4. Revenge

FOUR

Ineed a new weapon.

In Springfield, it's a lot easier to get your hands on a gun than it probably should be. That's what happens when one of the local mafias—in this case, the Sinners Syndicate—is known for gun-running, and they want to make as much profit off of them as possible.

For the right price, you can buy one without jumping through the hoops of getting a permit, showing ID, and getting your fingerprints done. And when your cellmate tells you about a guy named Antonio runs a pawn shop that's pretty reasonable, you can have it the same day.

Unless he's sold out.

Antonio switches the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the next. "Sorry, sweetheart. I've been cleaned out."

"What?" When I was here last, he had a whole back room full of guns from me to choose from. "All of them?"

"‘Fraid so. I had a big buyer come through just the other day, and believe me when I say he ain't the kind of customer you refuse service to, if you get my drift."

Damien.

How much do you want to bet fucking Damien sent his guys around to buy up the guns. The Dragonflies don't deal in the gun trade, but it seems that every one of the gangsters I've seen has a gun on his hip.

Except for their leader, that is.

That makes sense. When he's surrounded by armed goons, he doesn't need to show off that he carries, too. Doesn't mean he's defenseless. Damien's preferred weapon is this thin knife he tucks inside of a leather holster, hidden beneath his suit jacket.

I could get a knife, too. Antonio's got plenty. But when I need a little bit of space if I hope to survive our confrontation, I can't get close enough to stab him. I need the gun, but it looks like I'm shit out of luck for now.

Swallowing my frustration, I lean against the glass case. I use my arms to push up my tits, hoping that the free peek might be enough to jog his memory until he suddenly remembers he has a couple hidden behind his counter.

When all he does is stare down my shirt, I give him a tiny smile. "So when should I come back, see if you got a shipment?"

He shrugs, eyes still glued to my chest. "Dunno. Week, maybe two. But if you're in a rush, you can always check out the West Side. Most guns come in through there."

Yeah. I guess I could. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Finally remembering there's more to me than a pair of boobs, Antonio nods. "Watcha need it for anyway? Protection?"

"You could say that."

"Good girl like you, maybe Springfield's too hard of a place. Maybe you need to go back South."

Huh. It's nice to know that my affected drawl is still working.

"Maybe you're right," I lie. "But I came here because I have a job to do. I can't leave until I finish it."

"Yeah? Well, good luck."

I push away from the glass case. "Thanks."

I'll need it.

I don't have a gun,though I do have a new pick-up.

Who knows? Maybe luck's a little on my side tonight because, when I arrive to get my passenger, I see it's the same big guy who was in my ride when my gun went missing.

I want to ask him. I want to know if he saw the weapon, or if—like I suspect—he's responsible for it vanishing. I've gone through the whole vehicle at least four more times since the other day and it's nowhere to be found. Since I'm absolutely sure I had it in my purse before this Vin guy accepted my ride, it only makes sense that he has to know what happened to it.

I never get the chance. After he nods at me, as though he recognized me from the driver who took him to the office building the other day, he immediately takes out his phone. I just manage to confirm his destination is Il Sogno, one of the Dragonflies' properties, before he's got his phone to his ear.

"Hey. Yeah. I'm on my way." He pauses, then adds, "Yup. Kieran's still got my truck. Wait… what do you mean you saw it parked in front of the laundromat?" The big guy grumbles, and I'm glad I'm not the one he's making that noise out. "He said he had shit to do this week on the West Side. No, I don't know what it was, but if Kieran's back, I want my truck."

He lets the person on the other end of the phone speak some more, then says, "I'll let the boss know there's been a change of— what the fuck do you mean he knows?" He slaps the empty seat next to him. "Shit. I knew that kid was a loose cannon. Alright. You stay at the office. I'll see if I can catch up to Damien."

My ears perk up.

Damien.

My passenger finishes his call, then clears his throat, trying to catch my attention despite the fact I've been listening intently to his entire conversation.

"Hey, uh… change of plans. Instead of Il Sogno, can you drop me off at Springfield Wash? The one on Main. I'll double your tip if you do."

Shit. To get a chance to see what Damien Libellula is up to right now, I'd wipe the ride clean. But since that might be pretty suspicious, I just say, "Sure," and update the address in my maps app.

The Springfield Wash off of Main is part of a strip mall with the row of businesses facing out and the parking lot built behind the strip. There's only one way in to the parking lot, but when I put my blinker on to turn into it, my passenger clears his throat again.

"The front's fine," he tells me, pointing at an empty spot in front of the parking meter. "You can let me out here."

Damn it. I was hoping to see if the flashy red car made it to the lot first or we did.

"Sure thing," I answer, flicking the blinker off before pulling into the empty spot.

This time, I get a muttered ‘thanks' as he climbs out of his car. I see him bee-line right for this pricy-looking truck that's a better fit for a man his size. He shakes his head, pats the bumper, then strides purposely toward the laundromat's front door.

