Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Saylor

I was still trying to shake off the strange sadness clinging to me as I climbed into my SUV and started the drive back to Spanish Harlem, stopping only once when the traffic was at a near standstill, and I needed to get some coffee and something to eat if I was going to make it all the way from the port to my warehouse without some serious road rage.

I found myself only ordering a corn muffin because, get this shit, I didn't want to fill up by myself. I wanted to wait to eat until I could share a meal with Anthony.

That was insane.

Or, at least, it felt that way to someone who almost always ate all my meals alone.

Suddenly, maybe for the first time in my life, I kind of wished I had a female friend to talk to about the whole situation with Anthony.

I mean, yeah, I had my mom. But I also knew what my mother thought about my, er, situation, with Anthony. She might not have said as much, but I could tell she was already picturing me in a white gown, and debating what kind of flowers would look best at my wedding. And, of course, how many grand babies she might get out of us.

I'd never even given kids a passing thought before. To be honest, I'd never even held a baby, let alone considered what it might be like for one to literally depend on me for survival.

But if I wanted to be with Anthony, that was something I would need to think on since, well, I didn't imagine that a man coming from a massive Italian family wouldn't want his own litter of children.

"Getting ahead of yourself here," I mumbled to myself as I sat at yet another red light that had barely moved for three separate light changes.

Still, I couldn't seem to stop my mind from running away with me once the idea planted and started to take root.

Suddenly, we were adding five more branches to the Costa family tree, and I was having to learn to cook, so none of us starved.

Some part of me expected those thoughts to create panic or disgust. I never saw myself as someone who would want to be in the kitchen with a baby on her hip, stirring homemade sauce as a couple of other kids pressed slime into the living room carpet.

Those weren't the dominant feelings, though.

No. If anything, it was curiosity and interest. Something I wanted to give more thought to.

Weird.

Especially for someone who never really had the urge to be a mother. Hell, I'd never even been a pet-parent until, what, a few days ago. And Fury didn't even live with me full-time yet.

I was pretty sure I needed to be able to keep a dog alive and happy for a few years before I could even consider a child.

Somehow, though, the fact that there was time to think, to explore things with Anthony, to plan a future, made the whole prospect of marriage and children a lot less scary.

I parked the SUV behind the warehouse, and made my way around the building to the front door, hearing Fury's protective barking through the thick walls before she heard the beep of the keys, knowing that meant it was me there to see her.

"You're a smart girl," I greeted her, rubbing her big head as her tail wiggled wildly side to side.

She darted away from me, grabbing her gutted lamb, and bringing it to me to throw. Once, twice, three times before I reached for the leash, and she rushed over and sat to let me hook it on her collar.

"Ready for a walk?" I asked, reaching for her little travel water bottle/bowl combo. "I think we should make it a long one. I need to clear my head," I told her, and she looked up at me with apt eyes as if she was listening.

"What do you think of Anthony, girl?" I asked her as we moved out of the front door.

She sniffed at the air, likely smelling the tacos from the cart down the block, completely ignoring me and my dilemma.

We both seemed content to walk almost endlessly, stopping only when she had to do her business or get a drink of water.

Eventually, I had to take her back to the warehouse for dinner. Afterward, I sat on her giant bed with her, giving her scratches as she dreamt happily, her little legs running, her jowls lifting, her tail waggling.

I snuck back out, heading toward the studio for a bit to take a shower, wanting to wash away the ick I still felt like was clinging to me after walking through the house of horrors on Staten Island.

I'd like to say I didn't check the time and my phone constantly, wondering if Anthony would reach out, or if he was on his way home. Even if, objectively, I knew it would take hours to clean up the house. And that was if they didn't take any breaks to rest or eat. I probably wasn't going to see Anthony until late.

I tried to distract myself with watching the row house, jotting down notes, and taking pictures of anyone I saw, though it was really only the guy who stepped outside to smoke and the one who went out to get food that ever seemed to go anywhere.

What the hell were they doing in there?

What were they plotting?

How could they live with themselves after brutally murdering men they used to work alongside? Then cutting up their bodies in the tub with a fucking bone saw?

Each time that asshole moved outside with his cigarette, I couldn't help but wonder how he'd been involved with the murders and disposal of the bodies. And who his next target might be.

It wouldn't be long, I was sure, before someone made a trip back to Staten Island to further torture Matej. Unless they were just going to let him dehydrate to death now.

