Sucker Punch (First Fangs Club #3) - Kristen Painter

Chapter One

With dawn fast approaching, Belladonna Barrone stood in the living room of her home, the governor’s penthouse, surrounded by her trusted team: Pierce Harrison, her personal assistant and the attorney who’d saved her life. Charlene “Charlie” Rollins, her administrative assistant. Temo Danielson, her driver and head of security.

His cousin, Penina, was also there, due to her helping out as part-time security.

Next to her stood Rixaline, the teenage dhamfir Donna had given sanctuary to. Rixaline had returned the favor by using her skills of finding lost things to locate Donna’s supposed-to-be-dead mob husband, which made it possible to capture him and turn him over to the FBI.

But none of those people could stop the pit that opened up in Donna’s stomach as she watched the newly arrived video on her phone. Temo, Pierce, and Charlie had gotten it too.

The sight of friend and FBI agent Rico Medina in the clutches of the fae was unbearably awful. Sounds started to go tinny, the floor beneath her tilted, and for a second, Donna thought she might pass out. Or retch. Or punch something. Maybe all three. But not in that order.

Instead of doing any of that, she did her best to pull herself together. But not in time to stop a curse that would have made Big Tony, head of the Villachi crime family, proud. She stared at her phone’s screen for a second longer, then finally raised her head and uttered a sentence she knew was the result of denial. “That can’t be him. Please tell me that’s not him.”

Her team looked at her with the same kind of sinking despair she felt.

Temo shook his head slowly. “Pretty sure it is, boss.”

Pierce came to her side. “I’m sorry, but it’s definitely Rico.”

Donna swallowed, but the bitter taste in her mouth went nowhere. “I know. I just don’t want it to be him.”

Penina picked up her purse. “I should go. You all have a lot to deal with, and I don’t want to be in the way. If you need me, I’m just a phone call away.”

Donna nodded. “Thank you for helping out.”

“Anytime. I’m so sorry.” She looked at Temo. “Talk to you later, cousin.”

“Later,” he answered.

As Penina left, Donna glanced down at her phone again. “As much as I don’t want to, I need to watch that again.”

“Hang on,” Charlie said. She grabbed the TV remote and changed the channel from the movie Penina and Rixaline had been watching, then tapped her phone screen a few times. A couple of seconds later, the video started playing on the television.

With her hand pressed flat to her stomach, Donna watched, unable to look away. Forcing herself to be analytical and search for anything that might be useful.

The same dimly lit holding cell appeared, all in muted shades of gray because of the low light. The walls and floor looked like stone.

“The dungeons,” Rixaline breathed. “I would know them anywhere.”

A man was bound to a wooden chair in the center of the cell, head down. Donna recognized his T-shirt and jeans as the same ones Rico had worn earlier at FBI headquarters to take custody of Joe and his accomplice girlfriend, Carmella.

A fae walked into view and grabbed a handful of Rico’s hair as he talked to the camera. “We know you have the dhamfir.”

Rixaline let out a tiny whimper.

“Return her to us, or your friend dies. You have forty-eight hours.”

He pulled the man’s head back.

And once again, Donna looked into Rico’s face. He looked angry. But also a little scared. She sucked in a breath, unable to stop herself from reacting. It felt like she’d been sucker-punched. “I can’t believe they have him.”

“Neither can I,” Pierce said. “How are they holding a wolf shifter?”

Rixaline spoke softly. “Those ropes are laced with silver threads.”

Donna turned to her. “That cell is in the fae headquarters?”

She nodded. “Yes, in the stronghold’s dungeons.”

Donna’s vampire nature flared like a can of gasoline that had just been thrown into a fire. It came over her with the same sudden surge as the first time she’d slugged her mobster husband, Joe, in the face. “I’m going to kill them all.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Charlie said.

“Really?” Donna snapped. “Because it seems like a freakin’ fabulous idea to me.”

Rixaline’s skin, normally a dusky gray green, seemed paler and greener than usual. “This is my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Donna couldn’t really argue with that. This had happened because of Rixaline, but Donna alone had made the decision to offer the

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