Mafia Sins: The Mafia Romance Collection

by Bella King

  “I’ve been to Louisiana a few times. My Aunt lives there,” I say.

  “But nowhere up north? You can think of this as a nice little vacation then,” he says with a smile.

  “I don’t want to go on a vacation with you,” I say, giving him a look of distrust.

  “Oh, come on. You don’t like me?” he asks, a playful tone overtaking his deep voice.

  “I don’t know you,” I say, pulling my legs up to my chest and taking another bite of my apple.

  “You’re getting my seat dirty,” Devin says, reaching out to try to push my feet off the edge of it.

  “Fuck you.” I swat his hand away.

  “Maybe you should,” he replies with a crooked smile and a glint of something suggestive in his eyes. “It would make this trip a lot more bearable if you did.”

  “Fuck you?” I ask, crossing my arms and scoffing at him. “In your dreams.”

  “You’ll probably change your mind,” he says with a shrug.

  I don’t appreciate his cockiness. When I say no, it’s because I mean it. No amount of his suggestive comments is going to change my mind, especially since he pulled me into a huge mess, and I’m being held prisoner.

  I reach into the bag in the center console that Devin still hasn’t touched and pull out a handful of cold fries. They’re much better than apples, and I give up trying to be healthy. I don’t eat properly when I’m stressed out, and Devin is doing a wonderful job of stressing me the hell out.

  “Just make yourself comfortable then, I guess,” Devin says, his voice passive, almost dismissive.

  “If you’re going to keep my locked up in here for the rest of the day, then yeah, I am going to make myself comfortable,” I say, shoving the fires into my mouth. I roll down the window.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Devin asks, jerking his head toward me.

  “Relax,” I reply, tossing my apple core out of the window before rolling it back up. “I’m not going to jump out of the car through the damn window.”

  “You never know,” Devin replies, settling back into his seat and looking ahead.

  “I’m not an idiot like you are,” I reply, looking for a confrontation.

  Devin deflects it, ignoring me and staring out at the road ahead.

  We aren’t anywhere that there are other cars, but I’m not sure that it’s a safe place to be either. The car is kicking up thick clouds of yellow dust behind us, making our location visible to anyone who’s looking. Plus, red isn’t exactly a subtle color for a car on the run.

  I try to find some comfort in this crazy situation. At least Devi isn’t a crazy serial killer who likes to kidnap young women before he uses them and chops them to bits and eats them. On the other hand, I don’t know if anything he has said so far is true. For all I know, his intention could be just that.

  I look him over, finding myself admiring his rugged looks and piercing blue eyes again. It isn’t my fault that Devin is so handsome. He’s built with well-defined muscles, but he isn’t overly bulky. He looks like the kind of guy I would lust over at concerts when I was younger, but I’m more mature than that now. I don’t date bad boys.

  Well, if I’m being honest, I don’t date anyone. There aren’t many options in the small Texas town I live in. Even online dating hasn’t yielded many good results. There is a whole lot of nothing out here, and it’s tempting to settle when things are like that, but I have the sense to wait until I move to look for a suitable man.

  I’ve seen what happens to girls that settle down too quickly, and I don’t want to be the next trailer-park mom nursing a baby while her redneck husband yells at her about being out of beer. People think it’s a stereotype, but I’ve seen my fair share of it.

  I find myself staring at Devin. I avert my eyes and shove my hand into the bag of fries again, pulling out another large handful to shove into my mouth. “You’re not going to eat?” I ask, simultaneous putting the fries onto my tongue.

  Devin chuckles. “I was under the impression that you were the one eating.”

  “Only because you weren’t,” I counter quickly, but I feel a tinge of guilt about stealing his food.

  “No, that’s fine. Maybe we’ll stop for some proper food in a bit,” Devin says, looking up into the rearview mirror. “That’s if the cartel doesn’t get back on our tail. They’re tricky that way.”

