by Chelle Bliss
Kiel smiled, a small glimmer of pleasure glinting in his eyes as he watched me. “Well, I’m not gonna kick you out of my bed if the opportunity comes around again, but I’m also not going to treat you like a whore.” He stretched an arm along the back of the seat and fingered my hair absently. “Not unless you ask.”
“I won’t.”
The stroking of my hair stopped. Kiel pushed an exaggerated grimace onto his face as though he were disappointed and surprised by my reaction. “No whore treatment?”
“No sex.” The grimace got real then, but I ignored it. “With us. Not again.”
Kiel scratched his ear, pulling on it as though he needed a distraction to organize his thoughts. It was less than two seconds before that cool calm resurfaced, right along with a smooth grin and a flippant shrug. “That’s disappointing, but I understand. I’m sorry I said you meant nothing. You might be manipulative and greedy for my attention, but you aren’t meaningless to me. You never have been.”
“Because you care if something bad happens to me?” I asked, remembering the only decent thing he’d said to me two nights ago.
“Because, Cara, against my wishes, you’re my wife for however much longer that needs to be our reality. I might not like you most days, but God help me, you’re still family.” The smile vanished from his features. Kiel leaned close just as the car slowed next to the sidewalk in front of the gallery. There was something I recognized in his eyes—a steely glint that reminded me of the promises Kiel had made once. They’d been solid and real, and he’d meant every word. He reached for my face, brushing away a strand from my cheek like it was his right. Like five years hadn’t separated him from the last time he’d touched me with such sweetness.
“Kainos protect family. Even when they don’t deserve it.”
I held his hand next to my face when he started to pull away, keeping that large palm against my skin. “Think I’ll ever deserve it again?”
He bit at the inside of his lip, cautious, wary, before he answered. “Maybe. Think you’ll ever forgive me for treating you like a whore?”
“Maybe,” I admitted, missing his hand when he dropped it into his lap. My cheek still felt warm. “But it might take something monumental to earn my forgiveness,” I joked, laughing under my breath.
“Noted.”
Arturo stood at Kiel’s door, ready for the tap on the window telling him to let us out. I nodded toward the man, eager to get Kiel’s attention on something other than our proximity or the heat currently humming between us as my driver stood outside in the crisp fall weather.
Kiel returned my nod, grinned back, and tapped a knuckle against the glass, easing out of the car and offering a hand to me once he stood. It was easy taking it, getting back into the ebb and flow of our actions—him opening doors for me or guiding me through a room with his large hand at the small of my back.
He was a gentleman, no matter what had happened between us. It seemed that hadn’t changed about him. He went as far as shutting the door behind us, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow as we walked a good forty feet from the car. He threw me a glance and a half smile, before his body went rigid and he and Arturo both stood perfectly still.
The sidewalks were almost empty. There were custodians from the gallery near the front garden, trimming away dead weeds and collecting small bits of trash. The guards around the entrance weren’t paying attention to us, and two beat cops strolled west toward Sixth Avenue.
It seemed quiet, sure, but not unusual. Not with the weather turning cooler and the lunch hour crowd dwindling, but Kiel and Arturo shared a look I’d seen before when my father’s guards were on edge.
A look that said there was a threat looming, and their senses and instincts had them on high alert. Kiel had never been anything more than a journalist, but if your beat put you in a world were violence and danger were commonplace, then you learned to listen to your gut. You learned to keep your defenses up and do battle when the shit gets thick.
By the look on Kiel’s face, shit was thickening quickly.
“On the left,” Arturo said, his accent heavy and laced with fear.
“At my back,” Kiel said, voice no louder than a growl.
Then the world twisted.
Spun on its axis.
Sped up and slowed down all at the same time.
So much of what happened became a blur; something I tried to remember later but failed at organizing the details into anything other than flashes.
Kiel’s growl had just left his mouth when one of the garden workers stood up straight, whistled a quick, sharp chirp of sound, then ran toward us.
