~The Fox~
A sharp sting of pain shoots across my gut before I even open my eyes.
Another sharp kick to my spine jerks me awake, and I let out a groan. My aching body flinches as I try to move around but something's holding me down.
Slowly, my brain starts to register what's happening.
It looks like I'm still alive… for now, at least.
I'm lying on my side against the floor, with the right side of my face kissing the cold cement.
A tight rope bites mercilessly into my wrists which are tied behind my back, and I can feel my arm muscles screaming for some relief to this torture.
My ankles are bound, too, and the position I'm in is fucking uncomfortable.
My eyelids are heavy, my head won't stop throbbing, and the sting shooting across my left cheek reminds me that I still haven't treated that slash from earlier.
Right now, all I know is pain.
'I need a freaking massage.'
Another groan slips from my lips before a voice reaches my ears.
"Who is she?"
A strange wave ripples down my body at the sound. The voice is calm. Smooth. And undeniably male.
I blink twice, my vision still blurry as I try to make out my surroundings.
The lights are too dim to make anything out clearly—and my brain's still in a fog.
"Rhea Castell," another voice from behind me says and it's also a male's. "We've been following her for quite a while and when an opportunity presented itself, we thought we should bring her to you."
A deep sigh, followed by the scraping sound of metal against wood. A click echoes in the room, then another.
I turn my head just enough to see the shape of a man standing a few feet away from me.
He's dressed in all black, his shoulders moderately broad. His back is turned to me as he gently places a freshly cleaned pistol on a long wooden table beside another.
His movements are slow. Precise.
I try to say something but the taste of chloroform still lingers in my mouth, making me gag in disgust.
"And of what use is she to me?" He asks, his voice still calm.
'Of what use am I?' I sneer to myself. 'Just untie me and see how useful I can be. Prick.'
After he gently slides another gun in place, he turns in my direction.
The moment my eyes land on his face, I feel my pupils dilate in horror as my heart screeches to a stop.
'R-Rafe Fierro?' a shaky voice whispers in my head.
No. It… it can't be him.
Rafe can't be here. He can't be in a run-down place like Naples.
Last I saw him, he was in Rome.
And there's no way he can be here. Unless he's been tracking me down after… after what I did.
He barely spares me a glance, let alone looks in my direction as he moves closer to where I am on the floor and walks past me.
"You don't remember her?" someone else asks—a man—but there's a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"How am I supposed to remember someone I don't even know?"
I relax a bit at that question. If he doesn't remember me, then it means it's not Rafe.
"Ma e lei che ci ha derubati quando eravamo ancora a Roma," the man who first spoke earlier says.
The fucking bastard just had to switch to Italian. And he didn't even stop there, but he also reminded him of what I did, which means I was right. It IS Rafe.
I'm dead. I'm so dead.
But wait a minute… why doesn't he recognize me?
There's silence for a while before he speaks up. "Sei sicuro che sia lei?"
"Si, capo."
Rafe's just asked if it's really me and the bastard confirmed it.
Fuck!
"Alzatela. In ginocchio," he orders and almost immediately I feel a strong hand wrap around my elbow and yank me up.
"Hey, watch it!" I scowl as he props me up on my knees like Rafe ordered. "If you can't untie me, at least loosen the damn ropes. My limbs are killing me."
Obviously, they ignore me, but it doesn't really matter because I'm now in a position where I can reach for my other knife still tucked in my boot.
I have to slip it out without any of them noticing so I can start cutting through these damn ropes.
If I dance with Death for the last time today, I'll carve my damn name into his skull first—because I'm not going down after all these years without a fight.
The two guys who were at my back walk past me and stand in front of the wooden table at my front. Rafe's still behind me and any second now, I expect to feel the cold tip of his gun pressed to my head.
Instead, he continues to ask them how and where they found me, and it looks like they've been following me for quite a long time.
They tell Rafe about how I stole Luciano's watch—making sure they enjoy painting me as a professional thief. They also tell him about the 'beautiful' relationship we shared before explaining why it had to come to a 'heartbreaking' end.
Luciano sent me to intercept a truck carrying some 'high-value contraband' into the city, but it was just part of his 'brilliant' plan to get rid of me. Thankfully, I figured it out on time and well, you know the rest.
"Let's just kill her." Someone from the far right of the room says and I turn my head in the direction of the voice.
He's standing with his back pressed against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are narrowed into slits as he glares at me with murderous intent.
