When He Desires: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 1)
When He Desires: Chapter 39

My head is spinning the entire drive back home. It’s snowing enough that I shouldn’t speed, but every time I check the dashboard, I’ve somehow managed to be going ten miles over the speed limit.

The things Brett said about my mom can’t be true. My mom wasn’t like that.

Yeah, she might have made excuses for my dad and the life he chose, but she always taught Maxton and me the difference between right and wrong. One time, Maxton got caught trying to steal a bag of chips from a convenience store when he was about ten, and Mom wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.

She’d never knowingly help my dad. She wouldn’t entrap innocent people.

But she loved him more than she loved herself.

I give my head a shake. There were limits to what she’d do, even for my father. There’s no way.

Brett lied to me about her, the same way he lied to me about Rowan.

The more I think about the photos Brett showed me, the more I’m convinced they must be doctored.

I glance down at the photo I took, the one that’s now lying on the passenger seat. Rowan wouldn’t pull a gun on someone like that. He’s not violent. Sure, he’s got a hell of a glare, and he can be intimidating, but he’s never been aggressive. Even if Brett interfered with the lease and refused to give Rowan the keys, Rowan wouldn’t threaten him.

But what’s nagging at me is that the gun Rowan is holding in the photo looks just like the gun I saw him stashing away upstairs.

Or does it? I don’t know enough about guns to know if it’s a common model. I try to conjure up a clear image of the gun I saw in Rowan’s hand, but my memory is fuzzy.

I’m too amped up to think straight. I just need to stay calm until I can talk to Rowan. I’m sure there’s an explanation.

Finally, I turn onto our street.

Rowan’s truck isn’t in the driveway.

I park and let out a groan. He’s probably already left for the mall where we’re supposed to meet after my shift. My God, I’m so rattled I didn’t think to just drive straight there.

I’m about to get back on the road when an idea comes to me.

It wouldn’t hurt to check…

I hop out of the car and run inside, straight upstairs to the closet where the gun was.

The drawer’s stuck, and it takes me some time to get it open, but when I do, the gun’s right there, untouched.

When did I see him put it there? It was three days before Christmas Eve. No, four. I walked in on him putting it away right after he came home from going somewhere with Sam.

I look down at the photo I took with me.

It has a date in the corner.

The twentieth of December.

My heart’s banging around inside my chest. So what if the dates match up? It could be a coincidence.

But a flicker of doubt appears. Could Rowan and Sam have gone to Frostbite that day?

My phone rings. Rowan’s name pops up on the screen. My index finger hovers over the screen.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

I let it ring. That day, Sam came here and said to Rowan that something urgent had come up. A work emergency. A difficult client.

And when Rowan came back, he had a gun with him. A gun he hid.

He said it was to protect us from Uncle Lyle, but what if he lied?

The buzzing stops, but another sound grabs my attention.

Did someone just open the front door? It can’t be Rowan. He’s waiting for me at the mall.

I freeze. The sound of footsteps echoes through the hallway downstairs, slow and deliberate. My heart thunders in my chest as I dip my hand into the drawer and grab the gun. I inch out of the bedroom and toward the stairs, my palm sweaty around the cool metal. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears.

“Hello?” Sam appears at the bottom of the stairs, a long package tucked under his arm.

I slump against the wall. “Oh my God.”

Sam’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of me clutching the gun. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” What is wrong with me? I’m spiraling. “What are you doing here?”

“I just needed to drop off some wallpaper for Rowan. He told me to use my key.”

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to calm down.

Sam props the package against the wall and climbs the stairs until he reaches me. “What’s up?” He sounds concerned. He’s probably worried I’m having a nervous breakdown. “Why do you have a gun?”

I look down at the weapon. “It’s Rowan’s. I just heard someone coming in, and I got spooked, so I grabbed it.”

“Okay…why don’t you give that to me?”

I hand him the gun and let out a long breath. “I need to talk to you, Sam.”

“You okay?”

“Not really. Can we go downstairs?”

His brows are furrowed. “Sure.”

I walk into the living room and sink down on the couch.

Sam sits down beside me and puts the gun on the coffee table. “What happened, Blake?”

I look at him. “I have to ask you something.”

“Okay. Anything.”

“You have to promise me you’ll be honest.”

“Of course.”

I watch his expression for any tell that he’s about to lie to me, but he seems more confused than anything. “That day you walked in on us on the couch…you know…”

Sam nods. “I remember.”

“Where did you and Rowan go?”

“We had to go see a client.”

“So you didn’t go to Frostbite and threaten Brett?”

The line between his brows deepens. “Where is this coming from?”

“I saw photos of you two. Brett showed me a photo of Rowan pointing a gun at him. He had it pressed just under Brett’s chin, and you were there too.” I dig out the rumpled photo from my pocket and hand it to Sam.

He pales.

He fucking pales.

The world around me dims. “Sam, you promised to tell me the truth. Did you go there with Rowan? Is this photo real?”

