Violent Little Thing (Lily and Luciano) novel Chapter 174

1 reluctantly follow Luciano to one of the cars where we drive back to my house. He’s already organized doctors and nurses to tend to our wounded and even though I try to tell him I’m fine, he shoves me down onto a chair anyway.

“You don’t want a doctor? Fine. At least let Tony patch up your back before we dive right into another war with you at half your strength.”

I lean over the back of the chair while Tony cuts the shirt of my back and douses my skin in some sort of cold liquid that stings like a mother fucker. Mason appears in front of me. Kneeling down so he can look at me in the eye.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted. I know you would have tried your best. It wasn’t fair of me to put the blame on you.”

I take his hand in my own.

“It’s okay. We can worry about everything else once we have her home.”

Tony does something to my back for a good half an hour that stings like a mother fucker. Apparently, I have severe burns, but that’s not going to stop me from being a part of this next rescue mission. I tell him to wrap it up so we can get started on forming a plan. Ariana insists on everyone eating before we do anything more, telling me that her daughter is strong and capable and we will need our strength. So I take a sandwich as I sit at the large table full of men that are still able to walk and shoot a gun. There’s quiet chatter around the table when Matteo stands up abruptly in front of his laptop, knocking his chair back in the process and gaining the attention of everyone in the room.

“What is it? What did you find?”

“I didn’t find anything, it found me.” He says as he turns the laptop around so we can all see.

Isla

I wake up in a cold, damp, room with nothing more than a mattress on the floor. My body still doesn’t want to cooperate fully, but I manage to roll onto my side, lazily flinging myself off the stained and disgusting mattress onto the concreate floor. I groan as a bit of drool falls from my mouth that I’m unable to control as my face rests against the floor.

“Mother fucker.” I slur out, as I will my arms to move towards my head, pushing my body as hard as I can to pull myself upright. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to get myself into a sitting position against the brick wall that grates into my back. I’m huffing with exhaustion as I try to scrunch and release my fingers. That must have been some heavy shit they injected me with. My head still feel heavy as I look around at the barren room. No windows, one door, a mattress and a bucket in the corner, oh and don’t forget the little flashing camera in the corner near the roof, blinking back at me with its dumb little red light. I flip it the bird as best as I can before I let my hand fall to my side and rest my head on my chest. Okay, game plan. Get my body to work again, then kick some ass and go home. Good plan, yes. I can do that.

The door slams open and in walks the fuck face himself.

“Pedro.” I spit out as he grins down at me wickedly.

“You’ve cost me a lot of money…quite the troublemaker you are.”

“Fuck you, and your money. You’re disgusting! A rotten excuse for a human being.”

His fist connects with my cheek before I realize what’s happening and I see stars as my head spins and I try to gain control of my senses.

“You know, I loved you once. You could have shared with me your family’s status. I could have ruled over the other families, and you could have kneeled by my side. But you’ve pissed me off now. Now I’m going to take what I want, and you are the key to doing that.”

He clicks his fingers, and two guards come into the room, grabbing my arms roughly and hauling me onto my feet, Fighting is useless right now, all that I would accomplish is wearing myself out further. So, I allow them to drag my dead weight out of the room and down the hallway to another room. I get a good look at my surroundings. It almost looks like an abandoned hospital of some sort. The goons throw me down on a reclined chair that almost looks like one you would find at a dentist, but this one has old, worn out, faded brown leather straps that are quickly placed around my ankles, wrists, waist, forehead and my neck. Pedro appears back in front of me, his arms crossed smugly over his pathetic excuse for a suit. It’s not even a nice designer brand, maybe one you would buy at a Walmart and it’s definitely not tailored because it’s far too long and baggy to fit him properly.

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