"Her presence with us won't do us any good, especially after everything she's done."
I really need to stop making enemies for myself, because at this rate, I won't last more than a day in the afterlife.
"I agree," says one of the men by the table. "Ma almeno dovremmo assaggiarla un po'. Dicono che usa la sua fica per uccidere gli uomini, dal piacere che dia."
"You try that, and I'll cut your dick off before shoving it down your throat," I growl, narrowing my eyes at the bastard who's looking at me with a mix of shock and anger.
Silence settles over the room and I know they're surprised by my words.
Then, the sound of Rafe's boots shifting behind me slices through the thick silence. My heart slowly starts to pound against my chest as he circles past me for a second.
As soon as he appears at my front, he crouches, one knee hitting the ground. The moment his eyes lock onto mine, I feel as though my gut has been hit by a sledgehammer, completely knocking the breath out of me.
'Dear God.'
I mean, I've seen Rafe once before but that was two years ago. And I didn't even see him up close, just caught a glimpse of his face from afar, but I never expected him to be this… this handsome.
Just calling him handsome feels like an understatement. He's the kind of beautiful that should be considered illegal.
With his god-like features and cold grace, his face is the kind that could make you forget your own name.
He's not even saying anything. He's just studying me with a merciless stare that has me pinned in place.
My throat suddenly feels dry as his hand rises slowly, holding a gun. He gently tilts my chin up with the barrel, the cold metal nudging the skin beneath my jaw.
My breath catches.
And that's when something hits me—that warm and familiar throb deep in my core, pulsing faster with each second that passes. Unfortunately, my body's cursed with an irritating sixth sense for when a man's horny for me.
But right now, I can't tell…
Is it him who's hard for me?
Or am I the one aching for him?
"You speak Italian?"
His silky voice makes my core throb even more and when I realize I'm the one burning for him, I inwardly curse myself.
'Get your shit together, Rhea.'
"No," I lie smoothly, trying to keep my voice steady. "But I caught enough to know what that dickhead said earlier… about wanting to get a taste of me."
That's a lie. I don't just understand Italian, I speak it too. But whenever you're around people like these… it's better they don't know you understand everything they're saying.
Trust me, it's safer that way.
Just let them talk. Let them think you're clueless about what they're discussing. They'll say the worst things right in front of you, things they shouldn't be saying around outsiders and they'll have no idea that you're listening.
Now that? That's a form of power.
His eyes narrow slightly, making him look both dangerous and sexy.
'Why the hell is he so hot?!'
"Let's just kill her already," the guy standing by the wall snaps and I see a muscle tick in Rafe's jaw.
"Enough, Antonio," he says calmly as he stands to his feet. "Just shut up."
"Don't tell me you're not going to kill her," his voice raises slightly as he pushes himself off the wall. "We're not even supposed to be in this fucked up city if it weren't for her."
'Okay… what?'
"I said shut the fuck up, Antonio."
"We finally caught her after all this time and you're not even aiming a gun to her head?! After what happened to you?!"
I catch the way Rafe's grip on the pistol tightens, his eyes turning to slits as he surprisingly keeps his gaze fixed on me.
"Antonio," he calls, his voice low and tight like he's trying to control himself. "I fucking told you to shut. The fuck. Up."
Finally, he tears his eyes away from me and turns his back, heading for the table again.
The two guys scramble out of his path without needing to be told.
Rafe gently places his gun on the table before planting his hands on the flat surface and spreading his fingers.
Even from where I'm kneeling, I can see the anger he's trying so hard to keep bottled up—no doubt I'm the reason.
The room becomes quiet again—dead quiet—except for the sound of Antonio's boot scraping against the floor as he shifts on his feet.
"But—"
Rafe moves so fast that I almost miss it.
His left hand is still pressed on the table as his right hand slides his gun off the edge with ease. Then, he raises it—his eyes still fixed on the table—and fires twice at Antonio.
The first bullet tears its way through his skull and the second follows almost immediately, creating a hole between his eyes before his body even drops to the ground.
He slumps face first like a bag of dry bones, blood spreading in a slow, lazy pool beneath his head.
Rafe places the gun back on the table with an eerie calmness that sends chills slithering down my spine.
'He… He didn't even aim. Didn't even glance up. He just… knew.'
No wonder he's called The Ace.
I swallow hard as my fingers continue to shift toward my boot.
If he could do that without even trying… who's to say I won't be next?