Why had they let him live?

When he was the biggest threat to them? The only one who knew who they were and what they'd done?

Did they want something from him?

In my experience, men usually only got that feral over a few things. A bruised ego, a woman, or money.

Out of the three, the third seemed the most likely. Though the first probably had a lot to do with it as well.

If Jan wanted to take over, it made sense to take out the whole original crew. But also to want the stash of money that Matej, as a crime lord, would have stored away somewhere.

Clearly, these guys were wanting for cash.

Stealing from me.

Squatting in a house.

Jan wouldn't be able to keep the loyalty of those men for long if he couldn't provide for them, entice them into doing whatever he needed done.

But they hadn't sold the guns yet.

Which made me think the guns weren't about taking over the arms trade in the area and more about protection and intimidation as Jan carried out the next stages of his plan.

Whatever the hell that was.

"Ugh," I grumbled, dropping down on the uncomfortable couch, staring up at a crack along the ceiling, wondering if it was too early to go see Fury and take her for her last walk of the night yet.

Deciding it was better than doing a whole lot of nothing at the studio but try to interrupt thoughts about Anthony with ones about the fuckers who stole from me and murdered a bunch of people, I grabbed the key and made my way back to Spanish Harlem.

I walked past a deal being made by Fury's previous owners—if you can call them that—and into the warehouse where I was greeted like I'd been gone for days instead of a few short hours.

"I know we just took a walk, but I'm bored," I told her after some belly rubs and one too many treats because I was feeling guiltier by the hour about not having her living full-time with me yet.

"What do you think about coming to live in a fancy condo that will make you the envy of all the dogs in the neighborhood?" I asked her as she sat and waited for her leash to be clipped on.

"You'll have to learn to be a very nice girl to the half dozen fluff balls that live in the building too," I warned her. "They might look like them, but they're not toys that you can pull the stuffing out of," I said as we started out of the warehouse.

"I promise I will get you out of the warehouse and into a proper home in, like, a week or so," I told her.

Even as I said it, though, there was a twisting sensation in my gut at the idea.

Because being back in my condo meant that I would no longer be playing house with Anthony. Sharing our meals, sharing a bed…

I shook my head at the train of my thoughts as I reached toward my back pocket for my phone to check and see if Anthony had texted yet.

Only to find I didn't have it.

Had it slipped out in the SUV?

Or in the warehouse somehow?

Had I left it all the way back in the studio?

I never went anywhere without my phone. It was a safety thing. I mean, sure, I had Fury with me. And a gun strapped to a holster on my ankle. But still.

"What do you think we cut this short, girl?" I asked, making her look up at me as she continued to trot alongside me. "We've done a lot of walking today. You know what?" I asked, reaching down to rub her head. "Do you want to come back to the studio with me tonight?" I asked, figuring I could bring her to the warehouse again once Anthony was back, so she was where she was comfortable.

As much as I hated to admit it, I just didn't want to be alone.

With that in mind, I led Fury back to the SUV, where I had to physically pick her up and into it because, clearly, the poor thing had never been in a vehicle in her life.

She seemed to calm down, though, as soon as I got in the driver's seat and started moving, her nose stuck out the crack in the window, smelling all the city scents as we drove back to Washington Heights.

I lucked out with a spot close to the cross street and climbed out to try to coax Fury back onto the ground.

"You can do it. Come on. You're a brave girl, right?" I asked, cooing at her until she finally decided to jump. "Ope, one second," I said, noticing her leash had twisted between her legs from the jump.

I was leaning down to untangle her, my back facing the street, when it happened.

Hands grabbed, pulled, lifted me off my feet before I could even fully process what was happening.

A startled yelp escaped me as I heard a vehicle pulling up behind me.

At the sound, Fury's head whipped over even as I lost hold of her leash.

By the time she started to snarl and charge, though, I was being thrown into a trunk.

The lid slammed.

And it was too late for me to try to react.

Panic surged through my system, making my heartbeat punch against my ribcage, my pulse pound in my throat, wrists, and temples. My breathing went too quick and shallow, making my chest feel tight.

Focus.

I needed to focus.

Calm the fuck down.

I took a few slow, deep breaths, feeling my mind start to clear.

Okay.

It was okay.

First, I still had my gun.