Only after he slips inside do I kill the engine on my car. I figure I have five, ten minutes before some nosy meter maid comes by and sees that I didn't put any time into the parking meter. That should be more than enough time to go by foot, peeking around the edge of the last building near the entrance, searching for Damien.

And if I see him? I don't have a gun. I can't do shit about it.

But hell if I'm not curious to know about what's going down at Springfield Wash tonight.

They saycuriosity killed the cat, and while Orion is probably napping away peacefully in the fluffy cat bed I bought for him, I'm regretting tonight's snooping.

I knew that Damien is the head of the Libellula Family. I knew that he's a fucking mobster, and that the gangs in Springfield are a real threat. The guns aren't just fashion accessories. They're real, and these men are dangerous.

But what I saw…

Shit. I hope the girl's okay. That's all I can think about as I slide into my car, trying to calm my racing heart. I doubt she is. Even from the spot where I was standing near the entrance, I could see the way her head lolled, the blood covering her face, and I knew something bad went down in the backroom of the laundromat.

I hadn't expected to walk in on that. I didn't even see the girl or the handsome blond man clutching her tightly to his chest at first. My attention was focused solely on Damien, but only when he started to talk to the other man did I realize he was waiting for them just outside the back door.

I'm pretty sure he saw me, too. Damien, and the blond. My damn curiosity got the better of me, and instead of backtracking before I could be caught, I inched closer, glaring at Damien, hating him even more on behalf of the poor unconscious girl the other man was holding.

Something happened in there. Something bad.

And there I was, without my weapon, and the blond man glaring at me as if I was the one who hurt the woman in his arms…

This doesn't have anything to do with me. Considering Damien was waiting outside the exit when the man muscled his way out, a gun in his hand as though he was prepared to blow away anyone who tried to stop him, I'm not sure he does, either. But he sticks around, talking to the other guy, while I walk back over to my car.

Part of me wants to stick around. The other part wants to wash my hands of what I saw.

One thing for sure: I can't even imagine calling the cops about this. They fucked me over when I went to prison, and it's not like they'll give a shit when most of the police force is paid off by Damien.

Watching the entrance to the parking lot in my rearview mirror, I'm still thinking about what I should do when another car turns the corner. It's a long car, black and shiny, taking the turn so quickly and so tightly, it's like it's being driven by a Nascar driver or something.

If I thought I was curious before, that's nothing compared to now. Sinking down in my seat, I watch and I wait to see what's going to happen next.

I'm actually quite surprised when, within minutes, it's Damien's flashy red car that turns out of the exit and onto Main Street.

My hand on the ignition, I'm prepared to follow behind him when the most unexpected thing happens.

The red car pulls up alongside me.

My head swivels before I can think better of it, and there's Damien, those pale blue eyes piercing right through to my fucking soul as he stares dead at me. His inky-black hair is combed over perfectly, that grey streak near the front enough to make him appear distinguished and sophisticated instead of the criminal I know he is. Even though I hate him, I can't deny he's attractive despite having that whole ‘older' guy thing going on.

This close, he's even more attractive, damn it.

He doesn't roll down his window. Neither do I. His lips quirk just enough to make my heart skip a beat before his car disappears down the street.

I watch him go, curious and confused when he makes a sharp left, parking his car along the inside of a wide alley that exists between a gym and a bank, both closed for the evening.

I wait two minutes to see if he's going to back out and continue on his way. In my rearview mirror, I catch sight of that long black car from before leaving the back of the strip mall. Right behind that car, there's a plain, nondescript black one. They both slip into traffic and disappear without paying any attention to Damien's car.

But if he's not parked over there, waiting for one of those cars, then what the hell is he doing?

My hand lands on my inner door handle. It wouldn't hurt for me to take a walk over there and get a peek, right? In the name of knowing what Damien is up to at any given moment, I have to go look.

I don't know what it is exactly that I expect to find, but I can tell you one thing: it's not Damien Libellula standing outside of his car by himself, leaning against the hood, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over his chest while showing off his lean, toned body.

I had only planned on inching up to the edge of the corner, spying where he couldn't see me—but that was before I realized that he'd angled himself so that he'd catch me doing just that.

I freeze, and before I can turn tail and dash back to my car, he nods at me.

"I've been waiting for you." He uses his head to gesture for me to come closer. "Step inside. Let's have a chat."

This is a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. I'm caught, and I need to put some distance between us before I do something I'll regret.

But, fuck. I've waited months to confront this man, to unload all of my grief and anger and anxiety, to let him know he's the only one to blame for ruining my life… and it might be a fucking awful idea, but that doesn't stop me from pushing off from the brick wall and, with my head held high instead of cowering in front of the mafia leader, stalking over to him.

He's pleased, and I have to resist the urge to claw my nails down his perfectly tanned face.

"I was wondering if you were going to finally approach me, Savannah. I'm so glad you have."

What the?—

Forget the faux pleasantries this murderous bastard has going on.

My name. Well, my new name, but still. He knows my name.

How does he know my name?