Pursue (Portland Street Kings Book 3) Read online

  “Nightmare?”

  Della swallows roughly. “Yeah, they seem to have come back with full force.”

  “Back?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, waiting for her reply.

  “I used to get them a lot when I was a kid. Reading at bedtime was the only thing that would help. Having characters and a new world in my mind before sleep kind of cured my nightmares. They just went away. As I got older, I read less and less. My life, school, and work took over my thoughts, so I suppose that’s how they never came back, until Jae,” Della ends on a strangled whisper. She swallows nervously again. “And Rex.”

  Stretching out my arm, I cup her cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry those bastards hurt you.” Della melts into my hand, and a few tears fall from her eyes. “I wish I could take the pain away for you, bear it for you.”

  As if my words jolt her awake, Della lifts her head, wipes her tears and scoots away from me. She peers out the window and mutters, “No, you can't, and now you’re the reason I’m still hurting, why my life has taken yet another horrible turn when I should be with my family, getting on with things.” Her voice grows louder and angrier, and she extends her good arm and points to the highway in front of us. “It's why I’m in the middle of nowhere on the run and have to depend on a lying asshole for my safety.” Her body slumps into the back seat, and Della does up her seatbelt. “Can we just go, please? We're wasting time, and we need to find somewhere that sells water. My damn arm is starting to hurt, and I’m due for my pain-relief meds.” Her face is no longer soft; it's blank with wide, expectant eyes, as if to order the driver to get back in his place and leave her be.

  It takes me a second to move my body and process her quick personality change. I hop back into the front seat and start the car, all the while gritting my teeth. I clench the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Spying on Della with the rearview mirror, I see her head turned toward the outside world while biting her bottom lip as she stares down. Her forehead creases as if a million thoughts are running through that beautiful head of hers. The Della I know was there one moment and gone the next. She’s buried deep, bursting to get out, but too scared and hurt to try. I wish we could go back to the way we were before. I’d give anything for this nightmare to be over. Della thinks she’s pushing me away. However, she's only showing me I need to work harder. I will regain her trust and one day, her love as well.

  ***

  Della

  Dom pulls into a gas station and stops at a pump. Desperate to keep our conversations to a minimum, I quickly jump out and round the car to the trunk. I tap on it twice so Dom knows I want it opened. It pops, and I find the plastic bag that holds all my belongings that the police and hospital staff returned to me. As I sift through my bloody clothes to find my black handbag, memories of Rex and the terror I felt on the train tracks returns full force, and a stabbing pain in my stomach begins. My heart speeds up, and I’m left breathless. Instinctively, I place my hand over my scar on my stomach, but I know that’s not what’s hurting me. It’s the grief trying to surface, but I refuse to let it. I ignore any feelings that try to break free, and I push them back down to where they belong: to the black pit where all my other horrors live.

  Sensing Dom coming around, I grab my bag quickly, fling it over my shoulder, and close the trunk. I walk straight past him, but he doesn’t let me walk off. He grasps my elbow, and that’s all it takes for a blaze to build inside me. He doesn’t get it, the fury I have for him, the hate I’m holding back to get through this trip with him. He’s just another long line of people in my life who have let me down, and he will be the last person outside my family who I would ever trust or care for again. This world has made a fool of me for the last time. From now on, I’m not letting anyone near enough to hurt me. I’m going to be a nasty bitch, and I’m going to push as hard as I can, so they give up and write me off. No one will ever have the chance to worm their way into my life again and cause me pain.

  I yank my arm out of Dom's grip and swing my gaze to his. I push every ounce of rage and betrayal swirling inside me to the surface, and hope he can see it all there in my cold, hard stare. I hope it conveys how much his touch repulses me. It’s a lie but a convincing one I know I can pull off. The anger fuels my hate, but I can’t conceal the truth from myself. Even though I crave him, I’ll never allow myself to have him again. Lessons: Phillip, Jae, and Rex, all of them lessons which only now can I see clearly where I’ve gone wrong… trust, admiration, and love, all of them weaknesses. I’ll never again trust anyone with my safety or my innocence, and definitely not my heart. That beating organ within my chest gave up a long time ago, all that powered it was my hope, and that died the day Brett did.