Arturo grabbed his gun, drawing it with a speed that should not have been possible for someone with such a low center of gravity. Kiel pulled me against his chest, his thick arms over my shoulders and his large hand over my head as he half carried, half pulled me toward the car.
“Fuck!” he said when Arturo dropped next to the car after a shower of pops and bangs I recognized as gunfire.
There could have been dozens of goons coming for us. There could have been two. I couldn’t see past Kiel’s huge body and the cold sidewalk against my chest when he shoved me to the ground.
“Fuck!” he screamed again, lying on top of me while he tugged on Arturo’s collar, pulling the driver toward us.
Blood flowed in a thick stream as the man struggled toward us. He was conscious, but he looked weak, barely able to do more than pass his gun to Kiel just as the gardener came close.
“Oddio!” the driver said, holding up his hands, curses heavy, angry as the attacker approached.
Kiel grabbed the gun, rolled onto his back, and squeezed off three rounds. “In the car, right fucking now,” Kiel said, but I wasn’t sure who he expected to listen to him.
My body shook, and I couldn’t make my fingers move correctly. The door handle was too slick, the action to pull it too complicated especially when Arturo struggled, crawling on an elbow to open the door. “Cara, move!” Kiel shouted, tugging me up with one hand and stuffing Arturo into the front seat with the other.
There was so much blood on the beige leather in my car, and my driver wheezed and coughed as he leaned against the headrest. “Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome,” he started, and tears burned and blinded my eyes as I recognized the Our Father whispering in a rush from his mouth.
“Arturo, don’t…” I tried, surprised my voice sounded frantic. “I won’t allow you to start preparing for things that aren’t coming!” I glanced around us on the street, willing Kiel to hurry to the other side of the car and get in the driver’s seat. As a distraction, I pulled a handkerchief from my bag, holding it tight over the gunshot right at Arturo’s collarbone.
“Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli,” he started again, and I could only join him, figuring it couldn’t hurt to ask for a little help.
It felt like an hour and half a second and a thousand years since we’d stepped out of the car and into an ambush.
Logically, I knew it was no time at all, and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding when Kiel finally jumped into the driver’s seat, grabbed the key from Arturo’s outstretched hand, and tore down Fifth Avenue.
“Are you hit?” he asked me, voice panicked as he glanced at my driver then back to me. “I can’t stop to check, Cara. You have to tell me. Check yourself out…”
“I’m…fine,” I said, head shaking when he reached an arm back toward me, grabbing my leg like he needed to touch me to see if I was still warm and alive and not bleeding to death on the sidewalk.
“Get your phone. Call Johnny. Put it on speaker.” He bypassed two cabs as they tried blocking his attempt to merge. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see if anyone had gotten in his way. “Cara…”
“I don’t know where…” The weak response came out in a sob, and my entire body shook.
“Check your bag. Do it now, baby.” His grip turned viselike on my legs, and I used my free arm to dig through my bag,
emptying it onto the seat. My phone was at the bottom, and I grabbed it, thumbing through my recent texts, Arturo’s blood smearing over the screen.
“Yeah?” My brother answered after two rings, his voice quiet but amused.
“Carelli, this is Kiel,” he said as I held the phone up. “We got hit.”
“Madonn’!” The amused tone was replaced by breathy panic as Johnny moved. The sound of his feet pounding came through the receiver same as his cursing and shouted oaths and demands as he moved. “Cara?”
“I’m here, ciccio. I’m fine… I just…” My voice was weak, terrified-sounding, I was sure. I held on to Kiel’s fingers as he gripped my knee.
“Cazzo,” Johnny answered, his voice cracking and his breath panting now. “Where are you? Oddio, you tell me now.”
“You still got a plane for the museum?” Kiel asked, glancing from the street in front of him to the rearview. There were sirens in the distance, but no one followed us.
“We do.”
“Meet me at the airport.”