I was sure that once the car stopped and the trunk popped open, that someone was going to search me. But they wouldn't be doing any searching if I had it in my hand, cocked, and ready to shoot when the trunk opened again.

I reached down, freeing it from the holster, drying my sweaty palms, then holding onto it.

What next?

This was a car, not a van or SUV.

Max, that was five people in the car, though I would bet no more than four. Possibly as few as two.

I had a 9mm with a magazine that held eighteen rounds.

More than enough to take them all out if I could time it right, if one of them wasn't in a position to grab me or take the gun from me.

Even if I could only thin the herd here before someone disarmed me, I wasn't helpless.

I'd been raised in a boxing ring. I knew how to fight, to anticipate an opponent's moves, to use my smaller size to my advantage against their brute strength.

I wasn't a helpless little girl.

I had power.

I just needed to keep myself calm enough to utilize it.

I didn't want to let myself lean too much into the idea of being saved, since I was capable, damnit, of saving myself, but I also had to remember that I wasn't alone. That, eventually, Anthony would be looking for me.

And, with him, I had the might of the entire fucking New York City mafia.

If I couldn't take them all out, then my job was to survive long enough to see someone else do it.

I tried to pay attention, to track the turns we took, mapping out the movements in my mind.

But by the time we were driving out of Washington Heights, I was completely lost, though. And then, well, we kept driving.

On and on.

It was hard when you were in a tight, dark space with no access to a phone to tell the passing of time. But I was pretty sure as I tried to start counting it down that we were driving for almost an hour.

An hour.

Pretty much nowhere in the city took an hour to get to.

But Washington Heights to… Staten Island? Yeah, that could take almost an hour and a half.

Were they taking me back to Matej's?

Did they not know that he was free?

That they were walking into a fucking trap?

Elio would still be there.

Anthony too.

And an extremely pissed off Matej.

My stomach twisted at the idea of a gunfight, of Anthony getting hurt. Because, let's face it, with his luck, he'd be the one getting shot.

But I had to admit there was some relief in the idea of not being completely alone.

Deciding that if this was all going to go down in the house of horrors, I needed to wait to reach for my gun, I checked the safety, then wedged the damn thing into my bra that was still stabbing me in my tit, though that was the least of my worries right about then.

Reaching down, I removed the holster from my ankle. If they frisked me and found it, they'd know I was hiding a gun somewhere else. And I wanted to keep that a secret as long as possible.

Feeling around, I found the edge where the carpet lifted up, and tucked the holster as best I could underneath.

Without much left to do, I spent the rest of the ride berating myself for being so dumb as to forget my damn phone. They hadn't even looked for it. I could have been in the trunk on the phone with the cops, getting the call traced, and telling them my suspicions about our destination, so the police could set up a road block or something.

I decided that, if I lived through this, I was taking my ass right to the electronic store in the morning, and grabbing myself one of those fitness bands that allowed you to make calls and enabled GPS. Then committing to only ever taking it off to charge while I showered.

This was never going to happen again, damnit.

As the moments dragged on, nothing but the bass beat of the music coming from the cab of the car—likely to muffle my screams—I found myself wondering if this shit was worth it for any longer.

Maybe it was time to retire.

To call it quits.

I could use a small cut of what I had to start a business to provide a passive income that could keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. Maybe this was all a sign to hang up my hat, end this before my mother was grieving the loss of her only surviving relative.

This would be a hell of a job to go out on.

But I didn't give a fuck.

No one was judging me but myself.

I was still imagining what a life without work would look like when the car finally slowed, then pulled to a stop.

The music stayed on as the car shifted, men climbing out, doors slamming.

Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to stay calm as the trunk lid popped up, and a man leaned over me.

I didn't look at him though; he didn't matter.

I looked past him, trying to equate myself with my surroundings.

It was hard to see in the dark, but the American flag with the tattered edge hanging out front of the house next door was a dead giveaway.

This was the house of horrors.

But all the lights were out.

My stomach twisted, thinking that Anthony and Elio were gone, that Matej was maybe upstairs asleep, regaining his strength, only to potentially be murdered in his own bed when they realized he was missing.

Hands reached for me, hauling me out of the trunk, my shoulders screaming as they yanked me hard enough to pull me over the hump of the trunk, then slam down onto my knees before I could even straighten my stiff legs.

"Get her inside," another voice demanded.

