Page 97 of Her Dark Salvation

I couldn’t see much from my crouched position behind the barstool, but on my right, two men shoved stacks of bills into duffel bags.

Behind her back and out of anyone’s sight, Siobhán’s fingers formed a two, a three, a one, a five. I activated the screen and typed in the numbers.

Glass shattered behind the bar to my left, and I instinctively covered my head. The harsh clash of glass on glass continued, but I lifted my eyes to Siobhán’s glowing home screen.

“This is a message from Ciarán Shaughnessy.” The same accented voice boomed above the smashing and crashing of bottles. “There’s no gaming in this city the Irish don’t run, and we’re here to make sure the DeVitas get the message. Capisce?” He spat the Italian word like it tasted foul, and the rattle and hiss of spray paint replaced the sounds of breaking glass.

The first two attempts to dial Marco’s number failed. I rose from my crouch needing to brace myself on the stool so I could get it right. His name appeared after my third attempt, and the call tried to connect.

“I thought I said, don’t move.”

The man backhanded me before I even saw him approach. I reeled from the shock of the blow, and the phone clattered to the ground. I’d never been hit before in my life, and the impact combined with three dirty martinis made my knees buckle and vision blur. His hand clamped around my biceps to keep me upright, and he squeezed so hard I was sure it would bruise. Tears stung my eyes, and the metallic taste of blood coated my tongue.

He tugged on my arm until my body was pressed into his and lifted his gun between us, turning it over like I hadn’t seen it. He leered at me, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the glint of metal under the broken bar lights.

“Listen,” he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, and I flinched. “When I fuckin’ talk,listen, or she’ll get more than a hand across her face.”

The room came back into focus around the gun, a fucked-up backdrop to the weapon my captor used like a classroom talking aid. The men who’d been cleaning off the card tables emptied the register while another finished spraying “Shaughnessy” in neon yellow paint across the wall opposite the bar. Three masked men held Marco’s security at bay, pointing pieces at their heads. Siobhán stared at me in horror, pupils dilated, but her lips pressed into a thin line as if an inner turmoil and untapped rage boiled just below the surface waiting for the right moment to explode.

A flash of movement caught the corner of my eye and a loudcrackripped through the space—a gun discharged.

Chaos.

One of Marco’s men moved so quickly, he couldn’t have been human. He shoved a gunman’s arm up and anothercrackrang out through the bar, the gun firing into the ceiling. A waitress screamed even as Marco’s man snapped the gunman’s neck.

Siobhán spun around and kicked the man holding me between his legs so hard he dropped his gun with a pained grunt and doubled over clutching his crotch.

The rest of Marco’s men moved like lightning, their unnatural speed and strength finally cluing me in to the reason they all wore sunglasses—blood demons.

Matteo’s voice hollered at us from the top of the stairs. “Siobhán! Anna!”

We spun around to the front of the room.

“Run!” He bent another attacker’s arm at an unnatural angle. The man cried out and released the gun from his limp, broken arm. “Get out of here! Both of you! Run!”

Siobhán and I didn’t need another reminder. We hightailed it to the twisting stairwell, suddenly sober despite all the vodka, and hurried down the stairs. We skidded to a halt once we reached the front, our escape thwarted by the locked door.

“Shit!” I cried.

Heavy steps landed behind us on the metal stairs. “Come here, you fuckin’ bitch!”

“I don’t think he liked you kicking him!”

I fumbled with the deadbolt, finally twisting it enough times to unlock the door. I pushed it open, and we spilled out of Vesuvio into the cold, dark night. I glanced over my shoulder, and my attacker stalked toward us, mask forgotten, cold fury in his blue eyes.

Siobhán bolted across the street. “Anna!”

I couldn’t pull my attention away from the man coming for us. I stared at him, frozen.

“Anna!” she called again, and the shrill in her voice snapped me out of my shock and back into the reality of survival.

I darted into the street, eyes still locked on the man stalking toward us.

The squeal of tires and a car’s horn blared. My head snapped around. I stopped for no more than a heartbeat before a flash of white metal slammed into my hips and threw me into the air.

“Anna!” Marco’s voice pierced the night with terror and rage. It carried over the sounds of my body tumbling across the hood of the car and was the last thing I heard before my back and head hit the pavement and my world fell into darkness.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

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