Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

I glance into the side mirror at Saul’s car shrinking smaller and smaller as we speed away, until it all but gets lost among the other cars driving by. Regret instantly fills my soul. How could I have been so heartless to have let Matteo shoot Saul? I needed to save myself. I needed to save Nina. But will I ever be able to live with myself if Saul dies? If he dies, it’s my fault.

Matteo turns the corner, and I'm no longer able to see the car or Saul.

"He's going to die, isn’t he?" I stare out the window as buildings whiz by, narrowly registering what's happening to me. All I can think about is Saul.

"He'll survive if he’s strong enough."

I turn toward Matteo, who is whistling to himself as he loosely grasps the steering wheel. He’s acting as if nothing happened. Like he didn't just shoot a man in the leg and leave him bleeding out on the sidewalk, most likely to die. Like he's not currently kidnapping me. In fact, the entire car appears that way. His convertible hardly has a scratch on it. And when I take a deep breath, I smell the fresh new car scent, when it should reek of death and gloom.

“How do you know that?”

"Stop worrying about your date. You didn't seem concerned with him before, by the way you ran off instead of trying to save him.”

"That's because I didn't think you would shoot him. And I wasn't thinking about him, I was thinking about Nina."

He rapidly steps on the gas, accelerating as we go around another corner. I grab onto my seat to attempt from slamming my head into the side of the door.

“Relax, he’ll survive. I missed all his major arteries, and if the emergency system is halfway decent around here, the paramedics are already at his side providing medical services. And as long as it doesn’t take them hours to drive him to a hospital, he won’t bleed out before they save him.”

"How do you know you didn't hit any major arteries? You’re not a doctor.”

He rolls his eyes. "Because he would've been dead by the time we got back to him and blood would have been pouring out of his leg.”

I'm not sure if I believe him. It sure as hell looked like a lot of blood to me. I'm not sure he knows anything about gunshot wounds, although he's probably been shot dozens of times before, so maybe he does.

But I also know that he is willing to tell me whatever he thinks I want to hear to get me to cooperate. He's right about one thing; I won't be cooperating. I plan on running again the next chance I get.

I rest my hand on the door handle in case he decides to stop, and I can make my escape.

"Don't even think about it."

"I'm not thinking about anything.”

He shakes his head and punches the gas. My body slams against the door as he swerves around cars and goes the wrong way down a one-way street. I close my eyes and pray we don't hit anything, and simultaneously hope we do crash and die so this will be all over.

“I’ll never slow down enough for you to be able to jump out of the car and run, so remove your fucking hand from the door."

My hand slips off the door, bracing myself again as he continues to speed and curse. I have to be more careful at revealing any part of my plan to him in the future. He's done this before; he's going to be able to spot what I'm planning before I carry it out. I have to make sure I don't give him any signs or clues that I'm going to bolt again. Not even a tiny hint with my body.

“Where are you driving me?" I stare at him, demanding an answer to my question but doubting he'll give me one. I'm sure the less I know, the better, in his mind.

"Italy."

My mouth drops a little when he answers me. He's taking me back to his home. I'm not sure why I didn't realize what his

plan was before. I thought he would hold me captive in a hotel room, or an empty warehouse somewhere where he could torture me to find out where Nina and Arlo are. It would end with either me escaping or with a bullet through my head. Apparently, though, that's not the plan.

Italy. He's taking me back to Italy. So many memories and emotions pour through my head as I think of going back to a country I both love and hate. I love because it was the last time I got to be free.

I always thought I would do something creative, bringing more joy to the world with art and imagination. I enjoy painting and studying history. Architecture. Everything beautiful.

A life of art and creativity was the path I was headed down in Italy, and it was the last time I did things solely for the love of it.

But Italy is also where I lost my best friend. Her life changed forever, and so did mine. I realized I couldn't do things for the love of it anymore. I needed a more significant purpose. So I went to law school and then started prosecuting bad guys. I’ve been fulfilling my new reason to exist every day since.

We arrive at the airport far too quickly. He takes me to a private airfield, not LAX. He drives through the security gate, past the armed guards who merely open the gate without asking for ID, because apparently they already know who Matteo is. He continues right up to a plane I assume he owns and parks a few feet away.

I can't leave with him. If he takes me to Italy, I could end up trapped for weeks. Or dead. I need to escape. Now.