Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(125)

Ready to strike. Ready to kill. Ready to rip apart anything and anyone who got in his way.

My uncle slapped the door so hard it flew open, and then he was right in front of me, six feet of hard, balding judgment stuffed into a five thousand dollar suit.

“Niece!” He dropped on his knees, banging them on the floor hard enough to make me wince. He pulled me halfway off the bench into his arms, pressing his cool face to mine. “This reunion's nothing but a miracle. My God. What did they do to you?”

I tried to promise myself I wouldn't shake when he touched me the whole ride here. All those promises turned to ash, and I started to shudder in his arms, sick like death himself was holding onto me.

“Brina!” Uncle Gioulio pulled back, looking me in the face. “Talk to me right now! How did you get away? What the f*ck did they do?”

I saw his hand fingering the switchblade he always kept near his pocket. His eyes were big, bright, churning like they were filled with tears.

God! God damn it.

He really cared. I couldn't ignore that. It wasn't just an act – he was ready to avenge me for every filthy touch, every torture, every insult raging in his mind. It took all my strength just to pry my lips open and make my tongue work.

“Uncle, they let me go. They wanted me to give you a message.” I used the first of the lines Anton had given me.

“Stop, niece. Come with me. This isn't the place for this kind of business.” He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out the door.

Nobody spoke again until we were in the limo, heading for the big house he kept in the city proper. I watched him pour a tall glass of wine from the silvery dispenser in the car. He downed it in one gulp and wiped his mouth, folding his hands as he leaned forward.

“Something to warm my guts. It's been so cold without you, Brina. I was ready to raid every f*cking Ivankov property when I heard he'd taken you...”

The guards at his side were as tough and serious looking as ever, but Uncle Gioulio's face was ten times darker. Meaner. Insistent in a way that told me I'd better start feeding him answers.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.” I prayed he'd believe it. I was prepared to lie a lot to make this go down like I wanted – hell, I'd already done enough pretending to make Anton let me go.

“I told you not to see the Russian again.” Gioulio's face tightened and turned red. “Do you realize you could've been killed in that prison riot? I can't believe they didn't torture you on the outside, or worse. You're a lucky girl, niece. And a f*cking stupid one.”

I blinked. Uncle Gioulio had never insulted me like that before. Shame passed through me like a sickly current, and my eyes went to the floor. I hated him for what he'd supposedly done, especially if he'd killed papa on top of his crimes.

But it still hurt to be called out like that. When I looked up, the edge was off his face, if only a little.

“I'm sorry.”

Yeah, I truly was. Sorry I'd ever gotten myself into this f*cked up situation. Maybe sorry I'd been born.

“It's done, Brina. Let's not dwell on it. You're safe – that's what really matters. You understand, all that's left for us now is payback, capisce? No one takes my niece and treats her like a slave. I'll skin them all alive myself.”

His hands moved in a whirl. Next thing I knew, the knife was out, extended and sharp, the dull edge sliding up his gray thigh.

“Uncle, please don't do anything too rash. We need to think this through.”

“We?” The darkness curdled his features again. “My dear girl, we're going home and you're going to tell me absolutely everything you remember about the time you spent with those barbarians. And then you're going back to your condo under lock and key with permanent men assigned to protect you. I won't let you out until the city's free from the Ivankov bastards. I should've killed them all when they were still in diapers. If it wasn't for your old man and that f*cking truce...”

He trailed off, smoothed his face, shot me an apologetic look. Strike two. He'd never bad mouthed my father. Uncle Gioulio was flustered, enraged, maybe even scared. I wondered if he was just going crazy from all the emotions, or if the mask was slipping.

My lips stayed sealed. I wasn't going to argue with him. Not now. We took the next few miles in silence, rumbling into the gated community where he had his Chicago mansion.

My lungs felt sharp tacks inside them every time I drew breath. It hurt just to breathe because it made me think about the complications burying me alive, suffocating the happy nights I'd had with Anton.

I hoped with all my might that there was still some way out of this without someone getting killed. But the chances were fading like the pale sun overhead slipping into its tomb-like clouds.

There was no stopping Uncle Gioulio once I spilled my guts. And there was no stopping Anton either. Kill or be killed. Inevitable as the day was long.

All I had was the power of life and death in my hands, and even that threatened to slip away from me with every volcanic breath.



Inside his sitting room, underneath the big chandelier, Uncle Gioulio fixed us drinks and sat down across from me.

The first sip burned before fading to sultry smoothness. Brandy.

“Tell me, why did they send you back? What's this message they were willing to forfeit their lives for? I'm going to kill them all, you know. Letting you go unharmed doesn't change that.”