Cruel Paradise

16

8

J U L E S

W

hen I dive onto the floor behind the driver’s seat, it’s a reflex. No screaming, no panicking, just an action born of muscle memory in

response to something I practiced repeatedly as a child.

I curl into a ball, cover my head with my arms, and close my eyes.

Meanwhile, the bullets keep flying.

The car swerves hard left, away from the direction of the gunfire. Liam shouts something to Declan in a foreign language—Gaelic, I assume—and the car lurches forward, accelerating, tires squealing against the asphalt.

Though we’re under heavy fire, the windows don’t shatter, and the bullets don’t penetrate the car’s steel skin.

Thank you, god, for armored vehicles.

Liam throws his body over mine and curves into a protective shield around me. “Just stay down, lass,” he shouts. “Try to remain calm. We’ll be to safety in a moment.”

I shout back, “Unless this is only the opening act, and they’re intentionally driving us toward something worse.”

I feel his attention shift from the gunfire to me. “Have much experience with diversionary tactics, do you?”

Yes. And handling edged weapons, rappelling from tall buildings, and escaping from locked rooms. Grow up as a mob boss’s only daughter and you’re taught all kinds of useful survival skills for when you’re inevitably kidnapped by daddy’s enemies.

Men, for instance, like you.

Instead of saying any of that, I say, “I watch a lot of crime shows on TV.”

“Oh, look, she’s lying again. Seems to be a compulsion.”

“You’re not half as smart as you think you are, gangster.”

“It occurs to me that you’re unnaturally calm, considering the circumstances, yet you squawked about me killing you non-stop, despite my continued assurances to the contrary. Care to share?”

“No. Do you always talk like you ate a dictionary for breakfast?”

He puts his mouth close to my ear and lowers his voice. “No. Sometimes I talk like I f**k: dirty.”

Without slowing, the car makes another hard turn around a corner. I tell myself that’s what makes me red-faced and breathless.

Then, out of nowhere, another car slams into us from the passenger side.

The noise is deafening. The SUV spins in a half circle, then comes to a jolting stop when we hit another object on the driver’s side of the car.

From there, it all happens so fast.

Liam is still on top of me, shouting at Declan in Gaelic. My door is yanked open from the outside. I lift my head and see a man dressed in black tactical gear and a ski mask. He gazes down at me with emotionless eyes. A semi-automatic rifle is gripped in his gloved hands.

He raises the rifle and points it at me, and my heart stops dead in my chest.

So here it is. Finally.

I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life. I always knew it would come. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I’d have to pay for being born into the family I was born into. For this tainted blood that flows through my veins.

No matter how much good I try to do, nothing can make up for the rot inside me. My father’s sins have stained me to the bone.

The gunshot is painfully loud.

I flinch instinctively, but instead of a bullet ripping through my brain, the gunman’s head explodes in a wet red burst from the back of his mask. He topples sideways, lands on the pavement, and doesn’t move again.

Holding a smoking Glock in one hand, Liam jumps over me and out of the car, turns and grabs my arm, and hauls me out. He pushes me to a sitting position with my back against one of the SUV’s big wheels.

Leaning down so his nose is inches from mine, he stares me straight in the eye.

“Stay down. Don’t move from this position until I come for you. Understood?”

Though more gunshots ring out through the night and what sounds like several dozen men are shouting nearby, his tone and expression are calm.

He saved my life. The mob king just saved me.

When I don’t respond, he raises his voice. “I’ve gotta go kill some people now. I promise no one is going to hurt you. Stay here until I come back. Nod if you understand.” I nod.

“Good.” His tone gentles. “You’re beautiful, by the way. I know you think I’m cocky and overbearing, but it’s only because I’m relentless when it comes to getting what I want.”

His dark eyes tell me in no uncertain terms that what he wants right now—other than shooting some pesky dudes who’re trying to kill him—is me.

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, then straightens and disappears around the rear of the SUV.

Liam Black saved my life…and he wants me.

I broke into a warehouse owned by the head of the Irish mafia, stole a shitload of stuff from him, donated it to charity, then sassed him non-stop when he caught me.

And, for some bizarre reason, all that turned him on.

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Get it together, Jules,” I say faintly, dazed. “If you’re still breathing after tonight, there’ll be time for a breakdown later on.”

The dead gunman lies sprawled on the pavement to my left, a dark pool of blood widening around his head. I lean over, grab his discarded rifle, and quickly huddle back against the wheel, cradling the weapon against my chest. It’s bulky, its weight unwieldy, but holding it makes me feel safer.

I’m still carrying my knife in my coat pocket, but knives are useless in a gunfight.

I sit for what feels like a long time with a clenched jaw and a stiff spine, clutching the weapon like a life vest as gunfire and men’s screams echo in my ears.