Kiss & Control: A Mafia Romance Page 18

  Two million reasons to kill Perla. A woman. An innocent.

  He’s said it himself. Said it in front of our men. Practically shouted it from the rooftops, and I didn’t listen. This isn’t about Aidan. He sees a payout. A parachute to a life of drinking and fucking with Lombardi footing the bill. No wonder he doesn’t care about fucking up at the docks. He knows he won’t be around to clean it up.

  “He kept asking who tipped her off,” Chuckie rasps, rolling his head back against the ground in agony.

  My blood runs cold. “Tipped who off?”

  “Eva!” Chuckie spits out, gritting his teeth. “A guard was supposed to kill her at the house, but she snuck out that night to Minerva’s.”

  And saved her life in the process. Eva Lombardi’s got more than nine lives. That little spitfire cheats death better than anyone I know. And right now, I feel like a stranger to everyone.

  “How do you know all this?” I’ll put a bullet in his head if he was part of it. I’m done fucking around. This isn’t a game.

  “Lombardi’s guy was there when your twin shot me!” Chuckie lingers over twin like I’m full of shit. “Beat the shit out of us for days till your twin killed Perlie and shot me. I had to play dead with my girl’s corpse, man.”

  What if one of my fuckhead sons took matters into his own hands without having all the facts first? Pop was right. He just had the wrong son in accusing me.

  Torin takes a deep breath before looking at me again. “Where’s Nole now?”

  I glance at my watch. It’s five-thirty, and he isn’t hard to pin down. “At the docks or at a bar.”

  “Either you and Shea handle him,” Torin begins, stuffing a hand in his pocket for his phone. “Or I do.”

  Handle him. He might as well say it. We’re all thinking it. You don’t kill an innocent. And definitely not a woman. The rules are clear. So is the punishment.

  I push aside the waterfall of questions. The ones demanding to know why. How I missed any of this. There isn’t time to play.

  “I’ll head to the house to meet with Pop,” I say, the hollowness to my voice matching the void in my chest. Hopefully, Pop’s sober for once. “Call in a doctor for Chuckie.”

  The kid shouldn’t die. Marked or not, he has a right to live.

  Torin steps toward the door. “One is headed here now. You better get going.”

  The sun is gone as we head back out onto the gravel, the rural setting leaving the surrounding pasture pitch black. The wind provides a gentle reminder of what’s out there with a hefty wafting of cow shit.

  “So you’ll retire out here?” I ask, taking in the serenity. The quiet. The calm. It’s a lot like the Tor I know when he’s not slitting throats. It’s a fitting place for him to hang up his gun. He’s earned it by taking care of everyone else’s dirty work for the past few years.

  “Soon.” He sets a hand on my shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. “You’re always welcome with Ma.”

  “I might take you up on that.”

  “Fal…” He releases my shoulder, rushing toward my SUV. I can barely make him out in the glow from the barn, but the gravel crunches as if he’s kicking around. “You have a fucking tracking device on your car.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket, flipping the flashlight on. The beam hits Torin, who’s crouching by the passenger wheel well, his arm extended inside. He slips it free after rifling around, a small black device clutched in his fingers. A red blinking light peeks between his thumb and index finger. “The light reflected off your rim. Where did you park before coming here?”

  “I came straight from the cabin. Someone must’ve placed it at the docks.” That someone is Nolan. I know it in my bones. My feet carry me in a haze to the driver’s side of my vehicle. It’s automatic. My body knows where it's going. Instinct kicks in. Protect what’s mine.

  Torin does, too. “Get there, now. I’ll be on my way behind you once the doctor grabs Chuckie. He isn’t safe here.” He throws the device to the gravel and yanks a Ruger from his waistband, firing two shots into it that send sparks flying.

  “Where Perl-”

  “With a friend for storage,” he answers glumly, cutting me off. “She deserves a burial with her family.”

  I slip my phone back in my pocket, my skin humming in panic as I pull the door wide.

  I’m two hours from the cabin, and Nolan might be there now.

  I failed Eva.

  I led the wolves straight to her.

