Page 115 of Trapped

But how?

Three men surrounded us, plus my father. Everybody had a gun. Santino probably carried a knife. After we had sex, I’d watch him strap on his weapons. Each holster and blade.

My heart pounded.

He always had a small switchblade tucked into his boot. I remembered him joking once, saying it was his “good luck charm.” Could they have missed it?

I glanced at his boots, trying to gauge if he was prepared to use it. His eyes met mine, and he subtly shifted his stance. Santino wouldn’t go down without a fight. If he was going to make a move, it had to be soon. My father and Dimitri were eager for blood. I could see it in their eyes. They’d make him pay for daring to touch me.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. If Santino had the knife, he could take out one of them. But then what? There were too many guns. We’d both be dead in seconds.

Santino’s gaze flicked to me. He knew the odds, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not if there was a slim chance of getting us out of this alive.

I had to act. I couldn’t stand here and watch him get torn apart. My mind raced. I needed to create a distraction, something that gave Santino the opening he needed.

Santino’s hand twitched. The knife was still there, hidden and waiting. He just needed a brief moment of chaos to tip the scales in our favor.

I had to create that moment.

“Boris,” my father snapped. “Take her out of here.”

A bald man grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. I elbowed his chest and scratched at his arms, screaming my throat hoarse. The man shoved me toward the door. I stumbled, grabbing a tire iron off the wall. I turned, swinging it hard.

It slammed into Boris’s face. He staggered, clutching his cheek. Then I lunged forward, grabbed the edge of a table, and flipped it over, sending a toolbox crashing to the floor.

Santino’s hand flashed to his boot. Then he plunged silver into Dimitri’s thigh. Dimitri screamed, clutching his leg. His gun clattered to the ground. Santino dove for it. He grasped the handle?—

Two loud bangs erupted.

My eyes widened as Boris crumpled to the ground, a neat hole between his eyes. Luca held a gun, his narrowed gaze focused on my father. My father staggered, blood blossoming on his shirt. Dimitri struggled on the floor, writhing in his blood. Santino emptied his clip into Dimitri, the shell casings pinging the concrete.

People inside the house shouted. Luca hit the garage door opener, and the sound of the motor drowned out the shouts of confusion. Santino grabbed me, opening a car door and shoving me inside as Luca scrambled into the driver’s seat.

The door flew open.

Men burst into the garage, guns drawn.

A hail of gunfire cracked the windshield as Luca turned the car on. The engine roared to life, and Luca peeled out of the garage, tires screeching. Santino forced my head all the way down. He didn’t let up until we’d merged onto the freeway.

Santino raked a hand through his hair, grinning. “How does it feel to be free?”

Luca growled something indistinct. He didn’t say another word, his face a mask of concentration. The blood on his shirt and the wild look in his eyes were the only signs that he’d shot his way out of a death trap.

“Luca,” I said, my voice cracking.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “We’ll talk later. We need to get somewhere safe.”

Santino squeezed my hand, drawing my attention back to him. “Everything will be alright.”

Luca took a sharp turn, the tires squealing as the car sped onto a side road. We made it out alive. Survival was just the beginning.

FORTY

SANTINO

Luca balanced a glass of water on his knee as he sat on my couch. “You got anything stronger than this?”

I shook my head. “We have seltzer and diet soda.”