Hero: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (4 page)

Chapter Four

Jason

I walked quickly down the narrow alley, adrenaline shooting through my body as my eyes darted around.

I shouldn’t be here.

The agreement with the 55th Streeters a week ago had held, and with both of us firmly avoiding the others’ territories, things had been much calmer. Enough that I’d found it hard to keep occupied. With the way I kept replaying those few moments in the negotiation, that girl’s face sticking in my mind, I wouldn’t have minded a wave of skirmishes breaking out.

But no - Glenville was firmly back under Valentini, and he’d kept true to his word and held his guys away from the central and industrial areas.

At least, until now.

Not that he knew I was here.

Something moved in the corner of my eye and I whipped around, only to find a laughing boy run into the alley, chasing after a bouncing ball and yelling something to his friends behind him.

Calm the fuck down.

I deliberately slowed my pace, looking almost casually around me as I continued forward, but I couldn’t stop the beating of my heart against my chest.

It was a risk to be here - I had no support from Valentini, and Jorge’s guys wouldn’t take this as an independent action.

Being familiar with the rough streets helped, and knew I could handle myself with the typical street rats, but I didn’t know what kind of operation Jorge might be running…

Still, if what I’d heard was true, the risk was worth it.

Electricity jumped through my nerves again at the thought of pinning down
something
on Xero and I turned into another narrow street, keeping careful look out for a place that matched the description I’d heard. One of the kids over in East Cleveland had heard that a dealer was running something out of an abandoned building up here - someone with links to one of Xero’s boys.

It was a loose connection, but better than anything I’d heard for months - too good to let some mafioso politics get in my way.

There were a collection of run down buildings up ahead that I figured must be the place. From the looks of it they’d been gutted and someone had knocked out a wall to string them together inside.

I wasn’t expecting to find much - unless I had the fortune to run into the actual guy tonight - but I could scout the place out, look for anything that might show my source was right.

I slipped into the building and waited a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Pausing to take in the worn down old building, noting the holes and debris in the walls that let me see through to rooms in the buildings to either side, I heard a shoe scuffing the floor up ahead.

My breath caught in my throat as my body switched to high-alert. If that was the guy I was looking for…

I moved quietly closer as two gruff voices gave them away, wishing as I did that I could make out what they were saying.

“Hey! I know you!” The loud voice from behind had me spinning quickly, backing up a step to keep both the men who’d startled me and the opening to those I’d been listening to in my line of sight.

Fuck.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The rough guy challenging me seemed vaguely familiar - and then it snapped into place. One of Jorge’s guys from the negotiation.

Double fuck.

My reaction was ingrained - posture shifting automatically and an arrogant smile curving my mouth - even as I couldn’t help wonder what they were doing here.

What linked the 55th Streeters to my source’s intel? Did the kid set me up, or were they linked with Xero’s guy somehow?

Military training kicked in even as my mind spun on that. I braced subconsciously for a fight, but this wasn’t the army. On the streets it was better to be casual - acting like you had the upper hand usually convinced people that you actually did.

“Just passing through.”

Their looks turned hostile, the glances around the closed off room enough to put the lie to my words - and as we faced off, the other couple came out from the wreckage of the doorway I’d been looking through. My pulse ratcheted up at being cornered, but some part of me relished the idea that this would turn violent.

I might be outnumbered, but they were street thugs. I could take them.

“Valentini thinks he can insult us like this, does he?” My accuser sneered.

“Not Valentini. Me.” I gave them a disdainful glance as I said it, but hoped the message would get through - this wasn’t Valentini. I was here on personal business.

“Well boys, maybe we should show this son of a bitch how the 55th Streeters answer an insult.” The dark-skinned guy from the doorway grinned crookedly.

My eyes sparked at the challenge, but I waited for them to make the first move - there was a difference between trespass and self-defense, and trespass and attack.

Jorge’s thug glanced sidelong at his companion as he weighed the decision - they were confident in their numbers, but I could tell I unsettled him.

Good.

One of the two in the doorway lunged for me, and I feinted to the side, slamming my fist into the space I’d just been and narrowly missing his skull as I danced backwards. With that one explosion of action, they were all on me.

Adrenaline pulsed in my veins as I skirted around, trying to avoid them cornering me into the edge of the room and giving myself a little more space to maneuver. They started trying to circle around me, blood lust filling their eyes as they watched my movements.

I jumped in moments before they got their confidence up, landing a swift punch to the gut and then stepping around to take another low in the kidney from behind. He grunted as he folded and I blocked another shot at my face, stepping forwards into the blow instead of away, and slamming my head into the third guy’s nose.

Blood spurted as he cried out, my vision blurring momentarily from the impact while I tried to step aside. One of them caught me as I shifted, a firm fist pummeling into my side and making me grunt. Spinning to face the guy, another hit me from behind. A sharp elbow into his gut stopped him, and I dived to the side, catching my breath as I made a quick assessment.

They were more cautious now, and the guy with the broken nose was pretty much out, but I’d lost the chance to catch them unawares.

It didn’t matter. The energy coursing through me made every blow I’d taken seem negligible, and I had one advantage they couldn’t match.

I just didn’t care.