Four hands grabbed my arms and armpits, and I prayed my trusty old bra could keep the damn gun in place as they pulled me toward the back door.

"I can walk," I snapped, trying to stand as they kept dragging.

"Shut the fuck up," the man on my left snarled, fingers digging in painfully. I got the feeling he wanted a reaction from me. Which was exactly why I pressed my lips together and focused on my breath. I'd be damned if I let him know how much it hurt where he was grabbing me, how there were likely bruises already starting to form.

Maybe this was when I should have sucked in a breath and screamed bloody murder.

But some part of me was worried that maybe Anthony and Elio were in the house, that they might be lying in wait to ambush these fuckers. And I didn't want to risk them getting into any sort of trouble if the police rushed into a crime scene, and decided to try to pin it on them.

So I was dragged up the staircase, each step knocking into my knees and shins as I let myself go completely limp, forcing them to carry my dead weight up the steep steps.

Petty?

Maybe.

But exhaustion made for a slower opponent if this came down to a fight. The more I could tire out their muscles, the better the odds would be in my favor.

So they carried my limp self up the stairs, across the back porch, and in through the darkened kitchen.

I expected to be smacked in the face with the scent of bleach, and it was definitely lingering a bit, but the guys must have been airing out the place all day.

On each of my sides, the men seemed completely oblivious to the scent, to the possible ramifications of it.

Unless…

Unless they already knew the house was cleaned up. Because they'd ambushed Anthony, Elio, and Matej already.

My heart seized in my chest, this stabbing, crushing sort of ache that made me want to reach out and rub my skin to try to ease it even as the telltale sting at the backs of my eyes hinted at potential tears.

No.

No.

I refused to believe that Anthony was dead.

At least not without some solid fucking proof.

There was every chance in the world that the men had finished up for the day, turned off the lights, and headed home. Maybe Anthony had found poor Fury and was already looking for me.

Besides, if they knew I was working with Anthony, Elio, and Matej, wouldn't they want the place lit up, so I could see the men I cared about splayed out across the floor, removing any hope of escape for myself?

As the basement door was thrown open, and the men debated if they should just toss me down them since the stairs were too narrow for all of us to go down in unison, I finally put out my legs.

I was willing to put up with a fair amount of pain just to fuck with these assholes, but these steps were steep and hard as fuck. With nothing but a cinderblock wall at the end that I could crash into. The last thing I needed was to hit my head and pass out.

"Aw, look," the one behind me sneered, "she wants to go with us," he said as the other man moved down in front of us, walking sideways to keep an eye on me.

"Think Jan will let us play with her for a while before we slit her throat?" he asked as I stared him down, dead-eyed, refusing to give him the fear he wanted. Even if my heart was thumping a little harder at his words.

I knew that was what would be on their minds. That was what was on every woman's mind in any situation where they found themselves alone with scary men. Hell, it was what was on our minds just walking down the street. Or enjoying a nice night alone in our homes.

But it wasn't going to happen.

I still had my gun.

I was going to be alright.

Each step toward the doorway to the other side of the basement made my legs feel more and more like lead.

What would they say when they found Matej gone?

Could I use their confusion to my advantage?

It was just a couple more seconds until I had my answers.

The door opened.

The one man moved forward, flicking on the light as he walked.

And the other man yanked me along with him.

In unison their gazes went to the empty chair, their postures going from confident and in control to panicked.

"Jan!" the one in front called as he panic-ran around the basement, looking in darkened corners like there was anywhere for a grown man to hide. "Jan!" he screamed, louder, his voice pitching higher with panic.

"The fuck?" the one at my side asked.

And in his confusion, his grip loosened.

With my free hand, I reached under my shirt, finding the gun, the metal warm from my skin.

As slowly as I could not to draw attention, I pulled it out even as I heard footsteps pounding down the stairs to the basement.

It was now or never.

Once they were all in here, there was no taking them all out before someone tackled me.

I spun, using the momentum to break the man's hold on me as I slid off the safety, lifted my arm, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Once, twice.

The sounds were like an explosion in the small space, drowning out the curses and screams as the man's arms lifted to his chest. Like if pressed hard enough, he could stop himself from bleeding out.

It was no use.

He was dead.

He just didn't know it yet.

I swiveled, aiming toward the door as another man ran inside.

