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Haven’s heart felt like it stopped in that instant, pain radiating out through every inch of her body. She screamed and tried to pull away, fear making her knees buckle. The man’s grasp slipped, and she collapsed, sobbing. “Please don’t kill him! I’ll go with you, I will! I won’t fight! Just don’t hurt him!”
Devastation consumed her when the man drew his gun and pointed it at Carmine. She let out a shriek, the sound originating somewhere down inside of her soul and resonating so loudly her own ears rang. Both men in front of her recoiled from the sound as something hard slammed into the back of her head, the force silencing her.
“Shut the fuck up,” the man with the thick accent said, followed by another strong blow that knocked her forward.
“Please!” she screamed again through the pain, not caring what happened to her as long as they didn’t touch Carmine. He was still alive, and she needed him to stay that way. “I’ll do anything! Don’t shoot him!”
A foot slammed into her side, and she whimpered, trying to catch her breath.
“That’s enough,” Nunzio said. “We need her in one piece. Just leave DeMarco before she gives me a headache.”
The guy lowered his gun as Nunzio pulled her to her feet, eyeing her so intently her skin crawled. He pulled her close to him and leaned down, his nose grazing her cheek. She could smell the blood on his face as he smeared it against her. “He’ll die soon, anyway.”
She held her breath, revolted, and collapsed to the ground when he let her go.
“Put her in the car,” Nunzio said, walking away. Arms wrapped around her waist and dragged her toward the road. She could faintly make out Carmine’s body slumped over in the car, the sight of him crippling the last of her resolve. She screamed his name, desperately hoping he would hear her and wake up.
The man covered her mouth to silence her, and she panicked, biting down on his hand. Her teeth tore his flesh, repulsive blood filling her mouth. He pulled away enough to give her a chance to slip from his grasp. She spat and ran for the car but was grabbed as soon as she made it to the driver’s side.
“I thought you were going to play nice?” Nunzio asked, dragging her back to their vehicle. He forced her into the backseat as the others climbed in, tires squealing as they drove away.
Nunzio grabbed a small pouch and unzipped it, pulling out a needle full of clear liquid. “It’s a shame I have to do this.”
She gasped as his hand grasped her around the throat. She struggled, slamming her fists into him as hard as she could, trying to knock the needle out of his hand. He jabbed it into her thigh and held her tightly for a minute longer as she faded, slipping into unconsciousness.
* * *
“Carmine?”
The sound of his name registered in Carmine’s ears, but the voice was muddled and sounded far away. It was familiar, though, and he strained to hear.
“Carmine, open your eyes.”
Everything was black but oddly hazy, like he was submerged under water or in a thick fog.
“Come on,” the voice said, clearer than before. He recognized his father and tried to respond, but he couldn’t get words to form, strangled moans vibrating his chest.
“Wake up, son,” Vincent said. “This is important.”
Carmine forced his eyes open but winced at the pain radiating from his head. He groaned as he moved, the stabbing feeling spreading with each attempt. His distorted vision blurred everything.
He was still in the car, the front end wedged against some trees. Smoke and heat still filtered from under the hood, so he couldn’t have been unconscious too long. He saw his father standing beside the driver’s side door and made a move to get out, but Vincent stopped him. “You shouldn’t move. You’re injured.”
“I’m fine,” Carmine said, unsure if that was true. He climbed out and grasped the side of the car to stabilize himself, his legs wobbly. He felt sick right away and hunched over, vomiting.
“You have a serious concussion,” Vincent said. “Probably some fractured ribs. Looks like a broken nose and—”
“Quit fucking diagnosing me,” he said. “Where’s Haven?”
“I hoped you could tell me. I was on my way back to the house and saw the car here.”
Carmine’s panic flared. “I, uh . . . She was with me. We were at the house and someone started shooting. Nicholas got hit.”
“Nicholas? Where is he?”
“Still at the house. I had to leave him and get the fuck out of there.” He fought back his guilt, unsure of which hurt worse—the emotional anguish or the physical pain. “We were trying to get away, but a car ran up on us, and here we are. Or, fuck, here I am. Where is she?”
“We’ll find her,” Vincent said. Carmine wondered how he could be calm, and froze when something a few yards behind him caught his attention. His heart pounded forcefully when he realized it was a person.
