Текст книги "Skin of a sinner"

Автор книги: Avina St. Graves

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

My only energy left has me shaking my head with a soft smile. I’m weightless in his arms as he takes us back to bed. Mickey refused to get a room with two single beds, and right now, I’m grateful that he did. The last thing I want is to feel cold in the same spot where he set me aflame.

He arranges us so our legs are tangled, and the blanket reaches up to my chin. Even though I’m fighting sleep, he kisses me senseless: my forehead, cheeks, lips, shoulder, the top of my head, anywhere he can reach without moving me.

There’s one question weighing on my mind, and I know once I ask, the post-orgasm delirium wrapping around us will end. But it needs to be asked.

“Damien told me you lost some bad people a lot of money.”

He grunts, and as I expected, the warmth in the air evaporates. “I’ve lost a lot of people a lot of money. He needs to be more specific.”

I shift my head to look up at him as unease rolls through my stomach. “There was a man with a scar on his face.”

“The Vargas Gang—or cartel, depending on who you ask.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about them. Everyone thinks they’re a joke. No one will lay a hand on you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.” He’s the one who steps foot in the ring and becomes an animal under the spotlight.

He smiles smugly. “I like it when you’re thinking about me.”

“This is serious, Mickey. You’ll be front and center, taunting them each time you take a breath. You have to be careful.”

He holds me tighter. “I am. They won’t get to me, Princess. We’ll get out of here before they get the chance.”

“I still don’t like it. You’re a target in the middle of the arena.” I shake my head slowly.

He turns us so he’s on top and our gazes tangle. “They won’t take me away from you. I promise.”

The boulder in my throat doesn’t get any smaller. Roman is just one person against an army. Despite his fighting name, Ares, he’s not the god he thinks he is, and he sure as hell can’t take on a whole cartel by himself.

“What did you do to piss them off?”

He sighs like it’s a distant memory. “A car came into the prison garage. I was the first one there that morning—and the rule is, first in, first serve. The form said there was something wrong with the suspension. I started working and noticed a tire was a bit fucked and needed to be replaced. I found a kilo of coke glued to the wheel.”

I brows pinch. “Did you tell the guards?”

“Shit, no. I’m no snitch.” He laughs. “Rico saw and claimed it as an Alvarez import. Guess it belonged to the Vargas.” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “It wasn’t even the first time someone else claimed their shipment.”

“Then shouldn’t they be mad at Rico, not you?”

He kisses my forehead and pulls me back on top of him, with my head on his chest. “It isn’t Rico’s name on the form.”

“Is there anything you can do to fix it?”

He scoffs. “Hand myself over to them and let them beat the shit out of me so they feel better. Or give them the half a mil they lost.”

“But isn’t it their fault for not getting to it first?

He winks. “My thoughts exactly, baby girl.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful, Mickey,” I sigh.

“For you, anything.”

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

“And you better mean it. Don’t be stupid tomorrow, okay? We go in, you do the match, and we get out. Which means no getting into fights with anyone else.”

“Okay, I can’t promise that.”

“Mickey!” The definition of staying out of trouble is not starting beef.

“I get a free pass to punch Rico.”

I’m on board with that, actually. “Just a punch?”

“Good point. Punches, plural. I can kick him as many times as I want as well.” He holds his hand out, and we shake on it. “You, Miss Garcia, have yourself a deal.”

I smile and settle back on his chest, feeling the way his chest rumbles as he talks. Mickey tells me about the Cadillac he got to work on in prison, as well as all the other types of cars that came through the garage. He also tells me about his English classes and how boring he thinks Shakespeare is. Yet, I don’t have it in me to mumble any response.

“What’s wrong?” The heaviness in his voice wraps around me like a blanket.

“I’m too tired to talk.”

“That’s fine. The silence is alright if you’re there.”

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 27

ISABELLA

The noises and smells of the arena aren’t any easier to handle the second time around. I’m sure my eardrums are a hair away from bursting with how loudly the guys behind me are yelling.

To make matters worse, the blonde from yesterday keeps shooting me dirty looks before sucking on someone’s face. Maybe she thinks I’m the reason she couldn’t get rich off yesterday’s victor. Or maybe she just doesn’t like rejection—an odd trait to have in her line of business.

