Bad Medicine (Underworld Kings)

Well, that answered that question. But what about… “That has nothing to do with you going into hiding though.”

“When Arabella’s body remained missing, I knew something was up with you and Marcello. If it had been the way I originally thought it was, you would’ve already had his money for showing him where her body was. News would’ve broken that her remains had been discovered, but that never happened. I played my part, of course, the husband grieving over his dead wife, finding comfort in the arms of another woman. If it were to come out later that Ofa was pregnant, then that would’ve been the easy explanation.” He shrugs, nonchalant about the whole thing, not caring one bit that he’s talking about Arabella being dead.

I can only imagine what this heartless bastard’s words are doing to my piccolina, how it’s making her feel to know how little her husband had cared about her.

“So, I tried surprising you at work, knowing you would no longer answer my calls after our last conversation. And imagine my surprise when the good doctor had taken a leave of absence. The man who’s never missed a day of work in his life, according to his lovely receptionist, took two weeks off. And why? There was no movement. No details of you going anywhere, no flights or anything for your first vacation in the history of ever. Which meant you were having a nice, long staycation. And why, pray tell, would a handsome guy such as yourself want to coop up all by your lonesome in your own home?”

He gestures with the gun back and forth between Arabella and me. “Because you weren’t alone at all, now, were you?” He gives us the world’s fakest smile, putting his elbow on his armrest then resting his chin on the back of his hand still holding the gun.

He’s such a dramatic little fucker. I’ll wipe that smirk off his fucking mug if it’s the last thing I fucking do.

“No, you weren’t alone. You were fucking my goddamn wife!” he barks, his mercurial mood swinging once again to psychopathy.

Arabella sighs, and I do my best not to turn toward her with a look to shut her up. “Oh, Ferro. What does it matter if he was fucking me? You wanted me dead. I shouldn’t even exist to you anymore.”

His nostrils flare, his eyes seeming to blaze from within. “Because you belong to me. And no one. Touches. What’s goddamn. Mi—”

My fist connects with the middle of his face before he can finish that last word, and the interior of SUV is suddenly sprayed red with the blood that comes out of the fucker’s nose.

Then, complete chaos ensues.

As Ferro reaches both his hands up to cup his nose, yelling out in his shock and pain, it puts the metal handgun right where I want it, in his face and aimed to the side, away from Arabella. My Bella, not fucking his. And with a swift move he never sees coming, as his eyes are closed with his pain, I lift my leg, and the heel of my shoe becomes one with the steel weapon, which in turn slams directly into his fucking face once again.

There’s a sickening crack along with the sound of Bella’s sharp inhale, with the added bonus of his driver’s curses as Ferro screams, the gun falling from his now mangled hand. And just when I lean down to grab it from where it landed on the floor next to Bella’s feet, everyone in the SUV cries out as we all lurch forward. It takes me a moment to register we were rammed from behind, and I spin to look over my shoulder out the back window.

I squint, trying to see who it is in the SUV behind us, but I can’t tell as they rear end us once again, Bella starting to chant, “Oh God, oh God, oh God, what’s happening?”

But I have no time to answer or console her. With quick movements, I reach across her and snatch her seatbelt, buckling it before finally getting a grasp on the gun. I pull back the hammer, the clicking sound somehow loud in the chaos, and lean forward, putting the gun to the driver’s temple and meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Pull. The fuck. Over,” I growl, my lips barely moving my teeth are gritted so hard.

With his boss a whining bitch damn near in the fetal position in the passenger seat, he wisely does as I ordered, slowing before pulling off the road. I don’t move as I hear the doors slam shut on the SUV that parked behind us, and when I catch sight of the big man moving swiftly up toward the driver door, his gun raised with only one hand instead of his preferred stance of two, I audibly breathe out a sigh of relief.