  “How long have you been running from them?” I ask, flipping a braid over my shoulder.

  Devin drums his fingers on the wheel and shrugs. “I’ve been on the road all morning. I didn’t think they would come after me so quickly, but I was wrong.”

  “You should tell me why they’re after you,” I say.

  “Nice try. Are you a cop or something?”

  I laugh. “Just curious.”

  “Well, I don’t feel comfortable telling a stranger how many laws I’ve broken, so you’ll just have to stay curious,” he replies.

  I pull out my bottle of water and take another sip of it. The moment I realize that I’ve already finished half of it is the same moment I realize that I have to pee. I consider waiting until we stop for food, but I don’t know how long that will be.

  “Hey,” I say, closing the lid of the bottle. “I need to pee.”

  “Really?” he replies, looking over at me doubtfully.

  “Yes,” I say, wondering if he thinks I’m lying. Why would I lie about something like that?

  “I can’t stop now,” he says. “The cartel is too close. You’ll just have to wait.”

  I groan. “Come on. I’m going to wet myself if you make me wait.”

  “Stop whining,” he replies, pressing the volume button to turn the radio on.

  Slow country music starts playing through the speakers as we drive along the narrow road.

  Devin frowns at the radio. “Don’t you people listen to anything else here?”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Rock music, rap, I don’t know. Anything but country.”

  “You’re in Texas, buddy,” I reply with a chuckle.

  “Whatever,” he grumbles and clicks the radio button to shut it off.

  “I still have to pee,” I say, not letting him off the hook for that.

  “Jesus, just wait like an hour.”

  “Your seat is going to be yellow,” I reply smugly.

  “Ugh, fine. You’re such a pain in the ass, Marybeth,” he groans, slowing the car down. He pulls over on the side of the road and flicks his wrist toward the door. “Go.”

  “I need privacy,” I say.

  “I won’t look,” Devin replies, turning his head away.

  I grab my bottle of water from between my knees and hop out of the car into the fine dirt that’s covering the side of the road. The air hits my skin like it would if I opened an oven, rushing into my face and immediately making me sweat again. Maybe Canada won’t be so bad after all.

  I look back at the car. The red metal looks like a glowing ember under the bright sun, and I wouldn’t dare touch it. I could probably cook lunch on the hood of it.

  I’m outside, and Devin isn’t watching me. I do have to pee, but who’s to say that I have to return to his car afterward. I could just make a break for it. I have water, and it can’t be that far back to civilization. Someone might even come down the road and stop to help me.

  The cartel might pick me up like Devin said, so that makes me pause to thinking about running. I’m still convinced that Devin is better than whoever was chasing him.

  I step off the road, moving down an incline until I’m mostly hidden from view. There’s nothing but tan dirt and dried-up plants for miles to see. It would take a while for Devin to notice if I make a run for it, but is it even worth it?

  I pull down my shorts and take care of my business, trying to be quick so that Devin doesn’t come out to check on me. When I stand up again, I can see another road across the expanse of desert, running parallel to the one that we’re on. A little black dot is moving across it in the distance. I cou
ld flag someone down if I got to it.

  I take a sip of my water and turn around. The Mustang is still humming on the side of the road, mostly hidden from my view. Okay, it’s now or never.

  I take a deep breath and make a run for it.

  Chapter Five

  My feet hit the hard, cracked dirt, leaving almost no footprints behind as I dash across the open area toward the parallel road. I don’t know whether I’ll make it there before Devin notices that I’m gone, or if he’ll bother coming after me, but I’m not slowing down.

  The water in my bottle sloshes around violently as I run. Sweat is already pouring down my face, and my shirt is sticking to my back. It feels good to run, though, because I get a breeze over me that way.

  I shouldn’t have skipped track and field in school. I never enjoyed running around the track even when it was indoors, but I wish that I had. The months of fast food are showing up now, slowing me down as I feel my legs start to give up on me. Running back and forth between cars and the drive-in clearly wasn’t enough to get me across the gap in good time. I am losing speed.