Or, the blonde—along with every other freaking person in this arena—can see the three giant fuck-off hickeys on my neck. I’m not sure whether I look like a girl who had a very satisfying sexual encounter, or a girl who has been mauled by an animal.

When Roman and I arrived here and met Rico in the changing room, Roman pointed at the dark blue, borderline abusive looking bruises, then pointed at Rico, and said, “She’s mine. Touch her, and I’ll show you how artistic I can get with a knife.”

It was charming, if not embarrassing, until Rico said that he’ll give me another. Roman obviously reacted very maturely to the provocation.

“You know, one time Riviera said my name while sleeping, and I never felt so special in my life.” Rico has been regaling me with prison stories ever since my butt hit the front-row seats. I’ve zoned out for half of what he’s said because I honestly don’t believe that twenty-eight different girls were writing to him, wanting to be his slutty pen pal.

This guy is growing on me like a freckle. He’s there even though sometimes I don’t want him to be, but I’m stuck with him for the time being.

I glance away from the empty ring and to the ugly purple bruise forming on his cheek. Mickey showed Rico how good his right hook is (again) after the idiot said he’ll keep me company in the wrong tone.

To be fair, I felt the urge to do the same after all the shit he’s been talking. But I have a feeling the brothers planned it that way.

A riled-up Roman is a dangerous Roman.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It probably wasn’t a good dream for you,” I slur—maybe I’ve drunk a bottle or two. Maybe three.

Rico crosses his fingers. “Riviera and Reyes are tight. Everyone knows. Two peas in a pod, causin’ trouble in B Block. My man would never hurt me.”

I nod toward his cheek. “Really?” I say blankly.

He waves his hand dismissively. “A one-time thing. He wouldn’t do it again.”

Damien grunts beside me, then sips his drink like he isn’t listening to our conversation.

“Did you share bunk beds?”

Rico whistles. “He wishes he could get all this.”

I roll my eyes, settling my attention on the empty platform. “Let me guess, you were too fast for him?”

His eyes twinkle. If he tells me how fast he is again, I’m going to punch him myself.

“You and me, chica, we’re the real pair. Riviera ain’t got shit to what we got going.”

I hum in patronizing approval.

With beer in my bloodstream, there’s no stopping my hand from slapping Rico’s chest when he tugs at my hair. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t touch me. And don’t be a baby; I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“Here I was, innocently trying to make conversation and ask you what’s with the pigtails, and you attack me. You’re breaking my heart, bella.”

I let Roman do my hair today. He tried to act chill about it, pretending it was no big deal, like his offer was as mundane as asking if I wanted a tissue after sneezing. But the psycho started humming while getting all the accessories and items he needed. His step even had a tiny little bounce as he moved through the room. Then his forehead crinkled with concentration while he brushed my hair. Mickey went so far as to ask me what I was thinking of wearing so he could match the ribbons to it. But then he decided he would pick my outfit for me: his red shirt, my black jeans, red ribbons and black lace in my hair, and his zip-up and leather jacket. He also made me wear his studded belt.

I had to put my foot down when he tried to make us match. That’s too much, even by my standards. He reluctantly agreed, then shoved a red shirt into his duffle bag when he thought I wasn’t looking. The little shit.

“You could have ruined my hair,” I growl at Rico.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier? It would be my pleasure to ruin you, sweetheart.” He winks.

I fake a gag and swear I hear Damien snort beside me.

The conversation drops when the MC walks into the ring, calling out The Unseen Destroyer, one of the fighters who won yesterday. I have no idea how Roman’s going to win this one. The guy is double his size.

Rico barely notices the crowd growing wild, and honestly, neither do I. The second we walked in here, I made a conscious effort to unplug myself so I wouldn’t wind myself up to the point of nausea again.

This is a job.

The last one.

Then we’re getting our IDs and doing God knows what. No more cartels, no more fighting, no more guns to my head. It’ll just be me and Mickey.

Plus, I didn’t want to ruin the high I’d been running on all day. I didn’t leave the motel at all, so I got to spend the entire day drawing and working on some commissions. It was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. Hell, Mickey even got me a new phone to message all my customers.

So, after the two a.m. wake-up sex, the drawing, and the food coma I fell into after dinner, there’s no way I’ll let this fight ruin my otherwise perfect day.