“Where are you taking my sister?” My brother had stopped running, and the loud rev of a car accelerating muffled his question.
Kiel glanced at me in the mirror, his eyes wide but fierce.
He looked determined.
He looked in control, and with that one look, I knew he would protect me.
Damaged marriage or not.
Betrayal or not.
Kiel would protect me.
He tightened his hand on the steering wheel and pushed down on the gas, answering my brother’s question as though it was an afterthought. “I’m taking her to the only place that’s safe right now.”
11
Kiel
Gangsters weren’t stupid.
They’d be shitty at their jobs if they were.
Vinnie, and I’d bet my left nut that that asshole was responsible for the attack on us, wasn’t a stupid gangster either.
We couldn’t just book a hotel and hide out in Seattle until shit got sorted.
Money bought power.
Power created control, and that bastard had a lot.
Much as I hated it, we’d have to hide.
That took effort.
There was no quick escape or quicker exit once we landed.
Seattle was a city.
It had space and people. A clutter of distractions that would make us vulnerable. But Seattle wasn’t where we needed to be. To get to that place, it would take time and a hike I wasn’t sure Cara was up to.
“You’re kidding, yeah?”
“Nope.”
The jeans were her size, I knew that. No one knew that ass like I did. While I hadn’t seen much of it in the past five years, I’d recently gotten reacquainted. The hips were still wide, the ass plump and perfect.
Size eight, easy. The boots, though…
“You can’t expect me to trek up a mountain…”
She shut up when I yanked the hiking boots out of her hands, frowning at her attitude. The princess was resurfacing, and that asshole was pissing me off.
“You think that bullshit back in New York was a joke?” She shook her head and dropped the boots onto the floor of the truck Kane had left for me at the airport because the paparazzi was still breathing down his neck.
I grabbed her wrist, waving her own fingers at her. The tips were still stained with Arturo’s blood despite the half hour Cara had spent in the airplane bathroom.
“This isn’t from finger painting. These motherfuckers want me dead, and they don’t seem to care in the least if you get mixed up in that shit.” She blinked at me, and I pushed back the quick urge that came over me to touch her.
It was her fault, all of this. If scaring her got her dressed and up the mountain faster, I’d do it.
“Either get dressed, put on the damn boots, and follow me, or you can stay here and let Vinnie and his assholes bring you back to your father’s. I’m sure that’ll be fun for you.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Doesn’t matter what you meant, Cara.” I tugged on the sweatshirt my brother had left for me in the cab of the truck and didn’t look at her. “Just hurry the hell up.”
The truck was older. Probably an early eighties Ford that I bet Kane had borrowed from someone on his crew. It got us from the airport and to the dirt road that hid our family’s generous cabin. No trucks. No cars. Nothing but your feet and a little effort hauling up any supplies you’d need and you’d be there.
Kane and I had bought it ten years ago. Our mother’s anxiety had worsened living in the city, and she wanted quiet, woods, and enough stars overhead that wouldn’t be lost in the chaos around her in Seattle. She couldn’t handle the hike, so Kane kept several ATVs chained and covered in a small shed near the bottom of the trail where a large, flat ridge had been cleared. The ATVs were gone. All up at the cabin, waiting for me to call for a ride, but I thought the princess could use the wilderness, and I’d feel better after the long walk.
Cara dressed in silence while I pulled on my boots and grabbed the backpack from the bed of the truck. Kane had outfitted it with plenty of supplies—flashlights and batteries, water bottles, and a compass watch with GPS altimeter, barometer, and thermometer that glowed yellow in the dimming light. There was also a burner phone, a handful of protein bars, and a first aid kit.
Maybe it was a little overkill, but Kane liked to be prepared. He liked me to be prepared too, but I could never quite get up to his level with that shit. My brother had also left me his Glock and a box of ammo. Wasn’t sure if that was meant for shooting any animals that got in our way or the animals who’d already tried to kill us, but there wasn’t time to think about it. He also left me, if the two pickups were any indication, some backup. Kane’s own Ford and Dale’s Chevy were parked next to my truck on the ridge across a small grouping of trees that hid the ATV shed. That asshole had my back, and apparently, so did his friend.
