Page 39 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

Patrick chuckles. “Jesus, it’s a good thing you run as much as you do, or else that appetite of yours would turn you into a candidate forMy 600-Lb. Life.”

We reach the truck and he runs a loving hand over its side. I roll my eyes, reaching up to pull open the passenger door when a set of squealing tires and a loud-ass motor come roaring around the bend. The acrid scent of burning rubber stings as the car takes a hard right from 72ndStreet and crashes into Patty’s back fender.

The car practically ricochets off the Hummer, probably the one benefit to having the truck. I fly backward, the impact launching me at the hard ground. My shoulder slams into pavement and I groan, clutching it to alleviate the sharp pain shooting down my arm.

“Patty!” I yell, crawling around the front of the truck. “What the hell is?—?”

But my words freeze as two big, beefy guys jump out of a second car, grab Patrick and pummel him. Their fists slam into his face, his chest, his back.

Patrick struggles, putting up a hard fight. Shit. What I thought was a fucking accident is anything but. I haul myself up, pressing into the truck, and force the panic back.

“We–got–a–message,” says one of the big guys with a thick Brooklyn accent, punctuating each word with a slam of a fist into my brother. “From–Dominguez.”

My blood turns ice cold. The man’s a monster. What the fuck does he want with us? I’m reaching into the truck, searching for a weapon, a crowbar, anything. Patrick’s got to have a gun somewhere, but knowing him, it’s over on the driver’s side, under the seat, and I can’t reach it from where I am.

Someone grabs my leg, hard fingers digging deep. I kick with the other, glancing back. I connect with the guy’s head and he lets go a moment. It’s enough for me to lunge into the cab of the truck.

Ignoring the pain, ignoring the bite on my leg, my fingers wrap around the smooth warmth of Patty’s gun.

There’s no time to check the mag. I hope like fuck it’s loaded and ready. And I kick again and again.

The guy’s ready this time, and my sneaker flies off.

“Get back here, cunt.”

I twist and throw all my weight into him, knocking him down. I raise the gun, and when the guy gets up and comes at me, I pull the trigger.

“Fuck.” Not. Fucking. Loaded.

The man laughs and lunges for the gun. We fight, but my palms are sweaty, and he has about two-hundred pounds of muscle on me. I kick at his balls but connect with his hip.

The gun’s his and he turns it, slamming it into my head.

My vision blurs, ears ring, and black dots burst in front of my eyes. The man swipes up a fistful of my running shirt and lifts me off my feet, dragging me out and onto the pavement where I hit it. He kicks. Hard. And pain explodes through me, kidneys radiating out the kind of heated pain I’ve only ever felt once before.

His foot comes back but I manage to curl and roll away. And then I stagger up and swing my leg out, taking out his. He hits the pavement like bricks. Something on his side gleams and I snatch it from his waistband. His fucking gun. I cock it and point it at him.

“What’s Dominguez got to do with us?” I ask, trying to keep the shake from my voice as the grunts and thumps behind me tell me Patrick’s putting up a fight.

“You’re dead. Your whole family.”

“Yeah? Tell your friend to let my brother go, and I’ll let you live long enough to take a message back.”

“Heaven!”

Patrick’s yell distracts me and I look up, just as a third guy appears.

The third man yanks my hair, and the other gets up and hits me. In the distance sirens start to wail, and the men suddenly back away from us. Doors slam on the cars and, wheels screaming, they take off down Riverside Drive.

“Fuck. You okay?” Patrick grabs me. He’s bleeding, and I’m sure I don’t look much better.

“Yeah.” My feet are a little unsteady, but as I clutch him, my whole being a mess of pain, I force myself into calmness.

“I had the fucker. I had him down, and then the other car’s door opened and I had to let him go to warn you. Let’s go after them.”

I shake my head. “Patty, we have to get out of here, before the cops show up.”

A minute later, we’re in the truck and zooming away from the attack scene. My chest heaves, my breaths slicing into my lungs, and I desperately fight the shaking from the adrenaline. What the fuck was that?

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