Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,71

risked Vinn’s wrath by grabbing his soldiers, but at the moment I couldn’t look at someone in leather without the desire to kill them. It’d been only too easy to drive by the neighborhoods and throw open a door, asking for help. They’d piled in without a second’s thought after I gave them each a thousand dollars cash.

The vibe in the car was silent reverence. Most of them were distant relatives, cousins of cousins, half-Italians, associates who couldn’t be made into members. They worshipped guys like me with a direct line to the Costa throne.

The one in the driver’s seat was their leader, a gangly twenty-year-old who I’d seen at a few weddings. A vape pen hung from his mouth. Steam blew from his crooked lips as he reached for a baseball bat.

“Mr. Costa. We doing this or what?”

I nodded. “I’m going in first.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll kill the bouncer and the bartender. Don’t come inside until I’ve fired.”

“Does Vinn know about this?”

“Nah.” I smirked at the kid, whose jaw went slack. “This is dangerous, but I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll understand if you change your mind, but I’d appreciate the backup, and I’ll pay it forward in the future. For all of you.”

He raised his brow. “So you’ll owe me a favor?”

“Yep.”

He offered me his fist, and I knocked mine against it. Then I did the same for everybody in the van. Someone got the door for me.

I jumped down and strolled across the street. I wouldn’t blame the kids for taking off. Picking a fight in a biker bar was stupid, but I had no hope of confronting Jett in the clubhouse and I needed to send a clear message.

Five young faces gaped at me as I approached the grizzled prospect.

He held out his hand. “ID.”

I opened my wallet. Cards slipped through my fingers and fluttered to the ground.

“Shit, sorry.” I kneeled, feigning drunkenness as I groped for the plastic. “Here we go.”

I gave it to him.

He bent as his penlight zoomed on my face.

I took out my knife, and the blade sank into his neck. He shouted, palming the gushing wound. Wide-eyed he stumbled backward. I threw him aside and wrenched the knife out. No blood on me. Good. I tucked the knife into my jacket and removed my gun, heart pounding.

I bumped into the door. It swung into the dive. I headed for the counter, the barrel hidden in my sleeve. The bartender looked up as he cleaned a mug.

I lifted my hand in a friendly wave, drawing his attention away from the gun. I aimed and fired. The glass he held shattered. Crimson blossomed from the hole in his chest. I squeezed the trigger, firing at the drunken members. A man at the pool table sprinted at me. I wheeled my arm. Fired.

He crashed to his knees.

I ducked behind the counter as top-shelf liquor exploded. My feet swam in glass and booze. I returned fire, and then the street kids burst inside, a perfectly timed whirlwind of chaos. They shattered neon signs, smashed the unbroken bottles, and laid waste to the popular Legion bar.

I stood, gun drawn.

I locked gazes with a dark-haired biker, fists clenched and trembling. Evie’s almond-shaped eyes stared at me, fear flickering in them. I hesitated. For all his faults and flaws, he was her father.

Jett reached into his holster.

I whipped my Glock across his face. The blow knocked Jett off the stool. He sputtered, his beard running with beer and blood.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s safe, not that you give a shit.” I lowered so that my lips hovered near his ear. “The only reason your brains aren’t decorating the floor is because of Evie. I suggest you remember that.”

“You think she’ll want to be with you? After all this?” He pushed himself upright, grinning a crimson smile. “You’re crazy. You’re fucking mental.”

My ears pounded.

Visions of Evie storming out the door clouded my head. The idea of her leaving rocketed my pulse and dried my mouth.

“She won’t leave me.”

“You’re sure of that?” Jett chuckled, spitting out blood. “Keep my secret and I’ll keep yours, Costa.”

Fuck you.

Fuck you, fuck you.

I stood, my grip tightening on my Glock. “I’m not the same guy you chained up. Consider this a warning.”

Twenty-Five

Evie

I’m grateful that roses have thorns.

Where was Tony?

What was he doing?

Hours ticked by with nothing from him. I sat in the living room, an afghan draping my lap. The doctor had already examined me and left. Tony’s mother never picked up the phone, so I was alone.