  I yank the bandana from my back pocket and wipe my forehead again, probably smearing dirt across my face. I don’t care how I look now. I won’t be getting any tips for my charming smiles and prompt service anymore.

  I squint at the road ahead of me. I’m nearly halfway there, and I see a truck sitting there, not moving in the road. That’s odd because normally people don’t stop in the road unless they’re getting out to toss something or pee. I cup my hand over my eyes to block the glare from the sun, attempting to get a better look as I slow to a jog.

  It’s not one truck. It’s two.

  “Fuck,” I say to myself as I realize that these trucks look exactly like the cartel trucks that were following us. I’m certain they’re the same ones.

  I stop in my tracks and look back at the incline. I can see the top of Devin’s car, and he hasn’t moved. How long does he think women take to use the bathroom?

  I watch the trucks, trying to figure out if they see Devin. Maybe they’re too focused on him to pay attention to me. I could try to move further down the road and avoid them entirely. I’m not jogging now. I’m just walking. I don’t want to draw attention to myself.

  One of the trucks starts to move, and then the other does too. They both pull off the road and turn to my direction. I watch them, a feeling of dread quickly filling up my body. They’re coming toward me.

  I spin around and run again, kicking up dirt behind me as I peel across the desert landscape. I’m running so fast that my body is screaming for more air, and I’m breathing so hard that my lungs hurt. I thought that I didn’t have any more energy in me, but I was wrong. I’m running faster than I ever have.

  I can already hear the trucks behind me, rolling over rocks and plants. They will catch me before I can get back to the car unless Devin rescues me. I shouldn’t have to rely on my kidnapper to rescue me. This is seriously messed up.

  “Devin,” I yell as loud as my aching lungs will let me. “They’re coming!”

  I stumble over a root sticking out from the soil, but I steady myself and manage to keep from falling. My face feels like an overripe peach in the summer sun, and the sweat is starting to blur my vision. I need Devin to come with his car right now, or I’m toast.

  “Devin,” I shriek again. I think he hears me this time because I see the top of his car move as it begins to pull further off the road.

  I look back, and the trucks are so close that I can see the faces of the men behind the wheels of them. I would take Devin any day over these men. Their faces are dark and wrinkled from the sun like raisins, and they are wearing nasty grins from ear to ear. They look like the type of men who would slit your throat just to watch the blood flow.

  Devin’s car flies over the edge of the road, falling hard on its tires but staying in one piece as it comes to rescue me. I didn’t think that I would be so happy to see Devin right after swearing to myself that he’s the worst man on earth, but I’m thrilled that he’s here.

  “Cartel,” I yell, pointing behind me as he pulls up beside me. I yank open the door and repeat myself.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. What the hell were you doing out there? Running?” he asks, slamming his foot on the gas.

  My head sinks back into the headrest as I fall silent. I don’t want to admit that I was trying to run away from him. It will ruin the chances of him trusting me like that again. “I saw a snake,” I say, making up the first lie that comes to my head. We do have a lot of snakes out here.

  “You also saw the cartel,” Devin says, jumping the Mustang back up onto the road.

  I bounce in my seat, barely able to stay put as Devin rips across the road, engine roaring as loud as before.

  “I think they were following us from across the street,” I tell Devin as he focuses on the road ahead.

  “Yeah, probably,” he replies, shifting gears. “The bastards aren’t going to give up so easily.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “No time for questions,” Devin says, deflecting my request for more information yet again.

  I’m not sure if he’ll ever let me know why he’s on the run, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m more concerned with getting the hell out of here than I am with figuring what kind of awful mess that Devin has got himself into. That’s his problem to deal with, not mine.

  “We’re in trouble,” Devin says, glancing down at his speedometer.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” I ask, panic creeping into my body like a poison.

  “We’re almost out of gas,” he says.