Sucking in a steadying breath, I released as my finger pulled the trigger.

Once, twice. He didn't slow, didn't drop.

The third shot landed dead center in his skull, his face frozen in a death mask of surprise before his body slammed down to the floor.

I was aiming for the next guy who ran in, when arms grabbed me from behind.

It was almost over.

But the gun was still in my hand.

The man holding me, the one who'd brought me down here, was wrenching me around, making my aim shit, but I didn't care, I squeezed the trigger anywhere.

The aim was wickedly low, not hitting the chest, or even the stomach that were bad, and often fatal shots thanks to the infection risk of the blasted open, and bacteria-laden intestines.

Nope.

I shot the man in his dick.

The blood bloomed across the front of his light wash bluejeans. A guttural howl escaped him as he fell to his knees, clutching his crotch.

The gun was finally yanked from my hand and pressed to my temple, making me stop struggling.

Because up this close, even an idiot could make a kill shot. And there were quite a few rounds left in the gun.

"You're gonna pay for this," the man hissed, his spittle wetting my ear.

I wasn't paying much attention, though, because someone was walking through the door, cool and confident, despite the destruction all around him.

The family resemblance was uncanny.

Same jaws, eyes, body shapes.

This was Jan Dvorák, Matej's little brother.

A man so evil he'd orchestrated a slaughter of his former friends and coworkers. And the torture of his brother.

His gaze moved around the room, showing no emotion as he looked at the damage I'd done, as he listened to the howls of his man.

When he looked to me again, his arms lifted, and he started to do a slow clap.

"Impressive," he said.

A few feet away, his man started crying even more loudly, still clutching his crotch, his body rocking back and forth.

"Well," Jan said, reaching into his waistband, "that's enough of that," he said.

I knew it. Even before I saw the flash of metal.

Then there was another pop of a bullet leaving the chamber.

Followed by silence.

As his man fell dead.

"Much better," Jan said, lowering his arm to his side.

"Martin, can you help our guest to a seat?" he asked. "We seem to need to have a little chat," he added, his gaze sliding past me to the floor.

I knew what he was looking at. The same thing I'd been staring at when I'd last been in this basement.

The molar on the floor.

The man behind me had to tuck my gun into his waistband to be able to wrangle me closer to the beam where Matej had been chained.

While I twisted and turned. Then, finally, I rammed my head back into him. The scent of blood met my own nose as I broke his.

But it was right then that Jan called for the rest of his reinforcements. And between the three of them, they managed to get me against the beam, my arms wrenched far enough back for my shoulders to scream as the man behind the beam wrapped up and chained my wrists, making any escape impossible.

"Now," Jan said, stepping over the bodies of one of his men to stand in front of me. "I think we need to have a little chat."

"Gee, I suddenly have nothing to say," I said, getting a snarl from the man whose nose I'd broken, his blood staining his white shirt.

Without warning, he'd cocked back and swung.

If it weren't for my reflexes honed from many hours in the boxing ring, I was pretty sure my own nose would be broken.

Instead, the idiot collided with the beam, and the crunch of his knuckles was drowned out by his own cries of pain.

"Enough," Jan snapped. Then, "Leave. Our guest and I need to have a conversation."

I glared at Jan, even if I was secretly glad that the others were gone.

"You have been more trouble than you're worth," Jan said as soon as the door closed to the other side of the basement.

"I do aim to be a thorn in mediocre men's asses, so mission accomplished," I said, waiting to see what he would do.

He stepped closer as he laughed.

The man didn't have a single tell.

I didn't even know his intention before I felt the back of his hand slap across my face.

"Nice," I said, ignoring the sting. "I would expect nothing else from a man who slaughtered his friends and tortured his brother, though."

"Where it Matej?" he asked, not rising to the bait.

"That's a great question," I said. "But I'm not going to tell you the answer."

He didn't need to know that was because I didn't know.

Jan's patience was thin then.

He was quick with the backhands, the punches, and occasionally, the hand around my throat, cutting off my air.

In between each punishment, he only had one question.

"Where is Matej?"

"Fuck you."

I lifted my head at the last second, taking the hit to my jaw instead of my cheek. Still, the pain was becoming overwhelming.

"Where. Is. Matej?" Jan roared.

Then, just like that, the basement door whipped open.

"Right here," Matej said, glaring at his brother.

Then, well, all hell broke loose.