  20

  Eva

  Fallon.

  I say it.

  Repeat it.

  But Fallon doesn’t want me.

  And I shouldn’t want him, either.

  Wiping away hot tears, I turn from the door I’ve spent the better part of an hour staring at, hoping he’d change his mind. Wishing he’d walk in, wrap his arms around me, and take the pain away. Pathetic.

  The cabin offers little comfort. No pillows to cry into. No phone to call Perla. No pets to cuddle. But there is the bathtub, so I start the arduous process of filling it, which means warming pots of water one by one over the rack in the fireplace. This isn’t the Little House on the Prairie bullshit I want to be doing while fighting off an ugly cry, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  I fill the first pot from the tub and shuffle to the fireplace to set it down, adding another log from the rack without guilt now that Fallon’s dropped off a fresh supply. It won’t take long for the water to heat, so I sit cross-legged in front of the flames, watching the only source of entertainment in the cabin.

  I’d give anything to be watching television with Mama instead, even the rich housewives who have too much time and money on their hands. Trash television is one of the few interests we share. We love a little crazy.

  Ok, sometimes a lot of crazy.

  But that makes our day-to-day seem less insane. Why worry about a man carrying an AR-15 in the hallway when a lady made of plastic is throwing a champagne bottle at another human Barbie on TV? It’s the small things that get us by.

  I smile, poking at the fire with a spare log to maximize air flow.

  My smile fades at the stairs creaking outside, followed by heavy steps across the porch.

  They aren’t Fallon’s footsteps. Like the man from Minerva’s, he’s light on his feet.

  My eyes flick to the door, and I tighten my grip on the log, frozen.

  The locks outside unlatch slowly, first the bolt and then the chain. A key doesn’t enter the handle, sending my heart into overdrive. The visitor twists and shakes it instead, rattling the door violently. They have a lot of motivation to get in here. Two million dollars’ worth.

  I scan the barren room, searching for anywhere to go, but there’s nowhere to hide. I’m exposed. Trapped. Cuffed. If they get in here, I’m already at a severe disadvantage, and unlike my tussles with Fallon, they’ll want to hurt me.

  Pushing to my feet, I tiptoe to the door, keeping the log tucked under my arm. I’m not afraid to use it if I have to. A log to someone’s face might earn me a running start. I’ve run these woods barefoot, and I’ll do it again.

  Knocking echoes through the cabin, pleasant at first, like I have a friendly visitor, before switching to vicious banging. “Evangelina! Antonio sent me! It’s over!”

  It’s over.

  My eyes well with happy tears, but I can’t turn the lock. They could be lying, trying to make their two million dollar payday that much easier.

  Fallon said I was safe here. I don’t know why, but I believe him. He’s never given me a reason to doubt him. Not from the first night when he gave me his coat and promised he’d be back. He fulfilled that promise.

  “Evangelina!” The pounding grows louder, the cries more frantic. It’s a man, screaming my name in a loop.

  I want Fallon. I need Fallon.

  The truth plows into me like a freight train.

  Tears fall, not of relief, but of sheer terror. They’re coming to hurt me. To torture me.

 
Something hard rams into the door, and the crack of splintering wood pierces the air. It won’t be long now.

  I rush into the bathroom’s doorway to the right of the door, squeezing the log so hard that the wood bites into my flesh. I don’t have a choice now. Fallon won’t save me. Papa won’t either. I need to save myself.

  Another thud forces the decrepit frame to give way, the handle functioning more like a hinge now as the door drunkenly swings inward and debris falls to the floor. A boot crunches over the broken splinters, and a man steps in with a gun drawn.

  Fallon.

  His hair twists in a thicket of dark waves, messier than I’ve ever seen it. He’s changed clothes too, no longer wearing his James Dean number, switching to a flannel and brown work pants. There’s a faint diagonal line crossing his lips, too. A scar I don’t remember.

  “Holy hell, you scared me!” My heart’s going a mile a minute, threatening to leap out of my chest. “What was all that about?”