“The coat’s a little big,” Cara admitted, coming around to the back of the truck where I’d pulled down the tailgate. She glanced up at the sky, then tilted her head toward the trail that started on the other side of the ridge where I’d parked the old truck. “It’ll be dark soon.”
I knew that. I did have eyes. “That happens every night.”
“Well, I just mean, how are we going to manage…in the dark?”
“A few hours in the dark won’t kill you,” I snapped, tucking the gun in my waistband before I slid on the backpack. My voice was sharp, and when Cara glanced at me, exhaling a long breath, I realized my attitude wasn’t needed.
Hadn’t I apologized to her this morning? Hadn’t I promised I’d never treat her like I had the other night in my hotel room? Now I was biting her head off for asking questions.
Sensible questions that anyone born and raised in the city might have when faced with worn jeans, hiking boots, and a climb up mountainous terrain.
Pushing back my irritation, I stood in front of her, adjusting the lining on her coat and refastening the buttons so it fit more snugly around her small waist. “It’ll get cold quick, but moving will keep us warm.”
She nodded but didn’t speak, going still as I pulled up her hood and slipped a small flashlight in her front pocket. When I made to pull away, Cara stopped me with her gloved fingers around my wrist. “I wasn’t trying to be a brat,” she admitted, moving her gaze up to look me square in the eyes. “I…I’ve never been in a situation like this, and I gotta admit…I’m out of my element.” Cara nodded around us, to the trees and darkening sky, then she jerked her eyes at the noise of what sounded like an owl hooting above us.
“Nature?” I said, not keeping the laugh out of my voice. “I know damn well this isn’t your element.”
“Yeah, well, I’m more of an urban jungle woman.” She squeezed my hand, attention again flying around and above us. “You sure you know how to get us to this cabin?”
“I could do that blindfolded.”
“Yeah,” she started, pulling th
e flashlight from her pocket as she followed me to the trail. “Let’s not do the whole blindfolded hiking thing.”
* * *
She was winded quickly, something that boggled my mind. “Drink slower,” I told her, handing her another water bottle. Her small panting had me stopping ten minutes away from reaching the cabin. “You’ll get sick if you down it too fast.” She ignored me, taking long gulps like she hadn’t had water in a month. My low laughter caught her attention, and Cara held the bottle near her mouth, holding it still as she glared at me.
“What?” she asked, the word breathy.
“I’ve seen you tackle ten blocks in four-inch boots, carrying a heavy Chanel bag over your shoulder and a large Triple Mocha Frappuccino in your hand, and not break stride. But this?” I waved my own bottle around us as we sat near the edge of the trail catching our breaths. “This has you all out of breath?”
Cara kicked me with the tip of her boot, and I laughed harder, earning a middle finger from my wife. “Hello, it’s up a mountain in the cold. Not remotely the same terrain as the Upper West Side.” She slumped, shoulders lowering as she messed with the label on the water bottle. “Besides, I’m never…scared in New York.”
Something happened to her expression then. Something that had me dropping any humor I still felt at her ridiculous shallow breaths. We’d put the mountain and miles between us and the shooting, a trek that did the job of distracting us, but that didn’t mean in moments like this Cara wasn’t still messed up a little by what had gone down.
She didn’t say anything as I slipped next to her, forgetting the backpack and water bottle to pull her against me with one arm over her shoulder. “Don’t be scared, Little Goddess. I’ve got you.”
“You say that, but what if…” She went quiet again, head shaking. I did what I always did when Cara was nervous or worried or so frustrated she couldn’t see straight. “Kiel…” she started, then shut up completely when I lowered my mouth to hers and kept her head still with one palm against her cheek.