Pursue (Portland Street Kings Book 3) (3 page)

One second I’m throwing the paper away and the next, I’m suddenly pulled against a body, a rough hand slapped over my mouth. Dread courses through my blood and for mere seconds, I freeze, not able to move or think.
 

“Shhh,” he says in a low, deep tone. It reverberates through my body like an unexpected wave hitting me from behind and is followed by my muscles falling limp with relief as I recognize the voice. Torn between wanting to strangle and hug Dom, but unable to move, I groan in anger and frustration.
 

However, my anger doesn’t last long because Dom’s next words send a chill down my spine. “Paulie’s here, and he brought a friend.”

Chapter Three

Della

Stilling, my heart beats heavily against my chest. Any more intense and it would tear through my skin.
He found me already.
How?
 

Slowly releasing his hand from over my mouth, I spin in Dom's arms. “How is that possible?”
 

Dom stares at the door and rushes out his words. “A rat, luck, a silent tail, I don’t know.”
 

“What the hell is a silent tail?” I demand, my shaky tone betraying my false bravado.
 

Dom's impatient gaze turns back to me, but I don’t take it personally. His stiff posture and wild eyes tell me how on edge he is. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to make a run for it to the Dodge. You need to stay to my right at all times, got it, Dell?”
 

Swallowing roughly, my dry throat makes it impossible to answer so all I do is nod.
 

As Dom reaches for the door, I pull his hand back. “Why can’t we wait here until they leave?”
 

“I’ll explain all that later. We need to leave
now
, Della.” His tone impatient but his words a plea.
 

“I need to understand before I run off into possible gunfire, Dom.” I want, no,
need
more information. I’m sick of being blindsided in my own life.
 

He grasps my elbows and squeezes. “We don’t have time for this. Just trust me.”
 

Trust me.
Those words said so carelessly by many who have used and abused me. All of them having their own sick and twisted meaning to the words.
 

Unclenching my arms from his grip, I step backward. “Never.”
 

“This is not the fucking time, Della,” Dom argues.

“Then talk fast,” I grit out, “because faith no longer lives inside this girl.”
 

Dom’s eyes widen, and he jerks back as if my words burned him. It takes him a moment, but he recovers and begins to explain, “They’ll have your picture. They're probably showing it around right now saying you’ve been kidnapped or that you’re a fugitive, whatever will scare people into talking. Any second now, they could learn the green Dodge is ours, and they’ll come through this bathroom door or just start shooting, not giving a shit if anyone else was in here with you. There’s no rhyme nor reason to guys like that. There’s only running as fast and as far away as we fucking can, because you gun them down, choke them until their last breath. That’s another reason why Lucini will never stop. He’ll send double the men next time.”
 

Clearing my throat, I ask, “And if they start firing at us?”
 

Dom grabs my good hand and places the keys in my palm. “I’ll return fire to give you cover. You will make it to the car unharmed. I promise.” He doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he pulls me forward and opens the bathroom door. I’m thrust outside, and my heart nearly bursts. I swing my head left and then right, peering around wildly for our enemies.
 

Warm hands press into my back, and Dom is pushing me toward the pumps. Palpitations explode through my chest.
I’m not ready. What does "I won’t be harmed" mean? Does that mean he might be?
 

Abruptly, Dom halts me by placing a hand on my stomach and stepping in front of me. He peers carefully around the corner of the building. Agonizing seconds pass as if there is a large clock hanging over my head, and every tick dongs loudly and vibrates dread and anxiety all over my body.
 

Shakily, I tighten the grip on my handbag and twist the keys in my hand, positioning the driver's key, so all I have to do in a split second is push it in and turn the car on.
 

Dom turns toward me with clear and focused eyes and says in a strong voice, “Stay to my right. Now,
run
.”
 