  Dom’s face falls, but he recovers and says, “I’ll fill up and come in with you, just to be safe.”

  My eyes roll skyward. "Geez, stop acting like the hero when you’re the villain and even then, you’re fucking bad at it. We left to get a head start, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t pass us on the highway simply to stop at a petrol station hoping we’d stop here too and then they’d catch us.” My sarcastic and bitchy tone annoys even me, so I can only imagine how much Dom must hate me right now.

  I stalk off before seeing his face or letting him get a word in.

  When walking through the electronic doors, the cool air-conditioned air hits me, and I head straight for the water fridge. As if holding a heavy boulder from falling, I fight with my own body not to look out at Dom and see what I left behind—pain etched upon his face or maybe frustration quickly turning to annoyance where soon he’ll drive off and leave me behind. Given his ability to deceive so well, option two is more likely.

  Choosing the cheapest bottle of water, I grab it out of the fridge and place it on the counter. I rub the drink's condensation from my hand onto my jeans before opening my bag and pulling out some change.

  A uniformed woman in a blue-collared shirt stops loading the hotbox beside the counter and takes my cash. No words are exchanged. She takes my money and gives me my change, and I’m both desperate to get out of the store and wondering where my "Hello" or "Have a good day" is. Customer service is obviously something she gave up on a long time ago.

  Grabbing my water, I turn to leave and then freeze when I realize I need to pee. I can hold it. Looking down at my bottle of water, which I haven’t even had a sip out of yet, I decide I should go now while I can pee in a toilet and not kill a poor plant by the side of the highway.

  Turning, I ask, “Do you have a public toilet?”

  The woman, who's returned to placing food into the hotbox, doesn’t even look up when she answers gruffly, “Outside, left side of the building.”

  Telling myself to be just as rude as she is, I decide not to thank her; however, within three steps to the door, I’m thanking her over my shoulder. It appears becoming a nasty bitch is going to take some time to master.

  As if a reminder, my wrist and arm begin to thump in pain, so I exit the store quickly, not watching where I’m going. I bump into a large, warm body. Swiftly, my head rises to apologize, but then as if fate is laughing at me, I find it’s only Dom.

  “Jesus, watch where you’re going, Dom,” I snap.

  Dom presses his lips together tightly, and a tic appears in his jaw. His large hands that caught my hips slide off my body, and as if we’ve stepped into a slow motion movie, the agonizing seconds of his skin touching even only my clothing, sears a tattoo into my flesh. Internally groaning, I hastily get myself to the ladies’ room.

  When I’m done emptying my bladder and taking my pain medication, I check myself out in the mirror.

  I sigh. My blonde hair appears ratty and oily. Dark circles are starting to appear under my eyes, and my cast seems to be getting heavier each day that passes. I’m not only flesh and bone anymore. Now I’m also metal and screws.

  Shivering with disgust, I look forward to the hotel tonight and a nice warm shower. I haven’t been able to wash properly nor have I been competent t
o do it alone without a nurse's assistance. I now know how to protect my cast in a plastic bag to ensure it survives a shower, though, and I can't wait. Since Rex kidnapped me and decided a mind fuck was a better punishment for me than death, the face staring back at me is who I've become. Staring back at my reflection, I’m not sure who that woman is who just thought that. I should be thankful Rex came to his senses seconds before I would have died. A lone tear tracks down my face, and I walk to the paper towel dispenser to wipe aside any traces of grief or memories from those horrifying moments.

  One second I’m throwing the paper away and the next, I’m suddenly pulled against a body, a rough hand slapped over my mouth. Dread courses through my blood and for mere seconds, I freeze, not able to move or think.