He swallows. “You should talk to Rowan.”

I jump to my feet. “I’m talking to you!”

“Look, I don’t know what to say—“

“The truth! Where did you really go that day?”

“Look, Blake—“

Outside, an engine rumbles. It’s that distinct revving sound that always alerted me of my father’s arrival.

I interrupt Sam midsentence. “Do you hear that?”

He frowns, listening. “Sounds like a motorbike.”

“It’s my godfather,” I whisper.

Something shifts in Sam’s face. All traces of emotion disappear as he picks the gun off the coffee table. “Stay here.”

My eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go see what they want.”

“Sam, they’re dangerous. They’re—“

“In a gang. I know. Rowan told me.” He’s already up and moving toward the door. When he gets halfway down the hall, he pauses and glances back at me. “Grab a knife. Just in case. If anyone comes in, use it.”

My blood runs cold. I get to my feet and run, blocking him from going outside. “Let me talk to him. He might just be checking on me.”

Sam pushes past me and walks over to the window by the front door. He pulls back the curtain. “There’s at least four of them. Armed. Three on motorcycles and one in a van. There might be more men in there.”

Panic crawls up my throat. “Let me call the police.”

“There’s no time,” Sam mutters. “Lock the door and call Rowan.”

And then, before I can stop him, he steps outside and slams the door behind him.

I turn the lock and run to the kitchen and grab a knife like he told me.

By the time I return to the window with my phone clutched in my hand, Sam’s already talking to the leader of the four men.

My godfather.

I dial Rowan with shaking fingers and wait for him to pick up.

I can’t hear what the men outside are saying, but their body language is easy enough to read. They’re not chatting about the weather.

What does Uncle Lyle want? Fear zips through me.

“Blake?”

I readjust my grip on the phone. “Rowan, where are you? Uncle Lyle is here. He’s brought men with him.”

“Fuck. Lock the door and stay inside.”

“Sam’s talking to them. He told me to call you.”

“I’m on my way. Less than ten minutes.”

“Hurry.”

Uncle Lyle says something to Sam, his expression a menacing scowl. Sam shakes his head. Uncle Lyle spits on the ground. Says something else. Sam shakes his head again.

And that’s when it happens. Everyone draws their guns.

A gasp escapes past my lips.

“Blake?” Rowan’s voice feels as if it’s coming from far away.

Four against one. Those aren’t good odds.

Two of the men pounce on Sam, disarming him within seconds.

“They’re fighting.”

“Shit. Okay, don’t hang up. Stay with me.”

I’ve never heard Rowan sound so scared.

“They’re hurting him.” My face is wet. The two men are kicking Sam. He’s trying to fight back, but he’s outnumbered. Uncle Lyle watches his men beat Sam for a few moments before his gaze slides toward the house.

“He’s coming here,” I breathe.

“Blake, I’m five minutes away.”

Five minutes is too long, because only seconds later, the doorknob rattles.

I take a step back. Then another.

Something hard slams against the door. Again. And again. Until it bursts open.

My phone falls out of my hand.

Uncle Lyle walks in, his men trailing behind him, two of them dragging Sam. He’s got blood dripping down his face.

“Blakey girl.” My godfather smiles at me. It’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.

That’s when I remember I’m holding a knife.

I don’t think as I run toward Uncle Lyle, slashing my knife at him, but before I know what’s happening, I’m on my back and pain is exploding through the back of my skull.

Sam screams something. I go in and out, my vision blurry.

One blink, I’m on the floor.

The next one, I’m on my knees beside Sam right in the middle of the hallway. My arms are bound.

“Blake?”

I moan in response, trying to keep my body from falling back down. I can’t seem to hold onto a thought.

Sam’s shoulder bumps against mine. He slides something into my hands—his car keys.

Does he want me to try to run to his car? I can’t. There’s no way for me to get past my godfather’s men. They’re blocking the door.

I slide the keys into the back pocket of my jeans.

“You okay?” he asks hoarsely.

I glance at him. His lip is gushing blood onto his T-shirt, and there’s a horribly resigned look in his eyes.

There’s a hard slap against my cheek, and it knocks me off-balance. The only thing that prevents me from falling over is Sam’s shoulder digging into my upper chest. “Keep them with you,” he whispers into my ear.

“You ran with a fucking knife at me?” my godfather hisses.

When I meet his gaze, it’s pure darkness. His eyes are dark pits, devoid of all light.

My blood is loud inside my ears. “What do you want?”

He grabs my chin. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. We need to get going.”

“What do we do with him?” one of his men asks, gesturing at Sam.

“He’s not important. Get rid of him.”

Horror floods through me. “No. Please, Uncle Lyle. No! Just tell me what you want, and we’ll—“

The gun goes off.

Beside me, Sam jerks.

“Sam! No, Sam!”

His body falls backward. There’s a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

I shriek so loud I can’t believe that sound is coming out of me.

And then everything goes black.