lesson she’d learned that first day.

  “Look at me.”

  She raised her head but refused to look him in the eyes, training her vision on the bridge of his nose, instead. Something in his eyes wasn’t quite right. She’d been stupid not to have seen it.

  “You didn’t answer me, again.” He held the water bottle higher, and her eyes flicked to it before landing back on his face. “This what you want?”

  Conflict made her tongue-tied. She shouldn’t have admitted she was thirsty, but her tongue was so parched, it felt like a piece of leather in her mouth. If she had any saliva left, she’d be salivating.

  “Tell you what, I’ll make this easy for you.” He set the bottle on the floor just out of her reach. “You stay nice and quiet, and you can have that when I’m done.”

  He lunged for her, and she scrambled. But she wasn’t fast enough. A vice-like grip surrounded her right ankle. She kicked out with her left leg, connecting with his shoulder but sadly not doing enough damage to break his hold. In fact, the move only managed to get her left ankle captured, as well.

  She screamed.

  He yanked her away from the wall by the ankles, and she fell back, smacking her head, thankfully not hard enough to black out. The blanket fell from her shoulders, exposing her already torn shirt. A memento from the last time he’d visited.

  He pulled her closer, and her shirt rode up, the cold concrete scraping her back. She screamed again.

  He let go of her left ankle and slapped her. Hard. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Not a chance in hell, buddy. Defiantly, she screamed again. His hand wrapped around her throat, and he squeezed. She grabbed a hold of his forearm and wrist, pulling and yanking, but the strength in both of her arms couldn’t compete with the strength in his one.

  She felt his other hand at the waistband of her jeans, but she didn’t have enough air to yell a fourth time. She was barely getting enough in to stay conscious. Blackness swam around the outskirts of her vision, and little bright stars danced before her eyes, but she refused to give in to the darkness. God knew what would happen to her if she did.

  Legs once more free, she kicked, but with the position she was in, she couldn’t connect with any part of Peter’s body.

  “Go ahead and fight. I like it. Makes things more exciting, don’t you think?”

  He had her pants undone, and she felt his fingers at the top of her panties. She closed her eyes, giving up hope of being rescued. It wouldn’t be like the last time when he’d been interrupted by a commotion upstairs that he’d left to go investigate and had never come back.

  The minimal amount of oxygen was making her lightheaded. Her head was pounding, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could fight off unconsciousness. Eyes still closed, she thought about giving in to the blackness, thinking, at that point, it would probably be for the best if she did.

  Then suddenly, the pressure on her neck was gone. Her lungs, no longer fighting for air, sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes flew open in time to see Peter being hauled away from her.

  Coughing and still gasping for breath, she saw Derek through a blur of tears. Rage twisted his features as he yelled something Russian in Peter’s face.

  She must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing she remembered was Derek hovering over her, lightly tapping her cheek.

  Her whole body jerked, and Derek placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Nobody else is going to hurt you.”

  She tried to speak, but her throat was sore and only a garble of sound made it past her lips.

  “Can you sit up if I help you?”

  She managed to get into a sitting position with Derek’s help, and he kept a supporting arm around her back as she swallowed a few painful sips from the water bottle he held to her lips.

  “I’m so sorry about this.”

  She kept silent. She had nothing to say to him. Saving her from near rape didn’t atone for putting her in that position in the first place.

  After another eternity of her silence, he sighed, finally getting the hint and leaving.

  Feeling numb, she watched him walk up the stairs. She took another painful sip of water, knowing she needed to stay hydrated. She glanced over at the plate of food but knew she wouldn’t be able to get any of it down.

  Exhausted and drained, she found her blanket within reaching distance and mushed it into a pillow. Lying on her side, she curled into a ball not caring at that point if she got a chill from the icy ground. It didn’t take long for her thoughts to drift, but she didn’t think about Peter or even Derek.

  No, it was Marco’s image she fell asleep to.

  Chapter Six

  Marco stood perfectly still against the wall for fear if he made the slightest move, he’d do something stupid. White-hot anger scorched his veins, worry and dread soured his stomach, and the need to do something, anything, tightened his muscles to the point they felt petrified into rock-hard shards under his skin. His emotions were a live wire, and it took all his control to keep himself from exploding.

  Three days.

  That’s how long he’d been in such a state.

  That’s how long Gabriella had been missing.

  That’s how long they’d been searching for the punk she’d last been seen with.

