“And if I use you for sex… meaningless sex, sex you know my heart isn’t invested in, and then you die… what does that make me?”
“A guy.” I shrugged. “Though right now you sound like a chick.”
He smiled.
I bit down on my lip while he let out a little groan. His eyes focused in on my bottom lip like he wanted to take another taste.
“See ya in the morning, hubby.” I quickly turned on my heel and walked up the stairs, a bit wobbly on my feet. Probably not because of what I had drunk, but because I always got dizzier at night.
Getting ready for bed may as well have been the Boston marathon for as much as I was huffing and puffing.
Damn Sergio. He was probably right about the drinking, but it was my honeymoon! I refused to let the cancer win at everything.
Though right now I felt like I was losing.
I stumbled toward the bed, not doing my usual check for the night where I went to the closet for assassins, my window to make sure it was locked, and under the bed for whatever horror might lurk beneath.
Which is probably why, when someone grabbed me from behind, I wanted to curse myself rather than them.
“Don’t.” His accent was thick.
Lovely. My biological father had somehow managed to infiltrate the house and send one of his goons after me.
“You scream, I cut your throat before your father gets the pleasure.”
I was too far away to reach the knife under my pillow, and my gun was stashed in the nightstand. I could easily outmaneuver him — if I wasn’t semi-buzzed and suffering from vertigo.
I’d end up getting killed, and, for some reason it seemed unfair, to die before my time was up. I was banking on enjoying my last few moments with a certain Italian man.
“Soft.” He chuckled darkly, his lips tasting my cheek.
I wanted to cut his throat out.
Another laugh invaded the room.
Two men?
“Do you have her?”
Three. Three distinct voices. The man holding me turned around, his grip on me still freakishly tight.
Four men, including the one holding me. There was no way I was getting out of that.
Sergio! He was still downstairs. If I screamed, they’d kill me and go hunt for him; that is, if he was still alive.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Tell him you’re sleeping,” the man barked in my ear, his grip on my waist tightening. “Now.”
“Andi?” Sergio called. “Can I come in?”
“No,” I said in a clear voice. “I’m busy painting my nails, Sergio. Go bother someone else.”
“What color?” he asked, taking the bait as I’d known he would, because I never called him Sergio, and my nails had been without color ever since he’d known me. Besides, I was Russian. Did I look like a spoiled princess?
“Green,” I answered. “Like your eyes.” Please get the hint. Please, please. He knew I paid attention to detail. I just hoped, in that moment, he’d get it, well, that and that he wasn’t as drunk as I first assumed; otherwise, he’d be walking into a trap.
“Okay, goodnight, Andi.”
I tensed; footsteps sounded against the wood floor.
Alone.
He hadn’t gotten the hint. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or just sad that my time with him would be so short-lived.
One of the men moved toward the door and slowly opened it, gun raised. He looked both ways down the hall then motioned for all of us to follow. Once we were clear of the hall, we made our way down the stairs and rounded the corner.
I could see the door.
Damn. I needed to do something.
I was just about to make my move when a gunshot rang out. The man holding me jerked my body against his as we moved toward the door.
Two more gunshots.
This was my chance. I used my heel against his foot then brought my other foot back up against his groin.
He stumbled enough for me to break free.
Sergio rounded the corner, gun in hand, dark smile in place. He tilted his head. “Going somewhere, sunshine?”
The man held up his gun. Sergio shot him in the hand. A bored expression crossed his features before he smiled then tossed his gun onto the floor. He held up his fists. “Tell you what, you beat me, you can take her.”
The man looked at me then back at Sergio; his laugh had me cringing all over. I stepped back away from them and watched.
Sergio walked right up to him and threw a slow punch. The guy ducked then flew at Sergio’s midsection, but Sergio, clearly not as drunk as I’d believed, moved out of the way and kicked the guy in the ass, sending him sailing into the stairs.
He grumbled out a few curses then turned around, blood dripping from his nose.
“Tell me.” Sergio cracked his neck. “How’d you get in?”
The man yelled and charged him again.
Sergio sighed and landed two hard punches to the man’s nose. He stumbled backward and collided with a large urn. It shattered on contact.
“Hope that wasn’t a family heirloom,” I said.
“It was.” Sergio jerked the guy to his feet by his shirt and slammed him against the wall; a few pictures fell to the ground shattering on contact. “So, you gonna talk, or do I get the pleasure of making you?”
The man grinned and spit in Sergio’s face.
I winced.
Knowing what was most likely coming.
Sergio let out a dark laugh and flipped out a knife. There was no warning; he simply made a hard cut across the man’s cheek.