  “Evangelina?” His head jerks to me, his eyes squinting. They lack warmth, replaced with an unsettling chill, and for the first time since we met, I feel nothing when he looks at me.

  So, we’re back to this again. I was hoping he only called me by my full name out of anger, but that seems like a big, fat nope.

  I ease up my grip on the log. “Why didn’t you use your key?”

  He ignores the question, lunging at me with a hand outstretched, the other still clutching his gun. I dodge him, stepping back into the bathroom, and he frowns. “Put the log down. We need to go. Your dad’s waiting.”

  The overwhelming scent of cigarettes follows him, invading the bathroom. Something is wrong. My legs flinch with the urge to run, my mouth going bone dry. Fallon doesn’t smoke. He all but said he hates smoking.

  I study the man. His wild hair. Injured lips. Jagged movements as he reaches toward me again, and once again I dip out of range, circling the bathroom with him like a fighting ring. He may look like Fallon, but this isn’t Fallon.

  “Where is he?” I ask, trying to stall. If I can just get to the door, I can run. He can’t get a clear shot if I weave. Game of Thrones taught me that much.

  “In the car; come on. We don’t have time for this shit.”

  Nearing the bathroom door in our square off, the gap to get away closes rapidly. He’s stalking me, moving with heavy, purposeful steps. It’s now or never. If he gets ahold of me, I’ll never get away.

  I springboard the log at his face, and it connects with a sickening thump. He grunts and curses, grabbing at his nose, giving me the chance to sprint through the bathroom door.

  If I can make it outside, I’m free.

  A loud boom behind me sends my heart plummeting. A bullet screams by, grazing my shoulder, and blazing heat erupts across the skin.

  But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I’m almost to the cabin’s broken front door when another shot rings out. My left leg collapses from under me, a hit to the calf sending me to my knees. It takes a second for the pain to hit, a piercing burn that almost immediately throbs.

  I’m shot. The reality brings a tidal wave of nausea and a fear that cuts to my core. He’s going to kill me.

  I try to stand, but the leg gives way, and I fall to the plank floor again on my hands and knees.

  “Wrong move, bitch!”

  He thunders over, landing a vicious kick to my side. I’m nothing against it, the impact forcing me to the floor with a yelp. He delivers two more in rapid succession, leaving me coughing and gasping for breath.

  He hooks his boot under my elbow and flips me to my back, giving me no choice but to look up at him. To look at what I’ve done. His nose leaks blood, a fat drop landing on my cheek.

  “You got some fight in you, huh?”

  I can’t answer. He’s knocked wind out of me, and no matter how much I sputter, I can’t seem to get any air.

  He leans in for a good look at me, smirking as his blood falls to my skin in steady drips. “I know why Fally saved you. He wanted to fuck a piece of Lombardi. The valuable piece. You’re not a dog like your sister.”

  I don’t particularly care for Nikki, but I’m tempted to spit in his face. I might as well. I’m done for. My calf pulses, the wet heat of blood soaking through the fabric of my legging. I can’t run. I can’t even put weight on it.

  “He’s a selfish fuck. Who doesn’t share with their brother? Their twin?” He waves his gun around like he’s conducting an orchestra rather than standing over someone he put a bullet in.

  The information floods my mind, my skin dotting with goosebumps. This monster is Fallon’s twin?

  “Get on the bed,” he orders, nudging at my hip with his boot. “Now.”

  “I can’t walk,” I choke out, every breath excruciating. Even if I could, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the cot. I’m not going out of this world like that. He might as well shoot me dead now.

  “Crawl.” He aims the gun at my face.

  Staring into the barrel sends my nerves haywire, the rush of blood in my ears drowning out the wheezing of each labored breath. I’m hot, cold, and everything in between, the survival instincts forcing every system into overload. “I can’t.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll help. I can be a gentleman like Fally, too.” His hand falls to my hair, twisting the locks around his fingers before dragging me toward the cot. I claw at him the best I can with my cuffed hands, bucking and spinning despite the pain.

  The floor streaks with my blood, a trail spanning from the doorway across the room as he tugs me with ease, a grim reminder of where this is headed.

