Page 67 of Heaven Help Me

Rhett screeches to a halt a few miles later, Silas right behind him. We step out of our vehicles and look around at tree after tree. I pull my gun out and check how many bullets I have. Should be plenty as long as Fazio doesn’t have more than a few men with him.

“I want you two to stay here. I’m going in alone. If shit hits the fan, you can call 911 and get the police here.”

Rhett scoffs. “Silas stays with the vehicles. I’ll come to the end of the tree line and help you scope out who’s all there on the outside. Then you can go in alone.”

I debate his offer. Silas rubs his hand over his jaw repeatedly. He suddenly looks ridiculous in his lemon-yellow polo and khaki shorts. Hell, my suit and tie don’t exactly fit the circumstance either. Rhett’s the only one who looks like he even remotely belongs out here with his dirty jeans and cowboy hat.

“Fine, but we’ll have to take out the outside guys quietly. I don’t want to tip off Fazio and have him harm Valentina or my father.”

Rhett nods. “Agreed.” He pulls a knife out of the waistband of his jeans like some kind of Crocodile Dundee and hands me a pocketknife that’ll have to do.

Silas wishes us luck and then we’re off on foot, creeping as silently as we can through the woods. We don’t know which of the ten cabins they could be in, but when we get close enough, we only see one cabin with a gray sedan parked outside. Bingo.

The next few minutes happen in a weird haze of panic and laser focus. Rhett and I take out two men stationed outside the front of the cabin with cool efficiency. I don’t feel bad about taking a life. Not after seeing that photo.

Rhett motions that he’ll check out the back side of the cabin to make sure we didn’t miss any other goons. It’s my job to go in the front door and deal with Fazio. I’m ashamed to say I only make it one step inside the door before it’s slammed shut behind me by a boot. Then a body is crashing into me and I’m swinging the knife wildly. That same boot kicks my wrist lightning fast and the knife goes flying.

Fazio tackles me and we wrestle across the dirty floor, both of us grunting and grappling as we try to get leverage. The guy has only packed on muscle since I saw him last. I’ve been selling suits. We are not the same.

Finally, he pins me, stripping me of the gun and leering down into my face. “Ahh. Deuce. We meet again.”

He may be heavier and a better fighter than me, but he’s one ugly son of a bitch.

I smile up at him. “What was your name again?”

I see the flare of rage in his eyes right before he punches me and the lights go out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Valentina

Pain thrums through my head to its own beat. Nausea follows right behind, a one-two punch I could do without. Someone’s groaning. It takes a couple more groans for me to realize I’m the one bleating like a wounded goat. My eyelids feel like they have little weights attached to them where eyelashes should be.

“Valentina,” a voice whispers. Then it gets louder. “Baby, please open your eyes.”

Deuce.

I’m so happy to hear his voice I lift my head and instantly let out a little yelp at the stab of pain that shoots up my neck and through my skull. My eyes are having a hard time opening. One feels like it has thick glue covering it, which is weird. I definitely have not been playing with glue recently.

Have I?

“Valentina.”

I manage to open one eye this time and I can see Deuce on the floor. Well, the shape of him, anyway. He’s sitting kind of far away, which is weird, but I’m so glad to see him, I crack a smile.

“Ciuccio,” I croak, startled by my own broken voice. I clear my throat and try again. “Why…my head.” I try to reach for my aching temple but my arms aren’t working. Hell, I can’t even feel my arms. Do I still have arms?

Alarm has me shifting urgently, which really sets off the pounding in my head, but I can’t help it. I really need to know I still have arms. It takes longer than I’d like, but I manage to take inventory in this dark room. Turns out, I do have arms, thank the Lord, but they’re currently tied behind my back and so numb I can’t contract my fingers.

“You’re okay, V. Fazio has us all in some cabin in the woods.”

I lift my head again and stare at Deuce with one good eye. The events of the day come back to me in fits and starts. Oh, shit. It was just me. Now we’ve multiplied. There’s someone a few feet away from Deuce, in a chair. Marcel. A cry tumbles from my lips. Not Marcel. That sweet man shouldn’t be here. He’s asleep or passed out or… No. I refuse to believe Marcel is doing anything but taking an evening nap.

“Does anyone know where we are?” I manage to bite out, walling off the feelings pressing hard against my rib cage and focusing instead on what needs to happen to survive. I’ve been trained for this kind of thig. Extensively.

Deuce’s voice drops to a whisper. “A few friends.”

That buoys my spirits. Not by much, but some. I look around, wishing my other eye would open. There’s a few tools stacked in the corner. I start scooting that direction. It’s slow going considering my hands are useless behind me and almost my entire ass is bare to the dirty wood floor beneath me. I swear to God, if I come out of this mess with slivers in my ass, I will not be happy.