This means, the only way for this whole affair not to get to me is by downing beer like water. Luckily, I’m not drinking for taste. But unluckily, my bladder is suffering for my crimes because I desperately need to go, but the line was a mile long last I checked.

The air magnetizes as Mickey forms from the shadows after the MC calls his name—Ares. This time, the crowd sees him for the threat he is. People roar as he walks onto the stage.

“Time to get rich.” Rico grins. Then the lunatic wraps his arm around my shoulders and whistles to get Roman’s attention. The cherry on top of this mess? When Roman looks our way, Rico kisses my cheek.

Rage blasts through the air. Roman twitches forward like he’s about to lunge across the ring and tear Rico’s head off. But I can’t let that happen. We need the money the fight will bring, and Roman needs to keep laying low—well, as low as he can.

Without thinking, I let my reflexes take over. I slam my elbow into Rico’s ribs. When he keels over—no hard feelings, Rico—I straighten my arm and ram my fist into his groin. It isn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but it’s enough for Roman’s eyes to brighten with pleasure.

Rico’s too busy cupping his manhood and groaning in pain to see Roman’s scathing glare, but I don’t miss the wink he throws my way. My cheeks heat like I’m back to being a teenage girl who doesn’t know how to handle being shown affection in public.

Oh God.

My entire body is on fire when he taps the tattoo of my name, blowing me a kiss.

Roman—Ares—blew me a kiss.

Not at home. Not at a game in high school. No, he did it in front of Chicago’s biggest mafia family, the freaking Bratva, a cartel, and Lord knows how many other criminals.

I think I might die from renewed nerves. From the looks of the people around, even they’re confused by the whole scene.

Surely, street fighting 101 is not to look weak in front of your opponent?

“Loverboy Ares won last night’s match against Copper,” the MC continues his introduction, and Rico hobbles off somewhere. To ice his balls is my guess.

Damien doesn’t look up from his phone once, not even when Ares and The Unseen Destroyer square off, and the MC trades places with the referee.

What even is the point of the referee anyway? I haven’t seen him step in once, and I don’t think there’s a single rule in this underground version of sport. Shit, I don’t think murder is off the table, for that matter.

I take another swig of my now empty bottle of beer, and my bladder reminds me that it exists and is in dire need of a reprieve.

Damien tucks his phone into his pocket when the Destroyer lands a blow to Roman’s face. I wince and scream Mickey’s stage name, which may as well be a magic trick or spell, because Roman lands three consecutive punches to the Destroyer’s stomach—which counts for something, even if it barely made the guy flinch.

“I need to pee,” I yell at Damien.

He nods, uncaring about my bodily needs, and I scurry off to where I saw the ladies' room. It’s down one of the creepy corridors, but it could be in the middle of the woods, and I wouldn’t care right now. I’m seconds away from combustion.

I breathe a sigh of relief to find the bathrooms blissfully empty—disgusting, but empty. I know I'm in trouble the second my behind hits the toilet seat.

How much did I drink? Like… four bottles? Or was it six?

I think I’m substantially drunker than I thought. The alternative to my inebriation is that the world is moving, and I’m the one that’s completely still…which seems unlikely.

I’m not sure how long I sit there. Maybe a minute, maybe twenty. I’m dead to the world, attempting to take deep breaths and ground myself physically, mentally, and metaphorically.

How the hell did I get here?

Not the bathroom, but here, in a goddamn underground fighting ring? I thought the wildest thing I’d do in my life is be an accomplice to an after school fight involving Roman or maybe break into a place or two because he convinced me to tag along. But now I’m hanging out in an arena filled with every shade of criminal in existence.

Mickey said this is the last time. I believe him.

I think.

As long as he comes out of this alive, I’m willing to move on from this criminal chapter of our lives and pretend to be Alice and Michael, not Bonnie and Clyde.

Taking one last steadying breath, I force myself to get up. I stumble a couple of times before I make it to the sink to wash my hands.

If Roman saw me like this, he’d probably kill me.

Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d love having a drunk Isabella to himself. But a drunk Isabella alone in the bathroom of an underground fighting ring?

Wait, not alone.

There’s… is that a man?

Am I imagining things? Did I accidentally go to the men’s bathroom?