  I don’t realize I’m screaming until he gives me a shake, the tension on my scalp unbearable. “Shut the fuck up!”

  He tries to lift me to the bed by my hair, but my thrashing makes it nearly impossible. A blow to the head forces me to stop, the handle of the gun meeting my cheek with the crunch of bone. The swelling is instantaneous, my right eye practically sealing shut as my vision blurs.

  “Get up there like a good little whore. Let’s see what Fally’s been keeping to himself.” He grips the same arm he grazed with a bullet, squeezing the tender flesh as he hauls me up to the cot. He’s strong. Too strong.

  I can’t fight him off. Not like this.

  But I need to try. I need to give this everything I have, battered body or not. There won’t be a second chance.

  The pot on the fireplace catches my eye as my body sinks into the sleeping bag, the water inside bubbling furiously. It’s a few feet away, but at this rate, I have nothing to lose.

  The man fumbles with his belt, and I pounce, kicking the hand holding his gun as hard as I can with my good leg. I use the other to push off his stomach and howl in agony when he stumbles backward, the injury to my calf agonizing as the muscles flex.

  While he dives for the gun, I go for the fireplace, scrambling on my hands and knees to grip the pot. Once my fingers grip the handle, I spin, tossing the scalding water in his direction, and watch in fascinated horror as it makes contact, splashing across his chest.

  He yowls, grabbing at his soaked clothing, but he has the pistol once again, clutching it in an iron grip. He’s too distracted to duck when I throw the pan, striking him in the side of the face with the scalding cookware.

  I’m crawling toward the firewood rack to throw them too when his hand grabs my hair from behind, pulling me back with blinding force. The gun cocks, and I close my eyes, praying it’s quick.

  21

  Fallon

  Screams.

  Eva’s screams.

  The horrified shrieks cut through the tranquil forest like a blade, ricocheting off the surrounding trees and thundering through my chest.

  I break into a sprint, the sand and fresh snow giving way under my boots.

  Please don’t let this happen. I’ll never forgive myself if he hurts her. I’ll never forgive him, either.

  The last two hours catapulted me back to the moments after finding Aidan, the system-wide dread igniting flames of
panic. The torture played out behind the wheel, gunning down the highway, dialing frantically and practically foaming at the mouth with rage.

  Nolan didn’t answer his phone, and Pop answered drunk, too incoherent to understand, nevermind work with. I couldn’t call our men. They’d side with Nolan. He’s the second in command, leaving me powerless against the clock and the road ahead.

  I’m alone, running into an unknown.

  I never should’ve left her. At least I would’ve been there to protect her, to keep Nolan’s worst instincts at bay. To talk him out of making the biggest mistake of his life. He doesn’t need Lombardi’s money to be free. He can walk away. I’ll help him. Fuck, I might walk away with him if it means saving him from himself. If it means sparing Eva.

  The moon’s glow guides the way through the black forest, illuminating the outline of a vehicle ahead. It’s Nolan’s coupe, resting precariously with the front half sunken. The closer I get, the reason is obvious: he drove straight into one of the massive ruts, nose diving into the sand. The hood ripples, the front bumper disconnected.

  He doesn’t know the terrain out here. He knows nothing beyond bars and city blocks. They’re all he’s ever cared about. All he’ll ever care about. Life is his party, and everyone is merely attending it, standing between him and fun.

  But he’s smart enough to spot that something’s off with me. Smart enough to stick a fucking tracking device on my car and follow it to the mother of all paydays. The junkie was nothing more than a distraction, keeping me tangled up long enough to tamper with my car, and too outraged to bother caring about what he did after. He sprinkled the Lombardi breadcrumbs, and I followed them blindly. Just like he followed my footsteps in the snow to the path.

  I’m such a fuckup.

  I cut into the forest at the gnarled tree, charging through the briers as they attack with a vengeance, claiming their second bounty of blood in a day. The cabin’s smoke hangs in the air, a peaceful balm in a forest filled with screams.

  Fight. Give it everything you have. Eva’s bound, but she has fire in her. She just needs to hold out a little longer. I’m almost there.