Shattered King(83)

I went to my and Hunter’s room, and dragged a gray hoodie over my T-shirt, then went to the closet and searched for some kind of weapon. I knew he had to have something here. Coming up empty, I went to his bedside table. I found a small switchblade and took it. If I had to do this, I wasn’t going in there completely helpless. Grabbing my purse from the dresser, I shoved it inside then strode to the living room. Snatching up my phone from the coffee table, I shoved it in the back pocket of my jeans. I headed for the door without missing a beat.

Jude was sitting at the breakfast bar and shot to his feet when he saw me. I ignored him and kept moving. “Hang on, Lulu. You can’t leave the apartment.”

“Josh should sleep for a couple hours,” I said then dove for the door. Shoving it open, I ran as fast as I could. Jude pounded after me, but I knew he wouldn’t leave Josh alone to follow me. I’d counted on it.

He yelled my name, pissed as hell and cursing up a storm. I ignored him and kept on running.

* * *

The scarred wood was smooth under my fingers, it was also sticky, and I made sure not to lean on it. I lifted my glass, took a sip of my Coke and stared at the entrance.

This place was the definition of a dive bar. Low lighting, classic rock pumping from the speakers, customers that looked like they were part of the permanent fixtures. I’d run out of Hunter’s apartment building, then ran some more until I was struggling for breath. The text giving me directions came a short time after that. I’d grabbed a cab and here I was—I looked down at the damp coaster under my drink—at Big Johnny’s.

I’d gotten a few looks when I walked in, mostly because I was panting, red faced, and sweating, but I’d ignored the looks, ordered my drink, and tried to blend in, taking a seat in one of the corners.

I checked my phone. I had it on silent and the awful feeling in my belly tightened when I saw all of Hunter’s missed calls and frantic text messages. I made myself ignore them.

A big guy—wide back and shoulders, huge thighs—walked in. He looked like a professional body builder. His hair was blond and cropped short, features broad and prominent. His eyes searched the bar until they found me then locked on. Fear spiked though me. This was my ride.

My jaw started to ache and I realized I was clenching my teeth. He moved toward me.

“Glad to see you can follow instructions,” he said when he reached me. “Let’s go, Tomas is waiting.”

Oh shit.

I curled my fingers around the switchblade in my purse and nodded, getting to my feet.

The big man tilted his head to the door. “We’re going to walk out of here now. If you make a fuss, resist in anyway, I’ll call our friend in Hudson, understand?”

Fuck. I had no choice but to go with him. He stood and I did too, gripping the knife tighter. He wrapped his fingers around my elbow and led me to the door. We stepped out into daylight. A typical overcast New York day. I struggled to breath evenly, panic hitting me hard enough to hyperventilate. He yanked me to the right, into an alleyway. A car was parked there. My fear reached its peak at that moment and I opened my mouth to scream, but his hand slapped over my mouth. Grabbing my wrist with the other, he pried the blade from my fingers.

He grinned down at me.

It wasn’t a nice grin.

I pulled at his hand, and he released my mouth.

“Get in, let’s go.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Lulu

“Has he contacted you since he ran?”

I stared across the desk at Tomas and shook my head. “No.” I’d told him everything he wanted to know. I had no reason not to.

I’d been here for about an hour and, surprisingly, Tomas had kept his word. No one had hurt me, not yet anyway. He’d offered me food and drinks then had proceeded to ask me questions about Pierce. What I knew, places he frequented, people he associated with . . . and all the while Tomas’s extremely dark eyes had been locked on mine, like he could gage whether or not I was lying just by looking at me.

Tomas was a little older than Van, I guessed. Tall and built. Dark skin and hair and a wicked-looking scar on the side of his face. He was intimidating without even trying; I knew this because he wasn’t trying. I could tell he was purposely attempting to put me at ease throughout my interrogation.

He sat back, those eyes still drilling into me. “How old is your son?”

I stiffened.

“I won’t hurt him, Lulu. I would never hurt a child.”

“But you said . . .”

“Sometimes I have to say things I don’t mean to get what I want.” He shrugged. “It’s all part of this business. I’m sure you understand.”

I wished I didn’t, but Pierce had trained me well.