Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,44

all the things, after experiencing all the emotional events of the last hours and days.

Insanity.

But that was life.

Maybe it was the kissing. Maybe it had melted my brain in that elevator.

Or maybe . . . it was just inevitable.

As in, perhaps being in Dan’s presence was enough to enact an inescapable erosion of my walls, not just because of the spark of desire between us, but because he was a good man. Because I respected him. Because he never looked at me like I was broken or wrong or evil.

Even after knowing all of the bad.

He just treated me like a normal woman, even after he’d found out I’d grown up among the Toscalos, after I’d told him about Isa.

Focus.

Right. I know I’d been spending all this time with my feelings and being all . . . well, human.

But now wasn’t the time for Human Ava.

It was the time for Icy, Focused, Kickass Ava.

Lifting my chin, I faced the group of men in front of me. Three were familiar faces—my cousins—and the two I didn’t recognize looked to have barely reached adulthood.

I took a halting step in the direction my cousin indicated, attempting to ignore the pain shooting up my leg and torso.

Movement at my back had me stiffening.

Then, “Me,” Dan whispered, as he scooped me up into his arms.

One of the goons shifted as though he were going to stop Dan, but Dan just held me closer and said, “She’s injured and won’t make it far. Do you want us to go with you or not?”

Silence.

Then a brusque nod.

And I decided to play up the weak woman angle. Perhaps the fuckers would underestimate me. Maybe they would think me too hurt and wouldn’t pay attention, and then we’d have our way out.

Of course, it wasn’t hard to play up the weak woman angle.

Not when I was hurting and dizzy from blood loss and the pain.

“Focus, Ava,” Dan hissed.

I nodded. “I am.”

“Your—”

“No talking,” one of the men snapped. He turned and started walking, leading us through the series of corridors I knew all too well. Down. Guiding us farther into the twisted maze of rocks. My father loved this castle on the hillside, loved the ancient hallways and tangled passageways, the small cells, the dark, damp space.

I’d played in these halls when I was a child, hiding and seeking and laughing like a lunatic anytime I was spotted by one of my father’s men.

Until I’d realized that the halls led to cells.

Fun times.

Tearing my gaze from the walls, I glanced up at Dan. He held my gaze and tapped the inside of my elbow, where the tracker was implanted. I knew it was his way of reminding me that though we might feel like they were alone, KTS would have our backs. The tracking chips were another new technology, so at least there was a good chance they wouldn’t be compromised, if it truly was the former KTS agent, Daniel, who was the one feeding information and working with KTS’s enemies.

And we had a chip outside the heavy rock walls, so even if my signal was compromised, Dan’s wouldn’t be.

I covered his hand with my own, squeezed lightly.

Then I rested my head on his chest and pretended to be out of it.

Sadly, it was all too easy.

Twenty-One

Southern Italy

Unknown hrs local time

Dan

My ribs throbbed, my mind spun, and Ava in my arms was all too right.

And we were being led deeper into some sick fucker’s dungeon.

A sick fuck whose household she’d grown up in.

I wanted to refuse on principle to follow them, refuse to go anywhere near that room I’d been taken to before, refuse to carry Ava down this fucking sicko path.

Her father, Frankie, was on the top of KTS’s list of bad guys to take down. He’d ruled southern Italy with an iron fist, single-handedly driving out progress and better opportunities for the people who live there by expanding his criminal enterprises. He looped in young boys, got them running drugs and laundering money. Families living there had to pay protection money from their meager earnings, making it extremely difficult to move away, to find better and safer opportunities.

And Frankie used them as fodder.

Not giving a fuck if they were killed or injured, not giving a damn for the families left behind.

All while he lived in an expensive castle above the glittering Mediterranean Sea.

The Italian who’d ordered us to follow him stopped in front of a familiar large wooden door, knocking once on the thick board. A voice called