These rough-and-ready fights were one of the few things that made me feel alive again. But I knew just as well the emptiness that would hit once the adrenaline wore off.

There was nothing left for me to hold onto - pain, death - however this ended, I welcomed it.

I grinned at them, taking grim satisfaction in their uncertain glances before I slammed forward again.

This time I didn’t stop to consider technique or strategy - it was an all out fist fight, my body relying on years of instinct, training and use to get me through.

I took more blows than I could count, but it felt like nothing to shrug them off, while every time I connected with soft flesh, I could feel their resolve weakening.

By the time I had two down and one struggling, I felt the balance tipping in my favor.

Then one of the fuckers pulled a knife.

My grin turned ugly as he lunged for me, another of the bastards slamming me directly into the path of the weapon and making it impossible to feint away.

I shoved my arm out to meet it instead, turning the blade so it only scored my side, cursing as my forearm turned red and hot pain shot up it. I shifted, twisting the blade so that I could catch his wrist and yank hard, the crack of bone slight consolation as I caught the knife in my good hand, swinging back to the other guy beating on me.

He backed off, and I advanced with my own crazed blood lust rushing through me.

As if from a distance, I vaguely heard a shout behind me as I pressed forward, my attention narrowing to the one guy left relatively unscathed.

Relief flashed across his eyes in a brief instant before pain exploded in my head, sudden darkness at the edges of my vision sweeping over me.

*  *  *

My body woke faster than my mind, an arm snapping out to intercept the hand reaching for me.

Still on instinct, something within me recognized the thin, delicate bones of a feminine wrist fast enough to stop myself from breaking it.

The hand stilled automatically, waiting as I opened my eyes and groaned at the waves of pain hitting me.

For a moment, I wondered whether I was still unconscious, as the face I’d seen in my mind’s eye so often over the last week hovered above me. Soft brown hair escaped from a loose tie and curled around a gentle face. The concern there was obvious, but despite everything, I smiled.

She glanced pointedly to her wrist, but for some reason, I couldn’t quite bring myself to let it go.

It was the nicest thing I’d held in such a long time, and as my thumb stroked along the inside, I thought I might just stay like this - lightly caressing the firm, warm-blooded pulse I felt beating there.

Then the pain hit me again, driving away the floaty place my mind seemed to have retreated to with the reminder of where I was.

Who I was. What I was doing.

Fuck.

I let her go as quickly as if she’d burst into flames, staring up in disbelief as she calmly continued running her hands over my chest.

“What are you doing?” My voice was confused, and I felt strangely out-of-place.

“Working out where the damage is.” The calm, sensible response caught me by surprise.

“Everywhere.” It was a muttered comment, my mind still confused.

The light laughter I got in return made me want to join her, but a quick breath told me my ribs wouldn’t appreciate it.

I did a mental assessment myself, and figured that although the beating would leave me hurting for a few days, nothing was really damaged - apart from the cut on my arm, which felt like it was going to need some of my rudimentary medical attention soon. Still, I wasn’t really bothered by the pain - I was more distracted by the way laughter played over the sweet, serious face of the woman above me. She gave me a brief grin, even as she opened my shirt and inspected the light cut at my side.

“At least you’re not one of those types that claim you don’t need my help.”

The feel of her hands on my bare skin had me holding my breath in a way that had nothing to do with the pain.

Damn it, get yourself under control!

“I don’t need your help.”

She scowled at me, but there was amusement in her eyes as she continued.

“No, seriously. Don’t help me.” This time I did take her hands again, firmly pushing them away and raising myself to stare at her.

She shouldn’t be doing this - shouldn’t be here at all. I could just imagine Jorge’s reaction to
that
.

As I slowly came back to full awareness, my head throbbing unpleasantly, the significance of the situation hit me.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re Jorge’s girl.”

That was enough to catch her full attention - head snapping up and eyes flaring as she glared at me.

“I am
not
his girl.”

The unexpected reaction made me pause and consider her carefully.

Reminded of her previous defiance, my eyes drifted to the fading purple bruise on her cheek, my previous anger lighting inside me again. Without thinking, I lifted my hand to her chin, tilting her head so that it was obvious what I was inspecting.

My heart seized in my chest as, for a moment, the sight and memory hurt worse than the beating. Then she met my eyes full-on and took my breath for another reason entirely.

I’d seen victims of abuse before. They tended to turn away or start justifying it - trying to hide their shame of both themselves and the abuser.

This girl didn’t. Her eyes were open and honest as she looked at me, letting me see the result of Jorge’s temper. She knew what this was, knew it was wrong, and acknowledged it as such with no shame. Her attitude reminded me more of the wounded veterans I’d known than a helpless girl, accepting the injury for what it was and not letting it affect her beyond the simple physical discomfort.

It still made my blood boil, but I reconsidered my assessment of her.

Okay, maybe not Jorge’s girl.

My finger stroked her cheek lightly as I met those determined eyes.

“You should be careful, girl.”

I didn’t know what she was doing or involved with, but I had the feeling that she was in over her head whether she knew it or not. If she was going toe-to-toe with someone like Jorge, it could get ugly pretty fast.

My voice was rough, but her face lit with amusement as she gave me a pointed glance.

“Says the battered guy I’m fixing up. And I’m Lottie, not
girl
.”