Chapter 4

Sometimes, I think of myself as a bad man. I’ve done things in my life, used violence. I’m familiar with firearms. I’ve made men bleed and scream out for their mothers. There’s always a line with me, but not with the men who will take my woman if she doesn’t slow the damn car down. Her father’swallet. Dante and his scheme, and my part in the whole mess.

Nobody’s touching her. I glide through traffic, trying not to panic. My thoughts are getting damn bloody. There are visions of Lena and the monsters who’d do horrible things to her. All for Dante. I had no choice but to…

“To what?”As I drive, it’s like Jack is floating in the road. Not literally. I’m not nuts, but I imagine what he’d say.“Stage an impromptu hostage rescue in broad daylight with that little peashooter? Without wearing a mask? Sloppy, kid. Sloppy.”

I tighten my hold on the steering wheel, trying to think. Immediately, without question, my primary mission is to get Lena somewhere safe. It’s like this hot fire in my chest, burning away any other impulses. I went about this the wrong way. I’m going to have to lie to her.

I don’t want to do that, but what choice do I have? She can’t go to the cops. If I’m right about this, she can’t go to any law enforcement. I should’ve said something on the phone and calmed her down. I’ve never been very good with women, but I’ve never really cared to be.

Pushing the car ahead, I glide beside her, looking over. She’s driving determinedly. She’s not even wearing her seatbelt. I slink back, letting her overtake and get ahead. I’m not going to risk her life more than she already is. She should wear the damn thing. It’d be sweet to get in the car, lean over, kiss her cheek and neck, and slip her seatbelt into place. A man could call himself happy if he had that.

“Focus, kid.”

Imaginary Luka is right. She’s taking an exit. I follow her, two cars behind, then slip in beside her at a four-lane intersection. Rolling my window down at the red light, I call over, “I know where your mom is.”

She must hear me through the glass. She lowers her window an inch. “What? Where?”

Poor thing. She’s looking at me as if I’m the bad guy. She thinks I’m going to hurt her. I’ve sometimes wondered if men like me have hearts, but now I know. She’s damn near breaking mine. “She’s at my apartment. I left you the note. I didn’t think you’d figure it out.”

I’ve made my tone cold and dark again. I’m shaking, hating myself for this, for the way she’s looking at me. She’s my woman. She belongs to me. Her body. Her womb. Her life. She should never look at me like she’s afraid. I’ll protect her from anything, but I have to say it anyway. The light has turned green. People honk their horns behind us.

“You can follow me,” I tell her, “or I’ll text you a photo of Simone in roughly an hour if you can recognize her.”

Dammit, that hurts to say. I feel like a scumbag. I’ve spent enough time around criminals to know how they speak and the threats they use. I pull away from the light, turn, look into my rearview, and there she is. It’s not like I can even console myself with the fact she’ll learn the truth soon. I didn’t take her mom.

She won’t like what I have to do. Even if she’s mine, she won’t like it. She has too much toughness and spirit to be caged, but she has no choice.