Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Why don’t you shove your gun up your dirty hole and pull the trigger, asshole? I’m not the coward shooting at an ally!” I shouted back.
He scoffed. “You won’t ever be our ally, White. You and every other dirty biker are only good for one thing: to bleed out at our feet.”
“You really love the word dirty, don’t you?” I tried to get a good shot at him, but whenever I tried to peer past the wheel, a bullet flew at me from both directions.
“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.