Page 44 of Betting Blind

The plane jerks to the left and then to the right, metal groaning as the wind rips it to pieces. I close my eyes and wait for the impact. If I am going to die, at least I am going to die knowing that my family is still alive and safe. And that is okay by me.

Chapter 24

Emelia

I inhale deeply and immediately let out a snort. The itchy canvas material tickles my nose. Of course they put a fucking bag over my head. I try to pry my wrists apart but quickly find that I can’t even control the muscles in my arms. My anger spikes to a new level as I shift to my side, maneuvering like a slug. They also fucking drugged me.

“Someone’s going to die today, doo-daa, doo-daa,” I sing the words to myself and try to picture the faces of the men who attacked me. At least one of them was Irish, but the others sounded American. None of them looked familiar to me. My ears strain against the silence, trying to pick up any hints of where I currently am. A door screeches open and then slams shut a moment later.

Two pairs of hands grip my upper arms and haul me into a chair. Thick ropes are twisted around my ankles and chest. My wrists are also bound behind me, around the back of the chair. I manage to hold myself upright but don’t move a muscle as they restrain me. The bag is ripped from my face and my eyes burn at the sudden brightness. “For fuck’s sake,” I bite out and squeeze my eyes shut.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Bitch,” one of the men says. “Which is it gonna be?”

I blink up at him, taking in his dark eyes and thick beard. “I’d like unoriginal threats for $500, Alex,” I mutter sarcastically in response.

My head snaps to the side as the back of his hand connects with my cheek. I don’t give him the satisfaction of making a sound. “We want the head of the snake,” he says slowly and holds out his hand, palm up. The other man steps forward and drops a small knife into his upturned palm. “And you’re going to be a good little mouse and draw him out.”

I roll my eyes. Why does it always have to be a man? Did I miss the mob meeting where we decided that you have to have a penis to be a leader? “You’re going to have a really hard time drawing him out,” I state flippantly.

“He’ll come for you. We determined that you are an important asset to him. One too important to lose as collateral.” He stalks forward slowly and spins the knife between his fingers. “But you can still be useful in pieces,” he threatens with a wicked smile and drags the tip of the knife down my right forearm.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from shrieking at the burning pain of my skin being split apart. I am hell bent on not giving these two clowns a single hint of satisfaction with my torture. I will pass out before I give them a single whimper. My eyes narrow up at him as I take in his obvious delight. He seems like the type that will keep talking even if I don’t answer.

Sure enough, he does. “I can’t wait to cut up that pretty face of yours.” He leans in close, and I can smell the stale beer on his breath. “You can still be useful without an eyeball. You don’tneed those to suck a dick,” he taunts and drags the flat edge of the blade lightly down my cheek.

The other man steps forward and wraps his fingers around the wrist holding the knife. “They don’t want her too roughed up. You’ve already given her a black eye and a split lip,” he says angrily. “Lay off, Nino, or get out.”

The man with the knife scoffs. “They can get the fuck over it. She’s still functional. Mancini will get over a few scars.” He drags the knife along my upper right arm. The muscles in my arm twitch, but I still don’t make a sound. “I just want to watch her bleed,” he whispers maniacally.

“Then just stab me and get it the fuck over with!” I snap and jerk my body, rocking the chair forward. Nino jumps and nearly drops the knife. I smile and the split in my lip cracks open. My tongue darts out to catch the coppery tang of blood. “No one is coming for me. They don’t send the calvary for a part-time bartender and secretary.”

“Oh, but they will for you,” Nino sneers and lunges forward to bury the small knife just below my right collarbone.

I groan in pain and my body spasms. I heave in deep breaths to fight the nausea and level him with a dark look. “Oh, baby, come on. Harder,” I whine seductively and Nino blanches.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he asks and bitchslaps me again, his hand landing on my already bruising flesh. My head snaps to the side with the force and tears sting my eyes.

Fuck that one hurt.

“Nino!” The man yells just as Nino plucks the knife from my chest only to bury it in my side. He twists his wrist, digging the blade in before releasing it and stepping back with a grin. The man shifts on his feet behind Nino, but I don’t look at him.

My eyes remain focused on Nino in an epic stare-off. He’s waiting for me to give in and tell him something useful, and I’m patiently waiting for him to suddenly burst into flames.

“That’s enough!” A Russian accent cuts through the tense silence. Nino holds up his hands, his eyes never leaving mine, and then his entire body jerks and his forehead erupts, blood and brain matter splattering across my face. I blink up at the other man in shock and finally take in the details of his face.

He has a scar cutting through his right eyebrow and bright blue eyes that are partially hidden under a mop of dark brown hair. His jaw is strong and clean-shaven. “Apologies,” he says and crouches down to wipe the goo from my face with a handkerchief he pulls from his pocket.

“Your American accent is getting better,” I compliment dumbly and tilt my chin so he can reach the spot on my neck. I pant heavily through the pain and slump forward as the room spins. Alexei steadies me gently.

The door behind him slams open and Hector barrels into the room with a feral look in his eyes. Marcus follows closely behind him. They are covered in blood and sweat. Hector’s bald head is completely stained dark burgundy with drying blood. “Alexei,” he says curtly and slides to his knees in front of me. “How bad?” His hands hover everywhere like he doesn’t know where to touch me.

“Stabbed,” I manage to whisper through my parched throat. “Chest and abdomen. Knife is still there.” I swallow thickly and my head rolls forward as the room swims again.

“She’s lost a lot of blood on top of being sedated repeatedly,” Alexei says calmly and cuts through the ropes with a knife he pulled from his pocket.

“Get the…” I groan when the ropes fall away and my body slumps forward. “Knife out.”

Hector leans back, shrugs out of his jacket, and pulls the black tank top over his head. “One. Two.” He pulls the knife out and replaces it with his balled-up shirt. “Three.”

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