Page 10 of Never Wed an Outlaw

When my phone rang, I jumped, my hand shaking as I brought it to my ear. “Hello?”

“You're in the usual spot?”

“Yeah, I'm ready,” I said coldly, closing my eyes.

I'd lived what came next many times. My phone clicked dead a second later, and then the black sedan pulled up next to the alley, blocking any escape.

Doors opened. Two angry, stern looking men in suits and ties got out, combing the small space all around me.

“Stand up, doll. This'll only take a second.” I'd dealt with the one barking orders before. Tony, one of Dom's lackeys, a strong arm who always enjoyed groping me too much.

I stood up, wanting to get it over with. His hands roamed freely. They went up, down, behind my shirt, before he slipped to his knees to inspect me from the shoes up.

“No wires, no weapons. Bitch is clean,” he growled, speaking more loudly into the speaker clipped to his ear than the other goon leaning against the wall.

One more door to the car popped open. My eyes stayed closed for several more seconds, listening to his footsteps,wishing like hell I could just make it all disappear as easily as a bad dream.

“Hannah.”

As soon as the bastard said my name, I had to open my eyes and look at my tormenter. There he was.

Dominick Barone, or Dom, for short. A hired killer raised in the Sicilian Brotherhood, who'd infiltrated the multi-billion dollar Sterner empire of legit businesses where I'd interned. An utterly ruthless, heartless, savage son of a bitch who'd made me an offer too good to pass up.

I'd naively taken it. Too desperate, too hopeful, and too damned greedy for my own good.

“I don't know why we need to keep having these face-to-face meetings,” I said. “We could save ourselves some travel time and do it over the phone, or online. Ever tried Skype?”

Dom didn't look amused. He stared at me with his cold green eyes, his hair laid down like an oil slick, two jagged scars going up both his fifty year old cheeks. He'd gotten them in a brawl somewhere in Baltimore, back in the days when the mafias were limited to a few coastal cities.

Yes, I'd done my research. Learned everything I could about the monster at my throat, and I knew he wasdangerous.

“No, peach. Travel has its charm. So does seeing you again,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to me. “You know how I feel about doing things in person, Hannah. Much less chance you ever fuck me over if you get any sick ideas in that pretty little head.”

He never looked at me. Not once.

Instead, as he always did, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his knife and a fruit I'd never be able to look at again without turning my stomach.

Pomegranate. Raw, angry, and always glowing blood red.

Using his wickedly sharp blade to pry it open, he dug in, catching the seeds between his fingers and stuffing them into his mouth, one at a time.

“Tony, give her the damned file already,” he said, staring at a fresh red morsel in his fingers. “Look it over. You're gonna work everything in there into that goddamned app of yours. Another fake account for you to sync up. We'll transfer our cut straight to the shell business, the salons and pizzerias and shit, once you've coded it in. I'm making your job easy, peach, how 'bout a little gratitude?”

I said nothing. Tony stuffed a manila folder into my hands. I quickly opened it, looking through the documents, my heart twisting a little when I saw what they wanted.

They didn't understand software and builds like I did. They might as well have asked me to put a huge red flag on my dating app that saidhello, FBI!

“Uh...you know this raises the risk of some nosy kid finding you out, right? It doesn't take much for anyone trying to duplicate my app to stumble onto the code you're requesting here. Trust me, there are a lot of copycats trying to be competitors these days.”

“Won't risk a damned thing,” Dom snapped. “See, that's where you snap your little fingers and pull anotherrabbit out of your sweet little ass. You've been smart enough to mask our shit up 'til now. Smart enough to make us a cool million in a week to pay back a little debt you owe from our seed money. You'll think of something brilliant, peach. Your magic works for both of us. Me and my boys will go ahead and make more money without Uncle Sam getting wise to it. And you'll get to keep that fancy fucking house, and inch forward, a little closer to the day when we won't have to do this no more.”

I still owed him three million. That day wouldn't come for at least another year or two, and only if the app kept making big money on paid subscriptions.

I'd seen new things flame out before. There were no guarantees in this business.

And if the Feds found out they were using me for money laundering, through an investigation or some kind of fluke...oh, God.

I'd end up on the wrong side of Dom's knife, or in a Federal jail cell for knowingly abetting a criminal scheme.

---