Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

I watched him go. Tall, powerful strides, like he owned the place.

Which he did. Of course he did.

I leaned back on the couch and sighed, squeezing my eyes shut, not sure what I was going to do.

5

Dean

I woke up from a deliciously detailed sex dream involving me, Mags, and a hot tub to someone pounding on my bedroom door. I checked the clock and groaned: barely after eight in the morning. I was up late the night before doing rounds of the family’s turf with some Capos and I’d only gotten to bed a few hours earlier.

“Go away,” I groaned.

The door opened a crack. “Dean,” Bea said. “You need to get up. Mags is missing.”

That got me out of bed. I wore only a pair of boxer briefs and I quickly pulled clothes on. “What do you mean, missing?”

“She’s not in her room,” Bea said through the cracked door. “I checked and she wasn’t there.”

“Shit,” I said, pulling a shirt over my head. I grabbed the gun from my sock drawer, made sure it was loaded, and shoved it into my waistband. “Where’s my phone?”

“Nightstand,” Bea said.

There it was, next to the clock. I grabbed it, heart racing, and called Mags’s number. Bea lingered near the door, still not coming inside, as I paced along at the end of my bed.

She picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Dean,” she said, sounding casual.

“Where the hell are you?” I asked.

“Right okay, about that,” she said. “I might’ve stolen a car.”

“Stolen a car?” I asked, growling my anger. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you have this big garage full of cars and their keys are right there, so I took one and—”

“Where are you?” I asked, interrupting her, my heart racing wildly.

“I’m in Rittenhouse Park,” she said. “Sitting on a bench. I come here when I need to think.”

I ground my teeth. Rittenhouse Park, the middle of the fucking city, the most visible place in all of Philly. Of course she’d go to Rittenhouse.

“Stay there,” I said. “I’m coming.”

“Wait, what?” She sounded more annoyed than anything.

The girl had no clue what was happening right now. “You’re in danger,” I said.

“No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m drinking coffee. I’m surrounded by people. What are you talking about, danger?”

I stormed to the door and brushed past a wild-eyed Bea. She skittered after me, eavesdropping the whole way.

“I’m at war with the Healy family,” I said. “And everyone knows about our arrangement. If anyone spots you and realizes who you are, you might have some trouble. Stay there, I’m on my way.”

“No, Dean,” she said. “I came here to get away from you.”

“Then I’ll keep my distance,” I said, frustrated. “Just let me find you and make sure you’re safe.”

“Dean—” she started, but I interrupted her.

“This isn’t a joke,” I said. “I don’t care that you stole a car, although I hope you didn’t take anything expensive.”

“It’s fine, I took the Tesla,” she said.

“Fine,” I said, running a hand through my hair. The Tesla was very expensive. “You can come and go if you want, but I need you to bring guards with you. Please, Mags, this isn’t a game.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “Fine, okay? I’ll stay right where I am. Asshole.” And she hung up.

I shoved my phone in my pocket, cursing the whole way as I hurried downstairs and out toward the garage. Bea kept close.

“Is she all right?” Bea asked.

“She’s in Rittenhouse,” I said. “The girl’s got no fucking idea.”

“Do the Healys know what she looks like?” Bea wiped her hands on her apron, her nervous gesture.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “They might not.”

“She could be fine,” Bea said. “If the Healys don’t know her face—”

“She’s on social media,” I said, groaning. “Of course they know what she looks like. Fuck, she’s got an Instagram. Colm Healy knows how to Google.”

Bea sighed as we walked out the back door, across the driveway, and into the huge detached garage. My father like to collect cars, and I had a penchant for it myself, though I kept my collection to a modest group of ten, one of which was missing. I selected a fast Mustang, grabbed the keys, and jumped in.

“Things were easier before Facebook,” Bea said, standing off to the side. She punched the garage door button and it slowly raised.

I started the engine. It roared to life, a lovely hum beneath me. I rolled down the window. “You’re damn right it was,” I said. “Hold down the fort. I’ll bring her back.”

Bea waved as I darted forward, flew down the driveway, and slammed out into traffic.

It was goddamn rush hour, but I drove as wildly and as fast as I could. Unfortunately, no amount of money would make Philly traffic at eight in the morning go any faster. I switched lanes, got honked at a few times, risked getting pulled over, but eventually took 676 to Center City, flew recklessly down the old, narrow streets, and found a spot not far from Rittenhouse. I parked, jumped out, and started jogging.