Page 19 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“Una.” I watch as her fierce glare shifts to me. “We have a contract.” If we agree to a contract, we never renege on it. Ever.
She closes the distance between us, stalking toward me like an angry cat. “You have a contract, Sasha. I will always help you.” Her expression softens as she lowers her voice. “We’re family, but she’s not. Don’t ask me to risk my child for a job.”
“She’s right.” We all turn at the sound of Adelina’s quiet voice. Despite her small size, she stands proud, her shoulders squared, and her chin held high. “I won’t put Dante at risk. Nero and Una were kind enough to try to help me, but I have to leave.”
She ducks her head once more and slides past me, heading for the stairs. Her footfalls ascend to the landing before I glance from Una to Nero and back. Neither says anything, so I follow her, jogging up the stairs.
I stop at her room and lean my head in. “Pack your stuff. Be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
“Sasha, you don’t—”
I close the door and carry on to my own room. Grabbing a rucksack, I throw several sets of clothes inside before opening the top drawer of my dresser. I pick out two pistols and two knives and thrust them in with my clothes. The gun I prefer to carry sits inside the waistband of my jeans, the barrel still warm. An American passport. Cash. That’s it. All I need to leave.
I find Una in the kitchen, Dante propped on her hip. She eyes the bag in my hand. “You’re leaving?”
“I agreed to protect her.”
“The Elite blow down our door and you’re leaving?”
“They want her. If I take her, the problem disappears.”
Her lips press together. “Her family is powerful. They have men.”
“Yes, they’re powerful; that’s why they hired me.”
Crimson red lips press together into a thin line that leaves her jaw ticking. She’s cornered, and she doesn’t like it. Ever since we left the Elite, Una has tried to keep everyone within close proximity. There’s safety in numbers. I understand her fear, but I won’t cast Adelina out to be hunted by the Elite like a dog while we all hide in our glass tower.
Since Nicholai’s death, we’ve had peace. Una and I have kept killing on contract, but it’s not the same. We weren’t made for peace; we’re soldiers. I hate that Dante was in danger, that Elite broke into Nero and Una’s home, but I admit, I miss that rush that comes from a threat. Bullets rushing past, the icy calm of adrenaline racing through my veins. The complete lack of thought. Life is easier on instinct, the methodical act of aim, fire, repeat.
Adelina moves beside me, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Thank you.” She slowly lifts her face, making eye contact with Una. “For helping me.”
Una offers her a stiff nod before stopping in front of me. “Where are you going to go?”
“Ischia.” I have my reasons, but the concern on her face suggests she can’t predict them.
“Gio is waiting with the car. Nero will call the plane.” Then she simply walks away, carrying Dante farther inside the penthouse. Nero is nowhere to be seen.
“Come on.” I pick up my bag and tug Adelina’s from her grasp. As soon as the elevator doors close, she tenses. I can sense it, the coiling of her muscles, the quickening of her breaths.
“They’re waiting for me, aren’t they?” she whispers. She’s scared, like a lamb being dragged to slaughter.
“I can only assume they want you very badly.”
She swallows heavily, squeezing her eyes closed. “Promise me something.”
I don’t make promises. “If they get me… If they get me and you can’t save me…” She inhales a sharp breath. “Shoot me.”
“That will not happen.” It wounds my pride that she thinks so little of me that I should have to shoot her to keep her from them capturing her.
“I’d rather die than be forced to…” she drifts off, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip, a nervous tick she possesses.
“That will not happen,” I repeat.
She nods, but her body language remains stiffs. The elevator reaches the bottom, and the doors glide open. She starts to step out, and I grab her arm, halting her. My eyes track around the lobby, logging and judging every possible threat. The doorman. A woman crossing to the front desk. The valet outside. A passing cyclist. The weight of my gun presses into my back, an encouraging reminder.
“Stay close,” I instruct.
I step out of the elevator, constantly searching the street as we cross the sidewalk to the waiting car. Gio stands at the open back door, his entire frame strung tight, his gaze focused on anything but Adelina and me.
I guide her into the back before closing the door. “All clear?”