  “Shhh,” he says in a low, deep tone. It reverberates through my body like an unexpected wave hitting me from behind and is followed by my muscles falling limp with relief as I recognize the voice. Torn between wanting to strangle and hug Dom, but unable to move, I groan in anger and frustration.

  However, my anger doesn’t last long because Dom’s next words send a chill down my spine. “Paulie’s here, and he brought a friend.”

  Chapter Three

  Della

  Stilling, my heart beats heavily against my chest. Any more intense and it would tear through my skin. He found me already. How?

  Slowly releasing his hand from over my mouth, I spin in Dom's arms. “How is that possible?”

  Dom stares at the door and rushes out his words. “A rat, luck, a silent tail, I don’t know.”

  “What the hell is a silent tail?” I demand, my shaky tone betraying my false bravado.

  Dom's impatient gaze turns back to me, but I don’t take it personally. His stiff posture and wild eyes tell me how on edge he is. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to make a run for it to the Dodge. You need to stay to my right at all times, got it, Dell?”

  Swallowing roughly, my dry throat makes it impossible to answer so all I do is nod.

  As Dom reaches for the door, I pull his hand back. “Why can’t we wait here until they leave?”

  “I’ll explain all that later. We need to leave now, Della.” His tone impatient but his words a plea.

  “I need to understand before I run off into possible gunfire, Dom.” I want, no, need more information. I’m sick of being blindsided in my own life.

  He grasps my elbows and squeezes. “We don’t have time for this. Just trust me.”

  Trust me. Those words said so carelessly by many who have used and abused me. All of them having their own sick and twisted meaning to the words.

  Unclenching my arms from his grip, I step backward. “Never.”

  “This is not the fucking time, Della,” Dom argues.

  “Then talk fast,” I grit out, “because faith no longer lives inside this girl.”

  Dom’s eyes widen, and he jerks back as if my words burned him. It takes him a moment, but he recovers and begins to explain, “They’ll have your picture. They're probably showing it around right now saying you’ve been kidnapped or that you’re a fugitive, whatever will scare people into talking. Any second now, they could learn the green Dodge is ours, and they’ll come through this bathroom door or just start shooting, not giving a shit if anyone else was in here with you. There’s no rhyme nor reason to guys like that. There’s only running as fast and as far away as we fucking can, because you gun them down, choke them until their last breath. That’s another reason why Lucini will never stop. He’ll send double the men next time.”

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “And if they start firing at us?”

  Dom grabs my good hand and places the keys in my palm. “I’ll return fire to give you cover. You will make it to the car unharmed. I promise.” He doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he pulls me forward and opens the bathroom door. I’m thrust outside, and my heart nearly bursts. I swing my head left and then right, peering around wildly for our enemies.

  Warm hands press into my back, and Dom is pushing me toward the pumps. Palpitations explode through my chest. I’m not ready. What does "I won’t be harmed" mean? Does that mean he might be?

  Abruptly, Dom halts me by placing a hand on my stomach and stepping in front of me. He peers carefully around the corner of the building. Agonizing seconds pass as if there is a large clock hanging over my head, and every tick dongs loudly and vibrates dread and anxiety all over my body.

  Shakily, I tighten the grip on my handbag and twist the keys in my hand, positioning the driver's key, so all I have to do in a split second is push it in and turn the car on.

  Dom turns toward me with clear and focused eyes and says in a strong voice, “Stay to my right. Now, run.”

  My first step is a stumble; it matches exactly how my heart feels as we round the corner and the protection of the building is taken away. Dom's pounding feet are right beside mine, but all I can do is search the area in front of me for our car, and when I find it, I pump my legs faster. My frantic heart beats in time with my thoughts. Green Dodge. All or nothing. I need to survive. Green Dodge.

  Gunshots ring through the air, and I let out a high-pitched scream and throw my hands up in the air to protect myself, but I don’t stop running. The familiar sound of bullets isn’t enough to stop me in my tracks, but sensing Dom's absence is.

  Stopping so suddenly my hair stings my face as I twist around, I look for the man who I’ve grown to love and hate.

