“You should have never touched an Italian woman. Any man who does dies. You won’t be the Famiglia’s ruin.”
Before I could retort anything, a shadow fell over me. Dimo pointed a gun at me, his lips pulled into an ugly smile. I jerked my feet up, ramming the heel of my boot into his balls, feeling sick satisfaction at the look of agony on Dimo’s face. He cried out and the shot buried itself in the wheel above my head. He sank to his knees with a bright red head, gasping for breath and clutching his balls with one hand. The other still clutched his gun but he was in no state to aim at anything.
I wanted nothing more than to kill the asshole, but I couldn’t do it. I needed answers about who wanted me dead. Mostly, if Amo or Luca were behind it. I had a feeling they were. Marcella kissing me at the party had been the last straw, and now Luca wanted me out of the way as fast as possible. Or why would he send me on a dangerous mission right after the party?
“You’re lucky I need answers,” I growled as I shot Dimo’s arm holding the gun and he dropped it. I kicked him in the face, and he toppled backward, unconscious. Blood was dripping from his nose and his fingers still clutched his balls.
A gunshot rang out.
I got down on my knees, peering out from behind the wheel again.
Peppone had used the time to get in a better position. A bullet missed my head by an inch. I pushed to my feet and started running, trying to duck behind old farm utensils. A sharp pain shot through the back of my head and I ducked further until I half fell into the shed. My hand flew up to the back of my head, coming away covered with blood. This must have been Peppone if I estimated the direction of the bullet right.
Now I was trapped in this fucking shed.
I crept closer to the door and risked a peek. A bullet smashed into the old wood of the shed. I fell backward with a string of curses and landed in old hay. Dust rose up, covering my eyes and my mouth, making breathing and seeing difficult. Damn it!
I rubbed my eyes and spit out the dust. Now I got why the bastard Peppone had insisted that I handed my phone over to him. He wanted to prevent me from calling for help. But who could I have called? I wasn’t sure whom to trust in the Famiglia. And I would have cut my own throat before calling Marcella and putting her in danger. Though she might have reasoned with her old man to save me.
I didn’t have any allies.
The people I’d once called brothers either wanted me dead, were dead, or wouldn’t risk their lives for me—not after what I’d done.
Maybe Gray would help me if I called him, but he was too far away and even if he weren’t… I’d risked his life once, I wouldn’t do it again.
And Luca or any other Vitiello?
Thinking of Luca only posed the risk of sending me into a blind rage, so I pushed any thought of him aside. I’d find out who wanted me dead later. First, I needed to survive, and that would be hard enough.
For a crazy second, I considered calling Growl, but he was Luca’s man through and through, and would probably only finish the job if Luca was behind this.
But sitting in this shed like a turkey before Thanksgiving waiting for the slaughtering to happen? No chance.
If they wanted me dead, they’d have to fight me for my life. I sure as hell wouldn’t make it easy for them. I’d return to Marcella like promised and fuck her sweet pussy all night.
I let my gaze wander around the shed, finding the shape of a bike under a yellowish-white cover. I removed the dusty cover and found an old bike beneath. It even had a sidecar. This was my chance to get out of this shed without a bullet in my head—if the thing still ran. It didn’t have any obvious damages, apart from being old. I mounted the bike which creaked as if it might fall apart. This baby hadn’t been moved in a while. “Come on, be a good girl,” I murmured. It took me an awful while to short-circuit the damn thing. The last time I’d done something like that was as a young teen when Earl hadn’t allowed me to ride one of the club’s bikes.
I’d crashed the bike, broken my wrist, and Earl had broken a couple of my ribs in the beating I got as punishment.
It took me five attempts to get the engine to pour, then the bike vibrated promisingly under me. The fuel level was dangerously low, but I had no intention of making miles with this thing. I only needed to get out of here alive. Even though I hated helmets, I grabbed the dirty thing from the sidecar and put it on. I doubted it would hold back a bullet, but it might protect me from more graze shots. It smelled of old sweat and the dust that had gathered inside made my nose itch like crazy. Maybe I’d crash the thing during a sneeze attack and die that way.
I shook my head with a sardonic chuckle. Fuck, Marcella, what have you done to me?
And then I hit the gas and the bike shot forward. It stuttered and shook as if it was trying to buck me off, but as I rammed through the shed doors, flinging them open and almost losing balance, I couldn’t help but grin. This reminded me of my wild teenage days. Mad indeed.
My smile died the moment bullets flew my way again.
I bowed low over the handlebars and sped up even more, charging right at a Nomad hiding behind a wheelbarrow who was pointing his gun straight at me. Seeing me charge at him, he made the fatal decision to whirl around and run, instead of fire. As expected, he was too slow and thus the easiest target. The sidecar collided with his shins. I almost toppled over at the impact but managed to get control over the bike quickly.
The Nomad rolled around on the ground with broken legs. Several shots hit his head and upper body before I could decide if I would keep him alive for questioning—if I survived this shitshow. The Italian traitors did quick work of him. One enemy less to worry about. I couldn’t do anything about the bikers hiding inside the house, shooting out of the windows. They weren’t my most pressing problem right now.
I did a U-turn and charged in the direction where Peppone and Drooping-Eye were still hiding. I soon began a neck-breaking zig-zag course to avoid the bullets barreling my way. I really didn’t want to die at the hands of these idiots.
Drooping-Eye shot to his feet and dashed out from behind the oak. I chased him and quickly caught up with him, running him over with my sidecar as well. He yelped and fell to the ground but didn’t move. Maybe he hit his head. Not as satisfying as killing him with a bullet, but I’d just have to take it.
I turned again, heading for Peppone, but he was no longer where I’d last seen him. From the corner of my eye, movement caught my attention.