Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,47
until the houses fall away and the warehouses pop up. The deeper we walk into the industrial estate, the more run-down the buildings become. Shay makes a beeline for a red steel door at the side of one of the buildings. It’s abandoned, and I think this is where he finally kills me.
The door screeches on the hinges as Shay opens the door. I don’t follow him but look around for signs of life.
“Emily.” The false name drags me closer to Shay. The fact he’s using it means we aren’t alone.
The door closes loudly behind me as it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the red light that fills the hallway.
Shay hasn’t moved, and neither do I. I’m not going down there first.
“These are my friends, but they aren’t yours.” His words are low and far closer to my ear than I expect.
I shiver and wrap my arms around my center.
“Just… don’t say anything.” I nod my head, not sure if he sees me, but I had no intentions of drawing attention to myself ever again.
He steps into the red-lit hallway, and I follow him to what? I have no idea.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMMA
Shay stops walking, and my hand automatically goes to the knife in my pocket. I have a moment when he half turns to me—with the red light cast across his features--I think he hasn’t come here to meet friends. He’s going to kill me.
That’s why I’m standing in an abandoned warehouse with a murderer.
I won’t die in some run-down building. How long would my body lie here rotting before my family found out where I was? Would they ever find out?
A shiver climbs along my veins, and I can’t stop it from erupting along my skin. If I was ever going to plead for my life, now is the time.
Shay turns fully and takes two steps back towards me. Each step sends my heart pounding; it’s like my heart is in sync with his steps for just a split second before it bursts from my chest and races ahead.
Shay takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one.
“You want one?”
I can’t talk. My throat is being crushed with my future death. I shake my head, and he steps closer, blowing smoke around him. My mind is conjuring up a skeleton face amongst the billowing of smoke, but each time it’s just Shay.
You will fight, Emma.
His gaze skips to my neck, and his hand moves. My body reacts instantly, and I move back from him.
For the first time, I see a flash of something that makes me unsteady—guilt.
It’s like my body turns to mush, like I know this Shay and this Shay won’t hurt me. The wall is rough against my skin, paint flakes away at the contact.
“I’ve never put my hands on a woman before.” He inhales deeply after speaking.
I don’t believe you. I shake my head, not caring for his excuse. If he was telling the truth, did it make it worse that I was the first woman he ever put his hands on?
“I shouldn’t have hurt you.” He’s half shaking his head as he takes the step that has him in my personal space.
My heart bounces and rattles in my chest, and the swell of anger has me pulling the knife out. I’m quick, quicker than I ever thought I could be—the blade presses against his throat. The cigarette falls from his raised hand, and I press the knife a little closer.
“Love, you don’t want to do that.”
“I’m not your love.” More anger seeps and slips through the cracks, and I press a little harder, nearly getting carried away as the first bead of blood spills.
“You hurt me.” My vision blurs, and I curse myself for such a useless fucking emotion. I grit my teeth. “You hurt me,” I repeat. I’m telling myself how much he hurt me, and my hand shakes. “You hurt me.” My words are lower, but they carry more impact. It’s like a punch in the stomach when I realize why. I don’t want Shay to hurt me. I don’t want Shay to dislike me. I want him to want me.
I want him.
The shake in my hand has the blade rattling against his throat. His raised hands are steady; his jaw relaxed as he stares down at me, towering over me like a dark and dangerous figure. He could disarm me. He could kill me with his large hands.
I’m focused on his hand, that he lowers slowly. I’m