My first step is a stumble; it matches exactly how my heart feels as we round the corner and the protection of the building is taken away. Dom's pounding feet are right beside mine, but all I can do is search the area in front of me for our car, and when I find it, I pump my legs faster. My frantic heart beats in time with my thoughts.
Green Dodge.
All or nothing. I need to survive.
Green Dodge.
 

Gunshots ring through the air, and I let out a high-pitched scream and throw my hands up in the air to protect myself, but I don’t stop running. The familiar sound of bullets isn’t enough to stop me in my tracks, but sensing Dom's absence is.
 

Stopping so suddenly my hair stings my face as I twist around, I look for the man who I’ve grown to love and hate.
 

I find Dom kneeling behind a fuel pump, gun in hand, firing off shots. He glances over his shoulder and yells to me, “Don’t stop, Della. Get to the car!”
 

Without meaning to, I search for the men who are contracted to kill me. My eyes find one of them bent at the waist, hiding behind a car near the convenience store entrance. My gut says it’s Paulie. It could be the callous glint in his eyes or the smug smile on his face as he aims his gun straight at me.
 

Stumbling backward and almost falling over completely, I manage to turn around, ducking and weaving, petrified that bullet is going to hit me at any moment. Finally reaching the Dodge, I open the door and jump into the driver seat. A scream is ripped from my throat as the back window explodes, and I lower my head, covering it with my hands to protect myself from the shattering glass.
 

Recovering quickly, I turn the key and push down hard on the accelerator, revving the engine so Dom can hear. He must because he shoots off two more rounds and then stands and races over to me. Seconds away from getting ahold of the back door handle, Dom's face contorts in agony, and he falls forward to the cement floor.
 

Millions of particles explode beneath my skin as terror rips through me; black spots appear in my eyes, and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body. “Dom, get up!” I scream, my tone filled with terror, and I bounce in my seat while holding the steering wheel, preparing myself to jump out of the car and try to pull him into the car if I need to.
 

He moves. Dom stands and limps the rest of the way and climbs into the backseat with a pained groan. He lies down, back to the seat as his gun falls to the floor and he winces as he grasps his leg in pain.

Pushing the accelerator all the way to the floor, the wheels spin and soon after the car speeds off, but not before I peer into my side mirror and spot Paulie and another man a few meters behind him running to a silver Mercedes Benz.
 

For a split second, the fear inside me subsides, and I remember this is the kind of violence I’ve been surrounded by all my life. And the number one lesson Slater taught us was to always be one step ahead, and if it came down to it, kill before you were killed.
 

As we cross onto the deserted main road by the station, I slam on the brakes. Twisting my body, I reach into the back with my right arm and grasp the gun. Placing it on my lap, I take hold of the steering wheel again. The pain shooting up my left arm and fingers is nothing compared to the panic rising through my chest and mind. Pushing down on the accelerator, I turn the wheel all the way to the right and spin the car around and point us directly at the silver, flashy car. Instead of running off, I’m driving straight for the contracted killers.
 

Paulie's only just made it and jumped into his vehicle, while his accomplice is still a good meter off.
 

When I’m close enough, I spin the car to my left and pull the hand brake. Picking up the gun, I take one steady breath and aim, holding the weapon as still as I can. Squinting my right eye, I take the shot and hit my target, first the left tire and then the right.
 

Hearing the man still approaching the Mercedes shout a curse, I’m jolted from the thrill of hitting my marks, and quickly, I place the gun on the passenger seat and speed out of the gas station and onto the quiet road.
 

“Dom!” I shout.
 

“Highway,” he rasps out breathlessly.
 

Finding the exit, I turn off, and before I know it, we’re driving in an unknown direction, but at least we’re safe, for now.
 

Chapter Four

Della

Hearing Dom attempting to sit up in the back and grunting in pain, I offer to pull over, but he rasps out a clipped, “No.”
 

“Were you shot? Should I find the nearest hospital? Holy shit, what do you want me to do, Dom?”
 

