“I’m not scared of your mob friends, Aiden. We will be long gone before they even get here. Ah. Here we are. No need to inform him where we’re going, sister dear.” I try to move to see out the passenger side window.
“What the fuck? You rotten son of a bitch!” I lurch forward, only to be shoved back by whoever the fuck this man is who hasn’t said a goddamn word the entire time.
“Aidan, are you all right?” Anna scoots closer to me, the pain etched on her cute little face visible the closer she gets to me.
“Matthew. Bring them all out,” he snips sharply into his phone. God, no. Matthew. He’s worked for Salvatore for years. He’s Beth’s bodyguard. How in the fuck did he get messed up with Junior? I feel sick. My entire life is in that building. My eyes stay trained to the doorway leading to the apartment building where Deidre and my son are. Just as I see the shadows of people walking through the corridor, a vibration pulses against my lower abdomen. The phone. Someone is calling. I stay still, barely breathing, pulse pounding, until I see them. Deidre holding my son, her eyes flocking all around, scared, helpless, clinging to him like the protective mother she is. Beth and Grace’s hands bound behind their backs. Two guns in the hands of Matthew, pointed directly at each of their heads.
Junior may think his plan will work. There’s no sign of Roan or Cain, which leads me to believe Salvatore directed them to the hospital. That means he’s called in John. Or one of his other hitmen. I pray like hell it’s John. Like I’ve said before, the man despises people who lay their hands on the innocent. If he gets hold of these men, hell will be a welcome compared to what he will do to them.
“You’re going to die slowly, motherfucker.” Venom mixed with the truth ejects from my erratic mouth. “No. They are, Aidan. And you’re going to watch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
DEIDRE
Something feels off. A nagging feeling creeps into my gut. Aidan and my dad have been gone too long. Anna and Dilan obviously longer. Something outrageous is happening.
I reach for my phone to try and call Aidan and my dad. I look up at Matthew before I do, his expression grim and dark.
Discomfort surges through me by the way he is glaring at me, his eyes bobbing between my face and my hand. My hands move back to my lap. My brain is consumed with thoughts as to how or why his sudden presence creates an uneasiness inside of me I cannot explain.
“I’m really beginning to worry.” My mom stands up, her hands fidgeting at her sides.
“So am I. You don’t think he has them, do you?” Grace speaks softly, tears of worry developing in her eyes.
“Deidre. Did you call Roan?” Mom asks. Before I can answer her, my phone rings. I reach for it quickly, not even checking to see who it is, before the superior feeling in my gut tells me Matthew is about to do something.
“Hello,” I answer with a timorous tone to my voice, hoping that whoever it is will hear the fear.
“Don’t say a word, Deidre, just listen,” Cain speaks softly. “We have every reason to believe that Matthew is working for Junior. You need to get out of there now. I’m on my way.” He hangs up.
I feign my ignorance like he’s still there. “No, Alina, they haven’t showed up yet. Roan said they were going to go looking.”
“They can look all they want, they should all be dead by now anyway.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal that he’s standing here telling us that the people we love are dead.
He reaches for my mom, grabs her by the back of her neck, shoveling her face first onto the floor. His booted foot hovers just above her shaking body.
“Hang up the phone.” Matthew uprights himself and pulls two guns from behind his back, pointing them right at my mom and Grace. My mom lies face down on the floor, her eyes overflowing with tears. Grace begins to uncontrollably scream and cry, while me, I stand there motionless, unable to speak, to think, to grasp hold of the reality this sick man is trying to sway me to believe.
“You’re a liar. I would know if he were dead. Unlike you, I have a heart and I would feel it here.” I stab myself with my finger in my chest. “Oh, god.” This is coming from the listless body lying on the floor. “Mom, he’s lying. I know he is. Get up. Don’t let him win.” He kicks her then, making her figure quaver from the injury conflicted to her side.
“Yes, Beth, get up.” Matthew doesn’t release the hold he has on Grace. He stuffs one of his guns into the back of his jeans and drags her fragile, little body, which is choking and gasping for air, right down to the hall with him. He lifts my mom by her hair, shoving her forward, forcing me to watch in utter astonishment at the way he carelessly abuses these two women.