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Luca
Meraand I have recently come to an understanding—she’s mine.
She can try to run and hide from it, from me, but I’ll catch and find her every single time she tries to get away. I’ve grown tired of pussyfooting around the topic. Our version of foreplay has been exciting, new, and makes my dick harder than a steel pipe nine out of the ten times we’ve argued.
She riles me up like no other, and I get off on the fact that I do the same to her.
Her smart mouth and atypical comebacks let me know she’s made for me—the perfect life partner. From day one, she was cutthroat, always snapping at me, and I took that as a challenge.
And I hate to be defeated, so I was laid back, and enjoyed our back-and-forth bantering. She made things a competition, threw every obstacle at me she could think of, but that had the adverse effect than what she wanted to achieve.
I got more determined. I jumped every hurdle she put between us, and in the end, I was the winning contestant.
With Mera pressed securely to my side in our car as we leave the bunker and the meeting that just concluded with Mr. Fitzgerald, I’m more content than I’ve ever been. Even with the impending showdown we’ll face with the Crumley brothers, the smile on my face is permanently sketched onto my face.
Nothing can bring me down.
After the joke of my prior marriage with that viper, who never shed her motherfucking skin, I didn’t want to date outside of the random hookups. But Mera, she’s changed my point of view and way of thinking on that, and I couldn’t be happier that she’s hooked me, reeled me in, and sunk me.
The car jerks, yanking me out of my reverie.
“What’s happening!” Mera shouts.
“It’s an ambush. We’re under attack,” Leo sedately remarks. His eyes stay steadily on the road, his voice may sound calm and all cool on the outside, but I know him, he’s worked for us for twenty years, he’s anything but.
“Prognosis?” I ask, leaning forward. My eyes widen when I notice that we’re surrounded on all sides, and boxed in. One of two things is about to happen, and neither of them have a good outcome.
Rolling down the rear passenger side window, I pull my gun from its holster, and take aim. Mera does the same thing on her side, only she’s pulling hers out from her stockings.
Confession time, and she’s gonna flip.
“Yours won’t do us any good. Leo, grab the spare out of the console and toss it back.”
“What do you mean mine won’t do me any good, Luca?” she growls, her shoulders are set stubbornly, and a stoney, calculated look crosses her face. “Why, Luca?” The grit of her teeth any other time would have me tackling her to the floor and tasting her scrumptious lips, but that compulsion will have to wait until I have her back home and in my space.
Without sparing her a glance, I answer, “Because you have blank cartridges in yours, and that won’t do anything outside of pissing them off.”
“Bastard!” A chuckle involuntarily releases from my thorax at her derogatory cussing, because these women, she and her bestie, Shayne, never say a foul word that they’d have to eventually seek repentance for.
“Just take the damn gun, Curly Sue, and we’ll deal with your irritation when it comes to me later,” I snap, my patience waning because we’re being fucking shot at!
“I’m gonna kick you where the sun doesn’t shine when we get out of this, Luca Alvarez,” she avows.
“Looking forward to it,” I retort, shooting at some twit that’s trying to run Master off the road. Harrumphing, she takes the pistol handed to her, checks the magazine as I taught her, removes the safety, lines up her sight, and takes aim and fires. “Put on your seatbelt, Mera.”
“I can’t get a good aim if I do that, Luca! I need to be able to move.”
“Take out what you can with your damn seatbelt on! Don’t test me on this,” I grit out. My gut is telling me she needs it on, and I never question that second sense when it comes to instances such as this.
Angrily, she does as I ask but mumbles underneath her breath about stubborn men the entire time. My mouth wants to spew out apologies, but I’m not sorry, not in the least. I’d rather have her angry with me, than injured, or worse, dead.
My arm begins to burn from reloading and firing clip after clip of what feels like never-ending bullets, but I never let that deter me, our lives are clearly at stake. Tires are squealing, men are shouting, and the asphalt is pebbling, bouncing up at us from the road where it’s been struck, and is pinging back up at my hand. The ache from the splintered tar should have me jerking my arm inside of the window and protecting it, but I let the pain from it fuel me.
Our car veers to the side after a pop that could only mean one thing, at least one of our tires has been lanced by a gunshot and has blown. A hideous boom sounds off, deafening me. Before I have the chance to secure myself by belting my body to the seat, we begin to roll. Trees pass by in a blur, I’m tossed from one side to the other, I can feel the roof of the car on my back as we land.
“Luca!” Mera sobs out my name. “Luca, answer me!” Her hysterical shouting has my instincts roaring. I want to answer her, tell her I’m okay, but the way my head’s ringing, and my mouth is frozen, I can’t.
Nothing is working.
