CHAPTER 1
Harlow
Sweat glides down my spine and plasters strands of hair to my forehead as I roll around the trunk of Darrow’s BMW while he takes me to who-the-fuck-knows where. The skin on my wrists is torn and bleeding because my asshole ex bound the plastic ties way too tight, most likely on purpose, because he seems hell-bent on making me suffer.
I don’t know how long we’ve been driving, but it seems like forever before I feel the car slowing down. We take a sharp turn over bumpy terrain, and my head slams into the side of the trunk as he drives over a pothole way too fast. I’m tossed around like a rag doll, and I hiss, as pain zips across my brow, cursing him through the rag still stuffed in my mouth.
An icy-cold chill whooshes into the cloying space as the trunk opens, and I welcome the cool balm on my overheated skin. I glare at Darrow as he roughly lifts me out by my upper arms.
He smirks, his eyes raking over me. “You’re a mess.”
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.
If I could speak, I’d tell him he’s not looking so hot himself. He’s sporting several cuts and bruises on his face, a streak of blood is smeared across one cheek, his shirt is ripped, and mud mixes with blood splatters on his pants and dirty boots, in the aftermath of the epic gangland battle that went down earlier tonight.
Darrow places me on the ground and slams the trunk closed. My legs are stiff from being bent at an awkward angle, and I almost take a tumble when my feet hit the gravel underfoot, but I recover fast, straightening up as I drink in my surroundings.
Darrow digs his nails into my arm while dragging me along a debris-strewn path toward a derelict three-story apartment building. Sparse open fields surround us on one side, and a dense forested area is on the other. It’s pitch-black out here, and the only illumination is from some large building in the far distance.
Galen told him to take me someplace remote to kill me, and it looks like Darrow is listening. He could shoot me dead right now, and no one would hear the bullet echoing through the silent air or see my lifeless body falling to the ground. He could drag me to the forest and bury me in full view, because there is no one around to witness the crime.
When we reach the building, Darrow shoves me onto the stairs, nudging a gun in my back, urging me to climb. I walk carefully up the rusted stairway until I reach the first level.
“Turn right,” he commands, and I step over broken glass, crumpled beer cans, dirty cigarette butts, and evidence of drug usage, wondering what other kinds of criminal activity goes down here.
When I come to a dead end, Darrow presses the muzzle of the gun into my temple while he removes a set of keys from the back pocket of his jeans. “Move a muscle, and I’ll pull the trigger.”
I wonder what it says about me that I’m not scared. It’s not because Dar is incapable of following through. He’s a dangerous asshole, and he thinks I betrayed him, so it wouldn’t take much to force his hand. But he forgets I know him, and he’s selfish to his core. When he realizes what he’s done, and how badly this could end for him, he will play it my way.
I’m confident I can talk him around, provided I don’t piss him off in the meantime.
He unlocks the door to the last apartment, shoving me inside as he flicks the light switch on the wall. The door slams shut behind us as I walk the narrow hallway with Darrow close at my back. “In there.” He pushes me forward, through an open door, into a small square room, switching the light on.
The place is surprisingly clean but sparsely furnished. There’s a tiny kitchenette on the right with a table and two chairs. On the left is a lumpy-looking couch in front of a worn wooden coffee table and an empty bookcase.
He pushes me down on the couch, and I face-plant on the worn navy material, my nose wrinkling in disgust as I’m assaulted by a myriad of putrid smells. I push off my elbows, awkwardly straightening up, ignoring the chafing at my wrists and the accompanying pain.
Dar stalks to the kitchen, returning with a couple bottles of water. He puts them down on the table before tucking his gun into the back waistband of his jeans. He removes the rag Galen stuffed in my mouth, and I suck in greedy lungsful of air. In an unexpected tender move, Darrow brushes strands of matted hair off my brow, tucking hair behind my ears. “Here.” He holds a bottle of water to my dry lips, and I tilt my head back, drinking as he tips the liquid into my parched mouth.
“Thanks,” I say after I’ve drunk my fill, and he recaps the bottle.
He runs his fingers along my jawline, and an unpleasant shudder whips through me.
There was a time his touch was welcome, but now, everything about him disgusts me.
“It should never have come to this, Lo.” He shakes his head while his fingers continue sweeping across my skin. “You shouldn’t have stepped foot in that room. The minute you swapped sides, you signed your death warrant.”
“Why am I here?” I ask, glancing around as I ignore his attempt to bring me down memory lane. “I thought you were supposed to be killing me.”
He snorts out a laugh. “Eager to die, babe?”
“Eager for the truth to come out.”
“And what truth is that?” He pulls a chair over from the kitchen. Placing it in front of me, he sits down, straddling it.
“You are not in possession of all the facts.”
“Why else do you think I haven’t put a bullet in your skull yet?” He quirks a brow.
“What deal did you strike with Galen?”
He shakes his head, smirking as he grabs my chin, gripping it painfully. “You’re not calling the shots here, Lo. I’ll be the one asking the questions.”
“So, ask me.”
He runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “Why does Galen Lennox want you dead?”
I shrug. “There could be many reasons. He’s been gunning for my ass from day one, and I’m convinced there’s something in the past driving his behavior. But it’s probably because he thinks I betrayed them by giving up the location of the warehouse.”
“The fake warehouse,” Darrow cuts in, his nostrils flaring.
“I didn’t know it was fake when I messaged you, and we both know I wasn’t the one who leaked that intel first.” I scrutinize his face, watching his reaction carefully. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he doesn’t refute my statement, which is all the confirmation I need.
The Arrows have a mole in The Sainthood’s ranks.
Interesting.
“Did you know it was an ambush?” Dar asks, removing his hands from my face.
“I only found out late last night.”
“That was still time to warn us,” he hisses.
I keep my cool as I drop the first hint. “And why would I go against my own to do that? Especially when you reneged on our deal.”
“I didn’t renege on shit,” he spits. “I was holding Johnny off until you delivered.” He gets up and starts pacing. “Have you any idea the shit you’ve landed me in?” He pulls his gun out, stalking to my side and shoving it in my forehead. “I should just kill you now.”
“If you do, you’ll be signing your own death warrant.”
He laughs hysterically. “I’m not afraid of Saint. He can’t even control his own crew.”
“You say that with confidence, but how do you know Galen wasn’t acting on Saint’s instructions? That this isn’t part of some bigger play?”