Enforce(108)

But I wanted to.

So I prayed one more time.

One final time in my life.

I prayed for God to answer me. Just once.

Save me from what I’ve become.

Just save me from this.

Something pounded the door, and in a blur, Nixon and Chase charged in. Fists landed against my face.

And I smiled, not because I was getting the shit beat out of me.

But because… when it had mattered…

God had heard my prayer.

And saved me from myself.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

My life flashed…



Nixon

TRACE HAD LEFT CLASS in tears, and I knew that I’d yet again been the cause of them. If only she knew that being mean to her was ripping me to shreds from the inside out. Not only had I made a promise to Frank to leave her the hell alone, but Phoenix had been sniffing around too closely.

He’d asked me about Trace. Again. And this time when he asked, he’d mentioned the necklace, her grandfather, and our relationship with the Alferos. It worried me to no end, because if he was smart, he’d use her as bait to draw us out. He’d use her to get to me. It would be easy to bend me to his will to get what he wanted, what his father wanted: more money and freedom. And he was angry enough to do just that.

So telling the girl I loved that I hated her? Mooing at her in the hall? All it had done was prove to Phoenix that she was just like everyone else — a dead end. Normal.

Not a freaking Alfero.

Not the daughter of two slain parents.

Granddaughter to the one Mafia boss who had a chip on his shoulder bigger than mine.

Shit. I wiped my face with my hands.

Class dismissed.

I heard yelling in the hall but didn’t pay attention. Instead, I picked up my phone and sent Chase quick text.

Me: Trace left class. Check on her?

Chase: I’ll call her — but for the record, I’d just leave her alone.

The phone almost fell out of my hands. The last thing I needed was for Chase, of all people, to tell me to back off. The last time he’d threatened me I’d given him two black eyes and chipped his tooth.

With a sigh, I sat on the desk and waited for him to text me the okay.

Five minutes later, my alert went off.

And that time I really did drop the phone onto the floor.

Chase: 911 — Batcave — Phoenix has Trace.

I forwarded the text to Frank as fast as my fingers let me, and then I yelled, panicked. For the first time in my life — I hesitated. Not because I wasn’t going to go after her, but because my feet refused to move. Breathing had suddenly become a huge chore, as if my lungs had forgotten how to function.

I hit my own chest, sucking in the air greedily as I made my way to the door, legs like lead.

Her face. That’s what I saw.

Her skin. That’s what I felt.

Her lips.

Every damn part of her.

And he had her.

Alone.

If he touched her, if he laid one finger on her, touched a hair on her head, I was going to murder him, and I would do it slowly. I’d extend it days, maybe even weeks, and I’d smile as his body sank to the bottom of Lake Michigan.

People stared as I ran through the halls. I didn’t even blink as I reached for the gun hidden in the back of my pants.

Five minutes.

It took me five damn minutes to run across campus to where Phoenix had her.

I was going to puke.

I’d seen some terrible things in my lifetime — but fear had been beaten out of me at a young age.

Or so I thought.

Chase reached the door just as I did. I swiped my card over it, but it didn’t budge.

“Shit!” I kicked it with my foot then grabbed the knife from my leg. I shoved it between the metal plates of the scanner and shorted the wires.

The door opened.

My breath caught in my chest as my eyes fell on Phoenix’s hands as they slid up her thighs.

A war-cry from hell erupted from my mouth.

I went for Phoenix’s throat, while Chase went for Trace.

I didn’t have time to think about what that meant. All I saw was blood — his blood — the blood I’d happily spill all over the floor.

My hands reached for his shirt. It tore as I ripped him away from the floor and threw him against the wall with so much force that a few pictures fell to the ground and shattered.

“I’ll kill you for touching her,” I spat, landing a blow to his stomach. “You low life…” I hit him again. “…piece of shit!”

With my left hand, I punched him in the jaw. Blood spewed from his mouth as he leaned into me. My knee met his face again and again. Bones cracked. I both felt and heard them.

Even if his body was found, they wouldn’t be able to identify him. I’d make him unrecognizable then remove his teeth, fingernails, and every damn follicle of hair so they couldn’t find his name — so he wouldn’t have a burial. I’d send him to hell with bells on.