The man narrows the space between us, taking up all the oxygen. He’s the size of a mountain, maybe bigger. With long black hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, sides shaved to show a massive scar. He smells like danger and looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to turn my lights off. Permanently.

Oh God.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

I broke my promise to Mickey.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

“What’s your name?”

He creeps closer. Every cell in my body screams at me to get out of there. I need Damien. I shouldn’t have left his side.

My heart rattles in my chest. He was one of the men from the Vargas Cartel that Damien told me to look out for because of the stolen cocaine.

His words ring in my head.

People like us hide our weaknesses so someone else doesn’t hit us where it hurts.

I’m trying to rationalize my safety with myself. The bouncer would have taken his gun off him, right? So I won’t get shot. Not like any of that matters. He and I know he won’t need a weapon to kill me. He has to be at least triple my size.

I push myself against the sink and try to inch toward the door, but he reads my thoughts. The next thing I know, he’s standing in front of the exit and staring at me with an excited glint in his eyes that raises the hairs on my body.

“Isa,” I whisper.

I chant Damien’s name in my head, thinking—hoping—he’d be able to hear me and come to my rescue. Roman would be too busy, and the last thing I want is for him to start a fight with this guy.

“Isabella?”

My throat seizes. How does he know my name? What else does he know about me? Could he know about Jeremy?

I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Mickey isn’t the one I should have been worried about. I am.

I’m the weakest link. I am Roman’s weakness.

He owes the cartel money. They want to make him pay.

To destroy him, they only need to look at me.

I shouldn’t have had anything to drink, shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom alone, shouldn’t have left Damien’s side.

“What do you want?” I squeak.

He takes a step toward me, and I match it back. “Our money. But we’ll settle for you.”

My heart stops for a split second.

Everything stills.

Then I open my mouth to scream.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 28

ROMAN

Sweat trickles down my back.

Every inch of my body burns.

I glance at the wall behind the big fucker’s head, where the time stares at me in big, red, blinking numbers.

Fourteen minutes and thirty-six seconds since the match started.

Another three minutes and twenty-four seconds, and another two grand will be added to my wallet. If we last to the twentieth, five grand will be added.

They want a show, not a quick knockout. But if one of us is still standing by the twenty-fifth minute, people get bored, and the money stops coming. This isn’t boxing. There’s no break every three minutes. So we’re tired and sloppy, but it still makes for a good show.

Vargas’s fighter looks even shittier than me. The guy is probably the best fighter that gang has. He’s strong but slow. His right hook is deadly, and my head is still swimming after failing to block one. But I’d wager that Bella has better endurance than him.

The bigger they are, the faster they burn.

He swings, narrowly missing my nose. With his arm suspended and flank open, I pivot on the balls of my feet. My kick flies into his ribs. It isn’t enough to make him stumble, but it takes him by surprise. I use the shock to land a punch to his cheek.

That’s the beauty of street fights; there are no rules.

Big guys like him prefer boxing, all hands and no feet. Until now, he thought I was a boxer, too, just a slippery one. Hopping from foot to foot, dodging more hits than I’m throwing to tire him out.

After fifteen minutes, he’s just found out that I am a slippery asshole who can kick. Guys like him are the same, all about smashing with zero tactics. Muscle and brawn, but no brain.

Spittle explodes from his mouth guard, and he blocks the next kick in time. None of my hits are doing anything but annoy him, but I’m just doing it so he finally moves, and I can go back to seeing Bella behind him.

My stomach sinks even further to my feet when he does move.

She’s not there.

It’s been four minutes.

She’s still not back.

Where the fuck did she go with Damien? Did they get a drink? Go to the bathroom? Are they in my changing room? I told Damien I didn’t want her leaving the building without me.

For the first time since the fight started, I look at Rico. Unease settles low in my gut. His annoying grin isn’t plastered on. He isn’t even looking at the action.

Something is wrong.

I can fucking feel it.

I go back to our dance, keeping one eye out for Bella. But as the seconds crawl by, the rock in my stomach grows heavier. And when Damien comes back to his seat, shaking his head at Rico, the rock sharpens and pierces my skin.

Bella isn’t with him.

He isn’t with Bella.

The second they glance at me, I know. I just fucking know it.

Something’s wrong with Bella.