  And she was missing. Because while Gabriella may have a bit of a stubborn streak, she would never be insensitive enough to worry her family by disappearing for so long. Which left only one conclusion. She’d been taken.

  He tried not to let his imagina
tion run wild, but in his line of work, he knew exactly what could be happening to her, and the images in his head were not pretty. The thought of never again seeing her smile or hearing her laughter did crazy things to his head. While he’d known her for ten years, watching her grow up, for the past four she’d been his obsession. He was drawn to her light, her sparkle, her wit. The loyalty and love she showed to her family—he craved to be a part of that world. But he’d kept his distance. Watched her from afar, never letting his true feelings slip because, as badly as he wanted Gabriella, he knew Nico would never approve.

  But even knowing that, he still couldn’t help but think of Gabriella as his.

  So, Marco stood against the wall, fists clenched, perfectly still for fear if he made the slightest move, he’d do something stupid like kill the fucker they had tied to a chair in the middle of the room before they got any useful information out of him.

  They’d picked the guy up at a strip club less than a half-hour before. They’d gotten lucky when one of their men overheard him running his mouth. Marco just hoped he had the information they sought. It would suck for the guy if he didn’t. Hell, who was he kidding, after they were finished, it would suck to be him even if he did.

  Frankie circled his prey, the hammer in his hand swinging freely at his side. The guy followed the movement, his eyes straining to keep the weapon in sight, but losing it when Frankie rounded the back of his chair.

  Marco looked across the room at Nico who leaned on the opposite wall, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed at the ankle. They were in an abandoned warehouse. Well, one of the offices in the back to be precise. It was a good spot for wetwork—easy cleanup.

  Frankie came to a halt, stopping right in front of the guy. He looked over his shoulder, and Nico took a few steps away from the wall, planting himself in a relaxed pose. “I suppose you know why you’re here. But in case you don’t, we’re looking for a woman. Taken three days ago. Ring any bells?”

  Raising his chin defiantly, the guy didn’t answer.

  Nico sighed, acting as though dealing with the fucker was growing tiresome. “Listen, you can make this easy on yourself and tell me what I want to know, or Frankie here, can make things very painful for you, and then you’ll tell me everything I want to know. What’s it gonna be?”

  “Poshyel k chyertu,” the guy spat and struggled against his bonds.

  Marco wasn’t sure what the fuck the guy had said, but he didn’t think it was I’ll take the easy way.

  Frankie looked over his shoulder again, and Nico gave him a small nod.

  Lightning fast, the hammer came down, striking the fucker’s kneecap. Marco heard the crunch from where he was standing, right before he heard the guy’s screams.

  Nico took a step closer. “Did that jog your memory?”

  “Idi nahuey!”

  Frankie didn’t wait for Nico’s approval that time. The hammer came down, shattering the guy’s other knee. The guy screamed again and then went mute, his chin falling to his chest, spittle coating his lips.

  Losing patience, Marco moved for the first time since entering the room. Stepping behind the chair, he grabbed a fistful of the guy’s hair and pulled, stretching his neck back. He leaned down, getting close to the fucker’s ear, and growled, “You will tell us what we want to know.”

  Sounding defeated, but it could’ve been the pain talking, the guy said, “If I tell you, they’ll kill me.”

  Marco chuckled, a sound so evil the guy shuddered in his grip. “You’re dead either way, fucker. The question is, how do you want to go? You see, me, I don’t have much patience. All that screaming gives me a headache. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll kill you nice and quick. Now, my friend here,” he nodded Frankie’s direction, “he likes to drag shit out,” Marco leaned in closer, and whispered, “for days. So, what’s it gonna be? Quick… or slow?”

  The guy talked.

  “This place is in the fucking boonies,” Frankie rumbled from the back seat.

  Marco grunted, his eyes falling to the Sat Nav on the dash. They were almost to their destination, and Frankie wasn’t wrong, there was nothing in sight but a few fucking Joshua trees.

  “If that asshole played us for a fool, I’m going back and torturing that fucker nice and slow.”

  Marco grunted again, but he silently agreed with Frankie. If that fucker gave them false information, his promise of a quick death was null and void.

  Nico took a right, and in the distance, a house came into view. Thank fuck. Marco sent up a little prayer Gabriella was in it. He turned to Nico. “How’s this playing out? We storming through the front door or will it be a sneak attack?”

  He saw Nico glance in the rearview mirror. They had three cars full of their men following them. His eyes found Marco’s again. “Neither. We draw them out. I don’t know where they’re holding Gabby, and I don’t want to take a chance of her getting hit in the crossfire.”

