Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(128)
A numb chill crept up my spine and bathed my brain. My emotional circuits were fried, and he was hellbent on piling more through them. I looked up, one hand squeezing my purse. I needed it to hurt, cramp my muscles so I could feel something.
“You've ripped my heart out plenty today. Whatever you're going to say about her, just tell me the truth. No more theatrics.”
His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he nodded, licking one finger to pluck the folder open. Then he stopped in mid-turn. His eyes went to my purse, and he rose from his chair.
“What? What is it?”
“That bag. You brought it back with you, right? It was with you at the Russians' compound.”
I tried to protect it, but Uncle Gioulio was too strong, too fast. He ripped it away from me in one swift motion and hauled it over to his side of the desk, tearing open a drawer with his free hand.
“Hey!” I screamed at him like he'd just stepped on my foot in a grocery line.
If only that was the least of his sins.
“Just a moment, Brina. This won't take long.” He was more careful than I expected, pulling out my things and setting them on the table nearby.
My heart pounded when he plucked out the small plastic shell with my birth control. All those hours with Anton buried deep inside me came roaring back, hot and insane and totally wrong. Thank God for small favors – Uncle Gioulio passed it over without stopping to gawk.
“Damn, where is it...” He reached into the empty drawer next to him and held up a long, shiny blade, a sharp letter opener. Except this one looked thicker and sturdier than any commercial kind, like it would just as easily split someone's skull with a well placed jab.
Weapons were everywhere in this house, really nothing more than a luxurious fortress under siege.
How had I been so blind for so long? Jesus. And the truth wasn't even blinding me in its full ultraviolet light yet. I eyed the folder and then turned back to his hands, wondering what the hell he was doing slicing into my purse.
There was a zzzt sound, leather coming apart. A second later, he held up a small black circular thing with little perforations in the middle. I would've known it was a microphone of some sort even if I hadn't watched all those stupid spy things growing up.
“From your Russian friends.” He tossed it like a pebble, and it bounced once in my lap before coming to a rest. “Typical Ivankov sloppiness. I knew there was something on you from the moment you walked in. I wanted to do the search myself – kinder and gentler than my boys would.”
My teeth banged together. Jaw clenched, it felt like my head was about to explode and take the world with it. I pinched the cool plastic between my fingers and turned it around, over and over.
God! And to think I'd been feeling bad about the harmless white lies I'd used to get back, when he and his demented brothers were tracking me the whole f*cking time!
How long had it been on me? The entire time I'd been in the house? For all I knew, the other two coarse men were listening in while he held me, mounted me, and f*cked me into the dreamiest nights of my life.
My body jerked. Uncle Gioulio smiled and ducked as it whizzed past his head, slapping the concrete wall behind him.
I buried my face in my hands and screamed. The world dimmed, narrowed, swallowing me.
This wasn't supposed to be happening. The original plan was beyond derailed – it was a smoldering tangle of metal and fire, burning up the entire track.
“Don't cry, niece. Nothing's beneath the peasants we're dealing with. Nothing.”
That word. Whenever I heard it, my whole world shifted. With Anton, it burned hotter and brighter with a sweet excitement I couldn't shake. Now? All circling into a black hole as dark and imposing as the little microphone I'd hurled against the wall.
Uncle Gioulio's hand slid softly across my cheek. I felt the chip in his hand and winced, then turned on him, grabbing his arm with both hands and digging my nails into his suit.
“Get rid of that f*cking thing. Please.”
“That's the whole point.” I watched him take a couple steps back.
He reached to the ground, set it down, and stood up. His foot crashed down on it, and it shattered with one stomp.
The thing was discrete, but it clearly wasn't designed to be durable. Not that it was much comfort.
Anton's betrayal lingered. My mind was spinning, questioning everything, once again feeling like both the bridges I had to the Ligiotti and Ivankov lives were dead flaps swinging in the wind.
“I hope they heard every f*cking word we said before I killed it,” Uncle Gioulio said, squeezing my shoulder. “We let them know we're aware this is the latest screw-over this family's had. It goes much further than that. For you, for me, the pain's deeper. Personal in a way that won't stop until the last drop of blood on one side or the other's gone.”
He walked to the desk and picked up the folder. My uncle pushed it into my limp hands, and I struggled to take it, flipping through the fat documents.
He put his hands behind mine and helped me hold it open, navigate to the right spot. “There. She was out Christmas shopping, you know. We could still see the crushed bags next to her body and her lost white heel when your father and I rolled up.”
Every breath I took became more like broken glass as he bypassed the police reports and got into the section with the pictures. Downtown Chicago's bright lights filled my eyes from all those years ago. Yellow police tape lined the zone where my mother died on the pavement.