Page 107 of Captivated

Six turns on the pavement.

Over, and over, and over. It crushed the top of the SUV in from the force, and Joe swore he saw Martin’s head snapping back and forth.

That alone was enough to kill a brain, or break a neck.

Joe had hit the brakes, and watched the accident happen. Like slow fucking motion. Kind of beautiful, really.

All of the glass exploded out of the SUV’s windows, while smoke started to puff from under the hood when the SUV finally came to stop on its totally destroyed roof. Other vehicles had come to a stop behind Joe, but he didn’t bother to get out. Someone else did—running over to the SUV, and sticking their arm inside the window.

Checking a pulse, it looked like.

He saw the shake of the man’s head when he turned to the woman who had followed behind him, and the way his face whitened.

Dead.

Joe made his second call as he carefully moved forward, and maneuvered his vehicle around the wreckage and people on their phones. One woman was crying. The man who had checked on Martin was white-faced.

Like he’d seen death.

“Lucian here,” the Marcello said when he picked up Joe’s call.

“Two down,” Joe murmured.

He swore he could see Lucian’s smile when the man replied, “One to go.”

“You called?” Joe asked.

Lucian didn’t bother to look up from the newspaper he was reading. “I did. Sit, Joe.”

Joe took a seat in the high-back leather chair, and realized he could see the whole private bar from this position. “Didn’t expect you to call me somewhere during daylight hours.”

“No one but my brothers know I frequent this place. I find it calming.”

He could see why.

The bar, with its dark wood and rich colors, was a quiet place. The patrons—all well-dressed, and lost in discussions with those around them—couldn’t seem to be bothered with what was going on around them.

It would be the perfect place to get lost.

Maybe.

“What did you need?”

Lucian handed the paper over to Joe, and he took it. “Front page, down toward the bottom.”

Quickly, Joe found what Lucian was talking about. It seemed Martin Abraham’s death was front page news in the New York Times this morning. Shit, it had only been a day.

“Read it,” Lucian said.

Joe already had. “They’re making him out to be some kind of hero for his whole life’s work, or some shit.”

Ignorance was the best kind of bliss.

Or so he had been told.

Lucian sighed. “They did the same thing for the senator. Made sure to list each and every one of his achievements—if you could call them that—in his political career, and even named charities people could donate to in his honor. And then his kids and wife …” Beside him, Lucian’s mouth curled up at the edges in an almost-sneer before he added, “They got on the television and cried for him. It all disgusted me.”

“I get why.”