  Marco leaned forward in his seat, pulling the gun from the small of his back and did a quick check, making sure it was fully loaded.

  Nico stopped half a mile from the house. Marco noted two cars. One at the curb, one in the drive. He didn’t know whether any were in the garage. He hoped, as it was well past midnight, the place wouldn’t be heavily guarded.

  “We sure this is the right place?”

  Nico crawled forward, getting a little closer to the house then put the car in park before answering Frankie’s question. “No.” He opened his door and stepped out. Pulling his stiletto from his pocket, Nico flicked it open before leaning back in the car, eyeballing Frankie. “But we’ll know in a few minutes, yeah?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Frankie growled, getting out of the car to join him.

  Nico signaled to his men to circle the building. Once they were in position with Frankie hidden by the garage door, Marco and Nico made their way to the car at the curb. After stabbing both rear tires, they gave it a jiggle, setting off the alarm then ducked down, watching the front door through the car’s windows.

  It didn’t take long for the door to open. A guy dressed in slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled came out and pointed a closed fist at the car. The alarm went silent. Marco also noticed, he carried a gun in his opposite hand, held down at his side. Not the typical suburbia family then. Good. Odds were, they’d found the right place. It was confirmed when someone yelled from inside the house, and the guy answered.

  They spoke in Russian.

  Marco stood, letting himself be seen. He wanted the guy to shout an alarm. Wanted his friends to come out of the house and join the party.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  A bullet whizzed past his ear, and he returned fire, hitting a guy in the forehead. Marco wasn’t there to fuck around, and they didn’t need to extract information. All those fuckers could die for all he cared—which was to say, not a single fucking bit.

  It took a ridiculously short time to clear the front yard. He skirted the four bodies decorating the ground as he made his way to the front door—Marco at Nico’s back with Frankie in the lead. Shouts of “clear” from their men echoed throughout the house as they fanned out, searching the main room.

  Marco entered the kitchen, glass crunching under the soles of his shoes from a busted window. Two doors were against the far wall, one led to a pantry, the other was locked.

  “Yo,” he called out. Nico rounded the bend, and Marco tipped his head. “Locked door.”

  Frankie and Dino appeared. Nico looked at Marco. “Shoot it.”

  Marco aimed, just right of the doorknob, and fired. Wood splintered, but he shot a second time for good measure. He pulled the door open, revealing a set of stairs.

  Halfway down, Nico stopped and turned to look over the banister and into the room below. Marco saw him flinch. A movement that would be subtle for some, but it spoke volumes from the usually self-possessed Nico Conti. That’s when Marco knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to see.

  Turning his head, he
saw Gabriella lying on the floor within a puddle of light. He stared, taking a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.

  She lay on her side, eyes closed, hands bound behind her. Strands upon strands of her long, black hair fanned the concrete floor, haloing her head. It was the only part of her he saw that looked undamaged.

  Bruises, scratches, and blood filled the exposed skin of her face, neck, chest, and arms. The cheek that was visible was swollen and red, the tightly stretched skin shining in the light of the single overhead bulb. Dried blood crusted her chin, trailing down from a scab on her bottom lip. Her t-shirt was torn at the neck, baring a line of deep scratches that disappeared under the cup of her bra. Her jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped, exposing the lace of her panties.

  He heard a low, drawn-out growl followed by an anguished groan, and it wasn’t until he looked around and noticed the stares from the men surrounding him that he realized they’d come from him.

  As if that were the catalyst, everyone began to move in unison, but it was Marco who gained the lead. Dropping to one knee, he shrugged out of his coat, draping it over Gabriella. He looked up at Nico, who stood over him and held out his hand. “Give me your knife.”

  Without a word, Nico passed it over, and Marco sawed at the plastic zip tie that bound her wrists.

  She groaned once her arms were free, her eyes half opening. As if remembering her plight, she suddenly jack-knifed to sitting, her eyes going wide.

  “Easy, you’re safe.” His jacket had fallen onto her lap, the jagged edge of her shirt slipping and exposing more of her bra. He reached for his jacket, grabbed it by the collar, and settled it securely back over her shoulders.

  Her eyes darted around the room, her body relaxing in stages as she recognized all its members. “Nico?” Her voice was a choked whisper. And then her eyes landed on him. “Marco…”

  And fuck him if she didn’t say his name on a sigh, causing a tightness in his chest.

  He scooped her into his arms and stood. “Come on, streghetta mia, let’s get you home.”