Page 89 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
Her ribs ached from Vinny’s savage hold. “He never betrayed you,” she gasped.
“We had plans for you, kitten,” Rod continued. “For you and your rotten family, and now here he is, the hard-boiled Clean Calvin Rosetti, too goofy over some dame to do what he promised. To avenge his own sister.”
“This was never about Genie for you,” Cal growled, leaning forward in the chair, a glare spearing his brother.
“Fuck you, it wasn’t,” Rod spit on the floor.
“You saw an opportunity for more power, and you went after it,” Cal pushed on, undaunted.
“There’s a reason I’m in charge here, and not you,” Rod sneered. “If I’d let you have it your way, you’d have bopped big brother and been done with it.”
Fern’s stomach dove as Cal’s bruised jaw tensed. “It would’ve been enough,” he said. “Instead, you played cat and mouse with him and his family—and you lost.”
She’d known Cal had wanted to kill Buchanan. He’das good as told her. But it still made her sick with anger to hear it spoken aloud.
Rod’s temples were already glistening with sweat, but his skin turned mottled now. He pointed a finger at Cal. “You’re the reason the mouse got away.” He slowly swung his finger toward Fern. “Because you fell for that.”
She wriggled against Vinny’s hold, but he only laughed and squeezed his arms around her tighter. She gasped against the pain.
Rod sauntered closer, dragging on his cigarette. His eyes scraped up and down her body. Smoke billowed into her face as he exhaled. His hand came to her shirt collar and tugged.
“Whatever you have between those gams must be magical, doll. Maybe I’ll have a look for myself.”
Nausea swam high in her throat.
“You’re not gonna touch her,” Cal seethed from the chair.
Rod’s face stretched into a sinister grin. Ignoring Cal, he roughly patted the unmarred, right side of Fern’s face.
“Y’know, Vin, maybe it’s this half of her mug my big brother’s been paying attention to.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pearl-inlaid butane lighter. He flipped the lid and rolled the dial, igniting a flame.
Rod danced the flame close to Fern’s smooth right cheek, laughing when she cringed away from the piercing heat. Vinny grabbed her chin and forced it to stay still.
“Leave her alone!” Cal shouted, but his brother showed no sign of heeding him.
“Here’s what bothers me,” Rodcontinued, the flame trembling closer to her cheek. Heat seared Fern’s skin as she fought against Vinny’s hold; his palm was sweaty, his fingers slick, but he kept her chin pinned.
“I like symmetry,” Rod said. “You know what symmetry is, right, doll? Two sides being the same thing?”
A hoarse growl was the only warning Rod got. Cal launched to his feet, unable to fully stand but bowling forward with the chair still on his back. He crashed into Rod, taking him down to the concrete floor. Vinny stumbled backward, pulling himself and Fern out of the way. Though his arms weren’t free, Cal was able to kick at Rod’s body and slam his already battered head into his brother’s. Rod hit back, socking Cal in the gut, then kicking him over onto the floor again. But this was no brotherly scuffle. Blood spurted from Rod’s newly broken nose.
Vinny tossed Fern aside, flinging her into the shelves packed with quarts of gin. He grabbed the metal chair still tied to Cal’s arms and heaved both man and chair to the side. Blind with panic, Fern pulled a quart of gin from a shelf and lobbed it at the back of Vinny’s head. The glass broke on impact, and Vinny roared. He spun back around, his revolver taking aim.
She ducked and screamed, and a shot cracked through the small room.
“Vin, no, you stupid fuck!” Rod’s shout chased the gunshot and the shattering of glass behind her.
Vinny was on her again. Agony exploded through Fern’s head as he walloped her with the grip of his revolver. She crumpled, all sound muffling. From the cornerof her blurry vision, she saw Cal had regained his legs and watched as he plowed into Rod again.
Pain flooded her head and burrowed behind her eyes, so sharp that she closed them in a wince. Vinny’s rough, grasping hands yanked one of her arms, trying to lift her limp weight from the floor. She forced an eyelid open. Rod’s butane lighter was less than an inch away from her face on the floor. She snapped it up without thought.
“You’re gonna get it, bitch,” Vinny grunted as his fingers pinched and pulled her, dragging Fern to her feet.
She flicked open the lighter’s cover, and flame automatically leaped to the wick. Vinny spun her around, and before he could see what she held, Fern put the lighter to his shoulder. In a single gulp, the gin-soaked fabric inhaled the flame. Vinny screamed and spun wildly, patting his shoulder and dropping his revolver. It clattered to the floor, and Fern dropped the open lighter to lunge for it.
A foot intercepted her hand, kicking back her arm in a rupture of agony. She landed on her back, paralyzed, unable to breathe.
Rod loomed over her, his face bleeding, his eyes two black slits. Her vision spiraled in and out, showing Cal lying on the floor, the mangled metal chair still tied to his forearms. Blood soaked the back of his head and collar.