A demon takes over me. A beast. I don’t see anything else anymore. I don’t know how I do it, not even sure if my limbs moved or if everything unfolded through willpower alone. I barely see The Unseen Destroyer fall to the ground beyond the red haze over my vision. The referee calls my win, but I couldn’t care less.

One second, I’m in the ring, and in the next, I have Damien in my clutches. Rico tries to pull me away, but it’s useless. Bella is the one thing I’ll never let go of.

“Where the fuck is she?” I roar. Damien—the fucking asshole—is calm as ever. “She said she went to the bathroom. But she’s not there.”

Nothing else he says registers because, from the corner of my vision, I notice someone looking at me. Not just anyone. Him. Vargas in the flesh. The man smiles ear to ear, staring straight at me.

I lurch in his direction, but someone holds me back. I swing my elbow and twist my body to try to break out of their grip.

“Don’t be stupid. They’ll fucking kill you,” one of the brothers hisses in my ear.

Vargas doesn’t look away, challenging me to take him on. He watches everything play out like this is going according to his plan.

If she’s hurt, I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll kill all of them.

If she’s dead—

It hurts to even think about it. There’s no story where Bella ends, and I don’t go with her.

Bile rises in my throat. I lunge for the asshole, only to be held back. “You better not have fucking touched her!”

“Shut the fuck up and go find her,” Damien growls.

Vargas just laughs. Laughs.

My chest tightens. My blood is no longer red and hot; it’s black and electrified. There’s one thing on my mind, and it has everything to do with Bella.

Damien—the useless fucker—is right. Attacking Vargas will do nothing. It won’t help me find her, and I’ll have to get through his men to get to him.

One of his men walks toward me, but Damien steps in front of me before I can rip his head clean from his fucking body. “Call off your dogs, Vargas.”

The cartel boss just laughs, as if this is all a fun game to him. He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn and start running without listening to the words. He’s stalling me.

Someone’s hot on my heels, but I don’t care to see who. Because if it’s one of Vargas’ men, there would be no running; I’d be fighting like my life depends on it—because her life depends on it.

I don’t know my way around this place. I shouldn’t have brought her. I shouldn’t have thought she’d be safe if she came.

Damien yanks me in a different direction from where I’m going. “Not there, I’ve checked.” He points to another corridor. “There’s an exit over there.”

I check inside every door I pass, yelling her name over and over again. Energy that didn’t exist during the fight rages through my veins, and I sprint for the stairs. I don’t know how long ago someone got to her, or if she’s even still in the building. How many men did Vargas bring? How many were sitting with him? When did he get the balls to pull something like this off?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Bella!” I yell when my feet hit the first step of the stairs.

This hurts more than being shot in the chest. I’d rather take a bullet a thousand times than for Bella to get hurt. In my head, I keep hearing the same thing, over and over again.

Bella is going to get hurt, and it’s all my fault.

I knew Vargas was there, and I still brought her. I knew Vargas’s base is Chicago, and I still came. I underestimated them. I knew Vargas could be a threat, and I did nothing. I practically handed Bella over to him.

I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.

I didn’t even tell the cops about Bella, just so they wouldn’t bother her, and twenty minutes ago, I claimed her in front of Vargas and every other fucker in the warehouse. How stupid can I be?

The emergency exit door swings open. I don’t feel the cold, or the glass digging into my bare feet, or my pounding heart. My entire body is attuned to her and the sound of her muffled screams in the distance.

But I can’t figure out which direction it’s coming from. “Bella!” I roar.

Then she lets out another scream.

Damien isn’t behind me anymore. We’re both racing through the empty streets toward the noise, using her blood-curdling screams and moonlight to guide us. I push myself harder, and so does he. The closer we get, the clearer the sounds become.

Grunting. Scuffling. Crying.

Then she comes into view, body half dragged along the ground by the fist in her hair toward the rugged van. She isn’t making this bastard’s job easy, clawing his arms, kicking at his feet to trip him, mouth snapping against the gag to try to bite him.

Then he hits her.

And I explode.

I fucking lose it.

“Bella!” I roar.

The asshole hurting Bella snaps his attention to me. He throws her to the side, and she lands with a scream, just as someone else comes running out of the van. My heart rattles in its cage when she looks at me with tears streaming down her face, a concoction of emotions swirling behind her red eyes. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. I want to put a bullet in myself for it.

