The Devil I Love (Devil's Knights 3)

I lowered my head and listened to each shot fired at the back of our car. A bullet hit the back window, shattering the glass that rained down on us. I did my best to shield my face, desperate to avoid any more cuts. At least they hadn’t marked my face.

Another bullet shattered the glass in the side mirror, then hit a tire. The men beside me were cursing and grunting, firing off one shot after another. When a bullet hit the back tire, the driver swerved to the left, losing control of the vehicle.

He made a left down Mississippi Ave, headed toward the boardwalk. Struggling to maintain control, he gripped the wheel with both hands. I said a silent prayer that Luca was in the car behind us, that he would rescue me from this version of Hell. He would never let another man take me from him and get away with it. My hope in Luca pushed me through every second of this encounter.

I just had to wait.

Be patient.

The man on my right pushed my head between my legs. “Stay down.”

The driver groaned as a shot went through the back window and shattered the front. Bits of glass ripped through my shirt, tearing into my skin like razors. As the driver’s head hit the steering wheel, the man beside him attempted to take the reins but couldn’t reach the pedals. Why would Luca be so reckless with me in the car? This was not like him.

We crashed into a parked car, and the airbag went off, filling the car with dust and an awful smell. The bag pinned the driver to his seat, and then his head fell backward. Another bullet flew through the back window, sailing right past my head. It must have hit the man in the passenger seat because I heard a loud noise followed by the thud of his head hitting the dashboard.

I cried out from the pain that shot up my arm. Every nerve ending in my body felt as if it were on fire. My head throbbed, an intense pain drilling into my skull. From my head to my toes, everything hurt.

The horn blared from the impact of the crash. My eyelids grew heavy, and with the drugs still in my bloodstream and the blinding pain shooting through me, I struggled to keep my eyes open. I fell into the man on my right, who slumped to the side, unmoving. The last man standing got out of the car, his gun in hand.

The second he stepped out of the car, gunshots fired, one after another. He dropped to the ground beside the car, and the gun fell out of his hand. I couldn’t do anything other than wait, not with my hands and legs bound. But I heard footsteps, and that gave me hope.

“I got her,” a man I did not recognize said as he pulled the dead man beside me out of the car to get to me.

Alex

A different group of men stole me from my kidnappers. They were professionals, working with other criminals to get me to the Il Circo auction. Before I passed out from the drugs, I overheard them speaking about the highest bidder, a man named The Carver.

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t see through the blindfold. They bound my hands behind my back, a bandana covering my mouth. I attempted to tug at the ties around my wrists. The plastic tightened its hold, making it impossible to do more than roll onto my side.

I kicked out my feet and groaned when my foot collided with something hard. It was a small space. Another trunk? A constant whooshing rang in my ears, like the sound of cars passing on a highway.

We came to a stop. I heard loud noises coming from the front of the car, then doors slammed. The trunk opened a few seconds later. A man with a firm grip reached inside, the scent of cigarettes and cologne wafting off his skin. He lifted me out of the trunk and threw my body over his shoulder.

I smelled salt and heard water. Another pier? Where the hell were they taking me this time?

With my legs bound at the ankles, my legs hit the man’s back with each step we took. I did my best to make it hurt more each time my bony knees made contact. He walked closer to the water until his feet hit wooden planks—a dock. I heard multiple sets of footsteps, one at my right side and a few following us.

“About time,” a man said in front of us. “The ship leaves in ten.”

He was American, with a thick accent that sounded like he was from New York.

“We had an issue with the DeLucas,” the man holding me said. “They got in the way.”