  I find Dom kneeling behind a fuel pump, gun in hand, firing off shots. He glances over his shoulder and yells to me, “Don’t stop, Della. Get to the car!”

  Without meaning to, I search for the men who are contracted to kill me. My eyes find one of them bent at the waist, hiding behind a car near the convenience store entrance. My gut says it’s Paulie. It could be the callous glint in his eyes or the smug smile on his face as he aims his gun straight at me.

  Stumbling backward and almost falling over completely, I manage to turn around, ducking and weaving, petrified that bullet is going to hit me at any moment. Finally reaching the Dodge, I open the door and jump into the driver seat. A scream is ripped from my throat as the back window explodes, and I lower my head, covering it with my hands to protect myself from the shattering glass.

  Recovering quickly, I turn the key and push down hard on the accelerator, revving the engine so Dom can hear. He must because he shoots off two more rounds and then stands and races over to me. Seconds away from getting ahold of the back door handle, Dom's face contorts in agony, and he falls forward to the cement floor.

  Millions of particles explode beneath my skin as terror rips through me; black spots appear in my eyes, and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body. “Dom, get up!” I scream, my tone filled with terror, and I bounce in my seat while holding the steering wheel, preparing myself to jump out of the car and try to pull him into the car if I need to.

  He moves. Dom stands and limps the rest of the way and climbs into the backseat with a pained groan. He lies down, back to the seat as his gun falls to the floor and he winces as he grasps his leg in pain.

  Pushing the accelerator all the way to the floor, the wheels spin and soon after the car speeds off, but not before I peer into my side mirror and spot Paulie and another man a few meters behind him running to a silver Mercedes Benz.

  For a split second, the fear inside me subsides, and I remember this is the kind of violence I’ve been surrounded by all my life. And the number one lesson Slater taught us was to always be one step ahead, and if it came down to it, kill before you were killed.

  As we cross onto the deserted main road by the station, I slam on the brakes. Twisting my body, I reach into the back with my right arm and grasp the gun. Placing it on my lap, I take hold of the steering wheel again. The pain shooting up my left arm and fingers is nothing compared to the panic rising through my chest and mind. Pushing down on the accelerator, I turn the wheel all the way to the right and spin the car around and point us directly at the silver, flas
hy car. Instead of running off, I’m driving straight for the contracted killers.

  Paulie's only just made it and jumped into his vehicle, while his accomplice is still a good meter off.

  When I’m close enough, I spin the car to my left and pull the hand brake. Picking up the gun, I take one steady breath and aim, holding the weapon as still as I can. Squinting my right eye, I take the shot and hit my target, first the left tire and then the right.

  Hearing the man still approaching the Mercedes shout a curse, I’m jolted from the thrill of hitting my marks, and quickly, I place the gun on the passenger seat and speed out of the gas station and onto the quiet road.

  “Dom!” I shout.

  “Highway,” he rasps out breathlessly.

  Finding the exit, I turn off, and before I know it, we’re driving in an unknown direction, but at least we’re safe, for now.

  Chapter Four

  Della

  Hearing Dom attempting to sit up in the back and grunting in pain, I offer to pull over, but he rasps out a clipped, “No.”

  “Were you shot? Should I find the nearest hospital? Holy shit, what do you want me to do, Dom?”

  Peering into the rearview mirror, I catch Dom sitting to full height and taking his blue T-shirt off. He moans and curses loudly as he rolls up his jeans and presses his shirt against his leg. “Just keep driving,” he replies gravely.

  So that’s exactly what I do for the next thirty minutes. I speed down the highway praying Dom isn’t dying in the backseat from a gunshot wound. When I feel we’re a good distance away, I search out the nearest exit and take it.

  Spotting an empty playground, not far from the exit ramp, I turn into the parking lot and switch the car off.

  Looking down at my cast, staring at how swollen my fingers have become, I grimace, not wanting to know how much more damage I may have done to my hand.