Page 109 of Hart of Darkness
34
Maggie
Icouldn’t walk to save my life. The pain in my leg was so unbearable that I wanted someone to cut it off immediately. But any pain that had taken hold of my body died when I saw Dillon. He’d come for me. Then I saw Grace, and I wanted to bawl my eyes out. She looked like an angel with a halo around her, or maybe I was seeing things. I saw the resemblance of brother and sister, and I didn’t even need to lay eyes on her hummingbird tattoo. Pretty was the first word that surfaced. She had short brown hair and wide brown eyes. She was petite yet somewhat tall, and tats covered both her arms, like Dillon.
My tears were ready to spill. He’d found his sister after four years. Not only that, she was putting her life in jeopardy for me—a woman she didn’t even know.
Miguel dug his dirty nails into my arm as he sandwiched me in between him and Cory. “Any funny stuff, and your boyfriend dies right before your eyes.”
I was grateful that I was even looking at Dillon. I’d passed out cold in Misty’s lap in that cage. Then Cory had shot me up with a high dose of epinephrine before he’d thrown me in the Jeep. The effects were wearing off, though.
If I had the energy to run, I would. But losing a ton of blood then finding out Rick was a traitor had every hair on my body at attention. I wondered if Ted knew. Nah, he couldn’t know. If he did, I would know. I couldn’t say I saw that one coming because I would’ve never bet my life that Rick was working for Miguel. Rick had always been kind to me and had always given me information to use for stories until Ted had cut him off.
I tried to laugh, but it hurt. “Like I can run, asshole.”
I was lucky I was alive. If the bullet had severed the artery to my heart, then I would be dead, although maybe the higher powers that be had a better plan for me.
I bit my lip as I fixated on Dillon as if he was the drug I needed to take away the unbearable pain in my leg.
His scowl was rather scary. I wanted to yell at him for standing out in the open with Grace at his side and a gun pointed at his head, albeit both were semi-protected behind two steel drums.
Miguel had two gunmen in the building across the street behind us with orders to fire when Rick raised his hand. I’d overheard a ton when I’d been bound and gagged in the back seat. The plan was to kill Dillon and me then snag Grace. In their minds, it was a simple and easy plan, at least according to Rick. He’d bragged about how Dillon had followed Miguel’s orders not to contact Ted. Apparently, Rick had gotten a voicemail from Ted detailing a lead on another case that the gang unit had been working on, which had nothing to do with the Black Knights.
Miguel let go of me. “Hold her up.” He pushed me into Cory, who inflicted more pain in a bruising grip.
Rick swiveled his head with mechanical precision as he inched closer to the paint factory. “Something’s not right.”
The bad part of coming to a fight with a cop was his gut telling him that it was too quiet.
Miguel opened his arms. “Grace, it’s time to come home.” His tone was sickly sweet.
Dillon jutted out his chin as a morning breeze whisked through his hair, which I noticed was tied back in a ponytail. “Nice to see that I was right about you, Rick.”
Rick was about to open the door to the building when Dillon asked, “What made you become a traitor, Rick?” Dillon sounded as if he were the cop and not Rick.
Rick spun on his heel. “None of your fucking business.”
“Money.” My voice was barely audible. I was guessing that was the reason since Rick had refused to talk to me.
Cory whipped out his gun faster than I could blink then pressed the barrel into the cheek he’d scored with his knife in our tussle. “Talk again, and I’ll shoot you.” His lisp was worse now than when I’d first chomped on his tongue.
Dillon held steady, even though rage was pouring off him.
I didn’t move. I was reserving my energy to run if I had to.
“Easy,” Miguel said. He was as calm as the water in the distance. “I need Grace.”
“Fuck you,” Grace said in a tone that was reserved for scum.
Miguel made a growling noise. “Querida, that’s no way to talk to the man who supported you and gave you nice things.”
Grace narrowed her eyes. “I’m not your sweetheart.”
As the sharpness of the pain lessened a tiny bit, I straightened a little.
I liked her spunk, and it seemed as though we had something in common. We both hated to be called sweetheart.
Grace moved around the drums and began heading toward us. “Let my brother and his girl go.”
