The Hitman's Dancer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Snake Eyes Book 2) (13 page)

This doesn’t make any sense. Not one goddamn bit. If Lucy were wounded, her first instinct wouldn’t be to grab a fresh pair of underwear.

I focus my senses, pushing them to see what I haven’t seen yet.

That smell… it’s—

Fucking hell.

I grab her bloody pillow and bring it to my nose, recognizing that cheap smell. There’s only one man I know that uses that toxic aftershave.

Marty Zappia.

I rush back out into the living room, heading straight for the door. I stop in the frame and check the chain hanging next to the lock. Lucy
always
uses her chain. She’s not stupid enough to leave it off. If she was here when he came, he would have had to bust through it to get in.

It hangs undisturbed. She wasn’t here when this happened.

There’s only one other place she would be.

Christ, let me get there in time.

Chapter 12

Lucy

Marty Zappia smirks at me.

His mouth only moves on the left side. The other side hangs there, completely numb. “That’s right,” he growls. He holds out his hand and beckons me with his fingers. “Come on out…”

I stay glued to the corner, shaking my head. “What do you want?”

He lunges at me, latching one hand on my head and the other around my arm. I shriek and scratch at him but it does nothing against his strength. He pulls me from the stall and tosses me hard against the opposite wall. My head strikes it, blinding me with white lights and pain radiates through my eyeballs.

Marty wraps a fist about my hair and drags me out into the hallway, easily shoving me back down to the auditorium.

We step onto the stage and my heart plunges towards my toes.

Blood lines the floor, pooling out from beneath a pile of bodies. I can barely recognize their faces anymore. I can’t even stare at them long enough to try. Nausea rattles my stomach, dropping me to my knees. Marty lets me fall and I land at the end of a quivering, whimpering line of fellow dancers and friends.

“Lucy…”

I look up to see my father in front of me with a bleeding nose. A man stands behind him with a gun pointed to his head while two more of Marty’s men linger nearby.

“Daddy—!”

Marty grabs my hair again before I can reach for him. He pulls back, tearing it out at the roots, and points his own gun at me. “Where is Dante Hart?”

I shake my head. “What?”

He points his gun across the stage, straight at Cynthia, and fires. The bullet strikes her in the chest and she falls back, tumbling off the stage onto the floor below. Marty shifts back in my direction, grazing the gun barrel against my cheek. It burns my skin and I cry out in pain. “Where is Dante Hart?”

I sob loudly, looking up into his bloodshot eye. “I don’t know! I swear!”

Marty presses the barrel harder into my skin, so hard I can hear the burning hiss in my ears.

“Stop hurting her!” my father cries out. “Please!”

Marty tugs on me again. “Answer the question and I’ll stop!”

“I don’t know where he is!” I scream.

“You were with him last night!”

My father raises his head, surprise crossing his eyes. I keep my focus on Marty, far too ashamed to look at him. “I was! But he kicked me out this morning!”

Marty leans down. “When?”

My vision blurs but I see a line of blood falling out from beneath his bandage, staining his pale, white skin. “I…” I close my eyes, pushing through to the memory. “Eight! Eight-thirty!”

“Did he say why?”

I cringe from his pungent breath. “No!”

“You’re lying…”

“No! Please! I’m not!”

My father jerks his head up. “Leave her alone!”

Marty extends his arm, pointing his gun at my father.

I hold up my hands. “Wait— no! I’m telling the truth. Dante saw the news and he kicked me out — told me to forget he ever existed! Please—” I reach for my father, tears pouring free. “Don’t hurt my father, please—”

“I don’t believe you,” Marty growls.

Then he pulls the trigger.

“No—!”

My father slumps to the stage and all my senses break down within me. I scream but I can’t hear it. Black auras invade my vision. Bile boils in my throat. Blood spills out from between my father’s glossy eyes, rolling slowly towards me along the floor as the life drains from his face.

Marty releases me. My numb body strikes the floor and I cradle my head in my hands, unable to lift it or feel any strength at all.

My father is gone. My father is dead. My father—

“Lucy…” The voice rumbles my insides. “I’m going to ask you one more time.”

“I don’t know…”
I whisper with a weak voice.

“Where is Dante Hart?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lucy.”

“I don’t know!”

Marty sighs and lowers down to kneel beside me. “That’s rather disappointing.” He reaches out and snatches my chin, forcing me to look up at his wounded face. “Because he did
this
to me and I would very much like to return the favor.”

“I swear…” I sob. “I don’t know where he is.”

“You’re very loyal to him and that’s admirable — it truly is.” He stands and wanders over to the edge of the stage, gesturing a hand at two of his men. They move in the corners of my vision, rushing down the aisles with large, red containers. He reaches down and one of them hands him a crowbar. “Unfortunately, that loyalty won’t get you very far, Lucy.”

I slink away from him but he bridges the gap between us with a few, quick strides. He kicks me in the ribs with his boot and I roll onto my back, too weak to fight him. A smell wafts under my nose; that distinct smell of gasoline.