Peering into the rearview mirror, I catch Dom sitting to full height and taking his blue T-shirt off. He moans and curses loudly as he rolls up his jeans and presses his shirt against his leg. “Just keep driving,” he replies gravely.
 

So that’s exactly what I do for the next thirty minutes. I speed down the highway praying Dom isn’t dying in the backseat from a gunshot wound. When I feel we’re a good distance away, I search out the nearest exit and take it.
 

Spotting an empty playground, not far from the exit ramp, I turn into the parking lot and switch the car off.
 

Looking down at my cast, staring at how swollen my fingers have become, I grimace, not wanting to know how much more damage I may have done to my hand.
 

Noticing Dom hasn’t questioned why we’ve stopped, I glance over my shoulder and catch him, still hunched over, grasping his right leg and staring at me, wide awake but as white as a ghost. “How’s your hand?” is the first thing out of his mouth.
 

My jaw drops open, and a fluttering begins in my stomach. “Fine, but you look terrible,” I reply, jumping out of my seat and then opening the back door. My eyes follow his arms and land on his blue shirt now partially soaked in blood. It's pressed tightly up against his calf.
 

“Bullet hole or graze?” I ask in a business-like tone. I’m proud of myself for keeping my voice steady, the complete opposite to how I’m feeling on the inside.
 

“Graze,” Dom replies with a hiss as he removes the shirt from his leg.
 

Wrinkling my nose, I recoil at the deep gash showing his flesh and the slowing blood that still seeps from the wound. “Do you have a first-aid kit in the car?”
 

Dom nods. “In the trunk.”
 

Grabbing the kit out, I instruct Dom to turn onto his stomach. He does, gritting his teeth in pain.
 

Kneeling at the back door, I unfold the kit on the gravel ground and begin by folding up the jeans leg and cleaning Dom's wound, as well as the blood off his leg and ankle. He makes no more sounds of discomfort. Only the arch of his back and the whites of his knuckles grasping the seat show his agony.
 

Unwrapping the gauze and placing it over the wound, I can’t help but stare at the many tattoos Dom has on his back. Even so, only one catches my full attention. It has two hands joined together by rosary beads, and with calligraphy font, the words "This I’ll Defend. Family and Faith." are written below it.
 

“Can I ask you something?” I ask while beginning to wrap the bandage around his leg.
 

“Of course,” Dom replies and drags his eyes to mine at the same time.
 

“Your family, you once told me they kicked you out. That you had nowhere to go but to the streets. Is that true?”
 

Slowly, Dom closes his eyes and presses his lips together firmly. After a moment, he answers, “No, I had loving parents. They were proud of me. No matter what I did, I had their encouragement and support.”
 

I freeze bandaging when my breath hitches and tears form in my eyes. Being told the man you love is a fraud is one thing, but hearing the actual words from him is something completely different. I’m surprised my chest is still able to ache after everything I’ve been through.
Did I hold out hope?
If I did, it was hidden deep inside of myself, and it just shattered to dust.
 

My lips itch to give my condolences at catching the "had" in his words, to ask if he’s okay. However, the hurt swirling inside me wins out. “So you thought the poor street kids who starved and slept in cardboard boxes would relate to your story?” I finish wrapping his leg and pull it as tightly as I can at the end. Dom grunts in pain and I quickly secure the bandage with a clip, and stand, brushing off my knees. “You knew exactly how to play us, didn’t you?”
 

Dom turns to his left side and sits up, “Della.” He grunts again, cupping his leg to keep it steady.
 

The last thing I want is to stand here and listen to more lies, so I slam the back door closed and jump into the driver seat. All I want is to be as far away from Dom as I can get. And to do that, we need to haul ass to Minnesota.
 

“It was my job. I didn’t know you then.” His defeated tone almost cracks my resolve;
almost
.
 

“Save it. It’s my own fault. I should have known better than to trust anyone.” My eyes spot the pain medication. Squeezing my eyes closed for a second and then opening them, I pick up the bottle and throw them at Dom in the back, “You should probably take two of those.”