  “Are they going to catch us?” I ask, looking back at the trucks behind us with wide eyes.

  Devin’s teeth are clenched so tight that I can see his jaw muscles dancing beneath the stubbled skin of his cheeks.

  “Are they going to catch us, Devin? Are they?” I yelp, digging my fingers into the headrest as I watch the trucks behind us.

  Devin sighs, easing his foot off the gas. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but the bastards aren’t giving me another choice,” he grumbles, looking royally pissed off.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him, frustrated with how little he tells me. I feel like he treats me like I’m stupid. I’m not.

  “Don’t worry about what I’m doing. I have a job for you,” he says, flashing me a cocky smile. “Take the wheel.”

  I’m confused. “You want me to drive?”

  “Yes, take the wheel and get in my seat. I’m going to the back,” he says, unlatching his seatbelt and taking his hands off the steering wheel.

  “Christ almighty,” I exclaim, my southern accent coming out strong in the heat of the moment. I lean over and grab the wheel to steady the car as Devin leaves his seat and slips into the back. I’m able to jump over the console, knocking the oily bag of fries to the floor as I settle down in the driver’s seat.

  I’m not an experienced driver. My papa used to let me drive his truck around the lake sometimes, but never at speeds as high as this. I’m terrified that I’m going to kill us both, but Devin seems to trust me. He shouldn’t.

  I keep my foot hard on the gas as we become a red blur across the empty road. The cartel trucks are slowly starting to fall behind, but we’re not going to be able to outrun them. The gas meter is almost on empty.

  “I’m not a good driver,” I shout back to Devin, wishing that he would take over the driving again. I don’t even know what he’s doing back there.

  “Keep going. You’re fine,” he says, fumbling around behind the seat.

  He’s looking for something, but I don’t know what that something is. The only thing that I can think that would be useful is more gas, but we would have to stop the car to fill it, which isn’t an option right now.

  “Gotcha,” Devin exclaims with a devilish grin. I can see his face light up in the rearview mirror. Whatever he has, it must be good.

  I’m glancing back and forth so fast between the road and the mirro
r that I can barely see either of them. I catch a glimpse of what Devin is holding, and my mouth drops open. “Is that a gun?”

  “Damn right it is,” he says, jumping back into the front seat where I had been sitting earlier. His tattooed hands are wrapped around a black rifle.

  I had shot a gun many times in my life. My papa taught me how to use one, so they don’t usually frighten me. I even carry one on me sometimes, but not when I’m at work. It would have come in handy right about now.

  This wasn’t a shotgun, nor was it a double-barrel meant for hunting and protecting the chicken against foxes. No, this was a weapon for war, and Devin seemed almost excited to use it.

  “Keep going. Don’t slow down,” he urges me, pressing the button to bring his window down.

  I keep one eye on Devin, and one eye on the road as wind fills the cabin, tossing my braid around on my shoulders. He points the gun out of the window, leaning out so far that I’m worried he’ll get sucked out onto the road.

  The wind is so loud in the car that it makes the gunshots sound quiet. Devin is rattling them off into the trucks behind us, and I can smell the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder blowing through the hot air. A hot bullet casing bounces onto my bare thigh, burning my skin before it rolls off onto the floor.

  I suddenly become away that I’m not an accomplice to whatever trouble Devin has gotten himself in. I’m driving his car as he shoots out the window. I doubt that I can twist this in a favorable way if the police decide to show up.

  That’s just another reason to dislike Devin. He might have been a decent guy if he wasn’t pure trouble. In a short span of an hour, I have been lifted from a perfectly boring existence into a car chase cartel shootout with a muscly bad boy. This isn’t the type of excitement I have been dreaming of.

  “Focus on the road, not me,” Devin yells as he fires off another few shots at the trucks behind us.

  “Are they leaving?” I ask, looking in the side mirror.

  “I don’t want them to leave,” Devin replies, banging out another few shots out the window. “We need their fuel.”