Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(38)

Slowly, Pete lowers his gun to the ground.

Walking backward with Zoey in his grip and his gun glued to her head, Donatelli stumbles down the aisle. His eyes stay on Pete. My eyes stay on Zoey. The wedding spectators stay glued to their seats, afraid of being shot by the madman. Even the photographers and cameramen are paralyzed with fear. Rage blasts through me like a Molotov cocktail. The Kurt Kussler in me is exploding with the burning urge to go after them, but I hold myself back. Gucci, however, doesn’t waste a moment and chases after his beloved Zoey. Go, boy!

“Fuck,” mumbles Pete under his breath. But the second they disappear from view, he squats down, retrieves his gun, and springs into action.

“I’m going after them.” He dashes down the aisle at breakneck speed, and I’m right behind him, my coattails flying. Maybe Kurt Kussler couldn’t save his wife, but I’m going to save my future one. There’s no f*cking way I’m going to lose her.




Two breathless minutes later we’re in hot pursuit of Frank Donatelli. Pete’s siren blares in my ears. My eyes stay on Donatelli’s red Ferrari as Pete expertly maneuvers his beat up Impala through the traffic on Doheny. He talks into his communication device.

“I need backup,” he says after telling the dispatcher about fallen Scott. “The suspect is traveling south on Doheny. He’s armed and dangerous and has a hostage.” He pauses. “My daughter.”

My thudding heart is in my throat. While I’ve done a lot of action-packed chase scenes as Kurt Kussler, nothing compares to this real-life version. The camera crew actually wanted to follow us, but Pete demanded they stay behind.

Donatelli hangs a sharp left on Venice. I hang onto my seat as Pete races down the busy boulevard.

“Fuck!” Pete grumbles. “He’s heading toward the freeway.”

Traffic comes to a standstill as we zigzag down the thoroughfare and run every red light. I’m blown away by the speed and precision of this old Chevy.

“Have you ever fired a gun?” Pete asks me, without taking his eyes off his target.

While I’ve actually never fired one with real bullets, my character Kurt Kussler is a natural with a gun. I tell him I have.

“Open the glove box. There’s one inside.”

I snap it open and reach for the weapon. It’s a Chrome Magnum 45…exactly the gun Kurt Kussler carries. It feels good in my hand. There’s a difference between a big flaccid dick and a big hard one. The loaded gun feels like the latter. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I’m ready for action.

“I’m going to take a shot,” I tell Pete.

“You know what you’re doing? The bastard’s got my daughter.”

“And my future wife.”

“Go for it!”





Zoey


Terror fills every crevice of my being, but I try hard not to show it. It’s almost impossible for me to believe I’ve been dealt this unbelievable fate. The very man who killed my mother is going to kill me.

“Shut that f*cking dog up!” Donatelli screams at me.

Gucci is on my lap. He followed us out of the hotel and then jumped into the car before we peeled away. He hasn’t stopped barking.

I caress his furry head. “Shh, Gucci. Be a good little boy.” To my relief, he calms down, but my fear intensifies.


“If that mutt opens his f*cking mouth one more time, I’m going to silence him.” He points the big gun he’s still holding in his right hand at us as he deftly maneuvers the speeding car with his left.

I shiver. A siren sounds in the near distance.

Donatelli glances into the rearview mirror and scowls. “Goddamn f*cking cop!”

Pops!! Knowing he’s in hot pursuit instills me with the tiniest bit of courage. I clutch Gucci as Donatelli makes a sharp, screeching turn off Venice and heads down La Cienega. He weaves in and out of the insane traffic, ramming cars and knocking others into one another. Any way I look at it, my life’s about to be over.

“Are you going to kill me the way you killed my mother?”

For a brief second, Frank takes his eyes off the road and glares at me. “What the f*ck are you talking about?”

I stare at him squarely. Terror gives way to rage. “You killed my mother! I saw you on the pier.”

“What the hell?”

My voice grows tearful and louder by an octave. “How could you forget? Twenty years ago! The Santa Monica Pier. You shot my mother! And the man next to her. And then you tried to shoot me!” The painful memory fills my head. Mama slumped over the railing, bleeding to death. And then swirling, helplessly, hopelessly in the angry sea as the Nat King Cole song plays. It’s all so unforgettable.

“You took my mother from me!” I cry out.

Donatelli blinks hard and then scrunches his ugly face. “Jesus f*cking Christ. You’re that f*cking little girl? The little bitch who’s given me nightmares my whole life?”

I bite down on my quivering lip to stifle my sobs, but can’t stop the onslaught of tears. “I’ve never forgotten you either, you bastard!”

“Shut up! Or you’re next!”

That does it. I can no longer hold back. Sobbing, I begin to pound him.

“You f*cker!”

“What the f*ck are you doing?” The car swerves and horns blast from every direction.