“You know he said something this morning…” he says, rubbing the metal between his palms. “Something that I think perfectly reflects your current predicament. Dante said…
There’s a reason why busting kneecaps never goes out of style.
I’d like to test that theory, Lucy.”

I shy away from his grin. “Please, don’t…”

“I thought my old man was wrong, but… I think I’ve had a change of
heart
.”

“No…” I push back but he stays on me, lingering over me like a dark cloud.
“Please—”

Marty raises the crowbar over his head, his face contorting into a demon’s scowl, and slams it downward.

He strikes my right knee. Blinding pain reverberates my leg, crashing through me like a bolt of lightning. I scream, tearing my throat in two while Marty raises it once more. His laughter splits the air and he brings it down, hitting me again with little restraint.

I cry even louder, praying for the pain to end but it lingers inside of me. My eyelids become heavy. My muscles tense up, preparing for a third whack. Senses start to fade and I think that maybe I will pass out and this agony will let me go — even if only for a few seconds.

Marty tosses the crowbar across the stage. The clattering sound blends with his feet in my ears as he walks closer to kneel down to me again. “Well…” he mutters, his voice echoing in my head, “he wasn’t wrong after all.”

I weep on the floor, cowering away from him. He reaches out and runs a finger down my cheek, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything but the pain throbbing throughout my leg.

“It’s a shame, really. I’m sure you were quite
talented
.” He stands and turns away from me. “Oh, well.”

I watch him go and he stomps down the center aisle.

“Kill the rest of them,” I hear him say. His eyes wander back to me again. “Let her burn.”

I clench my eyes closed as two armed men walk across the stage and a storm of gunfire takes over my ears. There’s screaming for several moments until finally, there’s nothing but silence.

The men bolt off the stage as Marty reaches into his pocket. I look down at my swollen knee. It pushes hard against my ripped, blood-stained tights. I try to make out the damage but my vision refuses to let me focus. I look up and I see my father’s limp body lying several feet away. His blood continues to climb towards me, inching closer like a snake in the grass.

“Daddy…”
I whisper, reaching out to him. I’m too far away to touch him. If he could move, he’d reach me. I know he would…

Marty strikes a match and tosses it to the floor, igniting the gas flung around the room. It spreads fast, covering the entire auditorium with the crackling, orange flame.

If I don’t move, I’ll die.

I push up onto my arms, struggling to carry my own weight. My knee seethes, refusing to move me across the hard, wooden floor. I fight through it, kicking my left knee behind me while the right one drags against the stage.

Marty and his men retreat fast from the auditorium, slamming the doors closed behind them. I can’t make it through the burning seats anyway and I’d be foolish to even try, especially with only one leg.

Smoke reaches my nose. I keep my head down, crawling backstage, whimpering as my knee scrapes across the floor. Flames race even closer, climbing towards me faster than I can move.

I grew up in this building. I should know a way out, some emergency exit that will save me, but my mind is a far too preoccupied with the pain owning my body. I slide passed the boxes of props and the old set pieces and the dressing rooms.

This is the last time I’ll ever see them.

“Help!”

Maybe there’s someone left inside. Maybe someone hid when they heard gunfire.

“Help me!”

I make it to the hallway and push up onto my working knee to shove at the door. It refuses to budge, blocked off from the outside.

“Help me!”

I pound on it, screaming over and over again. Each passing second, my fate becomes clearer.

I’m going to die here.

“Please…” I cry to myself, falling back against the door. The air is thick and gray. The fire has reached the curtains, igniting the air above me, burning through the oxygen.

Hopefully, I’ll die from breathing smoke before the flame reaches me.

“Lucy!”

A single voice, lost behind fire. I almost don’t even hear it. Honestly, I probably don’t and it’s just my mind losing oxygen.

“Lucy!”

That’s no hallucination. That’s—

“Dante?”

My eyes run over with tears. I see a shape across the stage, large and black. A devil amongst fire. He comes closer, dodging the falling debris as it rains down from the ceiling.

“Lucy!”

He touches my face and his features sharpen in my vision. Startling, blue eyes stand out in the smoke against his soot-covered skin.

“Lucy, look at me! You’re going to be okay…”

I tear my eyes from his and I push him away. “No…” I shake my head. “This is your fault—”

“We have to go—”

“Get away from me! This is all your fault!” He grabs at me again and I ball my hands into fists to fight him off. I move to kick him but a blinding pain reminds me of why I can’t.
“Don’t touch me!”

“Lucy—”

“
No!
He was looking for
you
! All of this happened because of
you—
”

Dante pulls me forward and shifts around my back faster than I can react. He wraps his arm around my throat, dodging every swipe I make at him. Within seconds, I can’t breathe and my head swims for air.

He’s choking me.

I bash his arms, each strike feeling weaker than the last.

He’s killing me.

My body gives up and I relax into his cruel, heartless embrace as the pain fades away.

Chapter 13

Dante

Six. Seven. Eight…

I loosen my grip, knowing that she’ll get brain damage if I hold her much longer. She goes completely limp, drifting off into a sleep her body won’t let her wake from. She’s too weak right now; too shocked to come back to me but it’s for her own good.

Lucy, I’m so sorry…