The fucking cunt who hurt Bella snarls as he charges forward. I meet him halfway. I need this asshole to pay. For a split second, pride blooms at the sight of Bella’s art on his skin. Three bloody slashes run diagonally along his cheek.

He’s bulkier than the guy in the ring, faster too. I don’t dodge his first hit in time. He doesn’t miss my throw either.

Behind me, Damien grunts as he exchanges blows with the driver while a gun lays abandoned on the street.

Then the light from the streetlamp glints against metal, flashing through the air and onto my forearm. I snarl from the pain that thunders across my flesh as I collide my own fist against his jaw. We dance around a couple more hits, but there’s nothing that will save him from me.

He’s fighting to stay alive. I’m fighting for Bella.

There’s no strategy or tact in my punches as I knock the knife out of his hand. My muscles move in pure rage. I can’t feel the pain in my arm anymore. Every hit lacks its usual thrill, and it doesn’t matter how many times I kick him or feel his bones crack, the surging, white-hot anger doesn’t dissipate.

He made Bella bleed.

He tried to take her away from me.

He hurt her.

The driver pulls me off him, but someone tackles him a second later, leaving me to continue with my assault on the man who hurt her. He reaches for the gun, but Rico grabs it before he can, going to help his brother.

I yank the man back to me by the collar of his shirt and descend my fists on any part of him I can reach. The fire isn’t doused when he’s on the ground, and I’m seconds away from killing him with my fists alone.

I put Bella at risk. I got her hurt. I failed her. I need to kill them all.

“Roman, stop!” Damien tries dragging me off. The mother fucker isn’t conscious, but I’m not finished. He needs to die for what he did. They all need to fucking pay. “Take your girl and get the hell out of here.”

My girl.

I whip around to find Bella sprawled on the ground, leaning against Rico for support. Why the fuck is he touching her?

The harsh moonlight isn’t enough to see the damage clearly, but what I can gather makes me want to keel over. Tears stream down her face, tangling with the red droplets falling from the split in her soft cheek. The delicate skin of her hands is bloody and bruised, too.

Bella is hurt, and it’s all my fault.

Bella is hurt, and it’s all my fault.

Bella is hurt, and she’s leaning on Rico.

“You’re bleeding,” Bella says to me, voice hoarse.

I’m on my feet, taking long strides toward them. “Get the fuck away from her.”

Rico leaps up, hauling Bella with him before holding up his hands. “Chill the hell out, bro.”

“I’m not your bro. This happened because you two fuckers left her alone,” I snarl, as I pull Bella to my side. Exactly where she’s meant to be. Where she will always be.

“Stop treating me like a child,” Bella snaps and crosses her arms. Her voice lacks genuine anger with her shuddering breaths… She sounds broken instead.

Fuck.

“Not right now, Bella.”

“Fuck you, Roman,” she sneers, breath shuddering.

Roman.

She said Roman.

No. No, she wasn’t thinking about it that way. She’s just saying the name because it’s what she calls me when she’s angry. She doesn’t want to end this. Us.

“We need to get your inhaler. If they hadn’t fucking left you alone, you wouldn’t be hurt.” She doesn’t believe my words. Neither do I.

I can’t blame them when I’m the one who should have known better. This is the second time I’ve put her in danger.

“No. This happened because you brought me here,” she cries, then steps back to cough. “And look at you.” She waves at the gash in my arm, but I don’t feel the pain.

In the distance, the sound of a door crashing open has the two brothers snapping their heads. Bella doesn’t seem to notice or care. She’s too busy staring me down.

Rico throws my duffle bag at me, somehow getting into my locker while everything else was turning to shit. “Cash is in there.”

“Leave before more shit hits the fan,” Damien growls, already walking away with Rico.

I curse under my breath and reach for Bella’s elbow, but she yanks herself out of my reach. “I know where the car is.” With that, she spins on her heel and starts running, leaving me behind in the darkness. I follow behind her, fumbling with the bag to get her inhaler as the sound of her ragged breaths fills the night air.

If she thinks she can run away from me, she’s wrong.

If she thinks that one word will make me leave, she’s fooling herself.

I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.

OceanofPDF.com