“Tell your men to stand down at the trees. Once we have what we came for, I’ll release her,” the man above me says. In a fantasy world, Jeremy would be such a quick shot that this guy wouldn’t stand a chance. He could shoot him in the head, and I could crawl away from his falling corpse. But realistically, I know if Jeremy takes a shot, I’m dead.
Turning my head to the side, I see Jeremy click the safety on his gun and toss it onto the ground near the man’s feet. His eyes catch mine for half a second, and he gives me the most subtle nod known to man. Or maybe I’m imagining it, because that nod is telling me to grab for the gun. As Jeremy retreats into the woods, walking backward with his arms in the air, he shouts, “Stand down! They got Miss Priss!”
The man presses his foot even harder into my back, his attention focuses in on the gun just on the other side of his feet, and a sinister grin takes over his face. His eyes seem to dance with some kind of sick pleasure that I wish I didn’t see. Bang! A loud and terrifying noise rings out above me. The pressure from the man’s foot disappears as a shadow is cast over me, and a moment later, his inanimate body falls to the forest floor beside me. He lands with his face turned my direction and his torso twisted in an unnatural manner. The gaping bullet wound at his temple serves as a fountain for his blood that soon coats his lifeless features, turning this once cruel man into nothing more than food for the crows when they descend.
“Stand up,” a thick New York accent orders from behind me. I jump in place, so wholly mesmerized and disgusted by the dead man who lies beside me. I scramble to my feet, terrified of delaying, and try to mentally brush off the ache from my battered shin. When I pivot to turn toward the voice, an arm shoots out and pushes me forward and demands that I not turn around. “You will live through this should you choose to heed my advice. I came for only one thing and do not wish war with Forsaken.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I say. Every word is laced with venom, fully intent on pissing him off. There’s a reason this man killed the other guy, though neither are on my side, and that worries me. I barely understand why everything’s gone to hell around here let alone entertaining the idea of more than one organization trying to get their hands on mafia royalty. This shit is probably why Dad and his brothers drinks so much and smoke so much of their own product. Otherwise, I don’t know how they get through any given day.
“Chey!” Dad screams from beyond the trees. Rustling sounds explode, along with the sound of a herd of men trampling the untouched earth.
“Stand down, or she’s dead!” the man screams as loud as I’m thinking he’s capable of.
“It wasn’t me!” I shout. “I’m fine!” Lies. I’m so not fucking fine, but what the hell am I supposed to say? No, please come and kill this psychopath who’s going to kill me before you get here? I’ll pass, thanks.
The sounds stop, and everything is quiet in the forest once more. Dad barks so loud that his voice echoes around me, saying, “We’re gonna get you out safely, baby girl!”
The man pushes me forward with his hand once more. “Take me to the front door.”
I comply, walking slowly and avoiding any more stray pieces of wood I could fall on. As it is, my shin makes walking uncomfortable with the way my jeans have torn and rub against the wound. But I don’t focus on that, or else I might cave and lose my mind right here and now. No, one foot in front of the other and eyes on the ground. Jeremy’s gun is less than five feet away, and I have to get back to it. He wouldn’t have dropped it without being forced to if he didn’t intend for me to grab it.
“Good girl,” the man says in praise of, I suppose, my not fighting him. “That man would have killed you for sport. I’m not that cruel, but I will sacrifice you for the principe if I must.” We come to a block of redwoods that forces us to deviate from our straight path to the house. I choose to go to the right, bringing me closer to Jeremy’s gun, now only about three feet away.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” he says, catching where my attention has drifted. He barely has the words out when another man approaches, disturbing the quiet forest with his heavy footfalls, from someplace behind me. The man behind me spins around at the noise and lets out a relieved sigh.
“What’s with the gunfire?” the newcomer asks with a similar East Coast flair to his speech. I duck down quietly and cringe at the pain that radiates from my shin but am careful to stay as silent as possible. The newcomer’s eyes fall to the dead man only feet away, and he lifts his gun toward the man who killed him. “Tony was right,” he says to the killer. “You’ve turned on your family—and for what? A fucking rat and a prince who doesn’t deserve the legacy he’s been gifted.”