Property of the Mafia

[29] Start of Disaster

This is the first chapter for Part 2.

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I grimaced, shuffling about uncomfortably in the small minivan. Luckily Damon... err, Frey had shown me Marcel and Ares leaving safely, though I hadn't the slightest idea of Arc's current status. I only pleaded that he was safe and swore to get back to him, somehow.

And still, I had a suspicion that Marcel and Ares' release had some hidden conditions that I was not aware of---otherwise I would've seen them by now, considering how stubborn they were. In normal circumstances one would hope that they had come to rescue me, but I had other things on my mind. I would have felt more relieved if they had gone after Arc; at least  my life was not in danger as long as I had the Tresora.

Leon and Alyssa were both still missing, which was stressing me to the point that I had excruciating stomach pains. Alyssa had been so direly injured, and Leon was just---well, he was kind of brash at times like these, (a little like me in that aspect, unfortunately), so I was extremely worried for his safety too. Or his judgment, at least.

Currently I was being held prisoner by Frey, though apparently I wasn't alone. I had been loaded into the back of some sketchy minivan with a number of other younger men, one of which looked strikingly familiar... and not in the buddy/pal sort of way, but a seething rival or ruthless enemy. I was positive it was not Tarra though, thank goodness.

The drug deal, well, I didn't know all that many details, though I had overheard some of the others in the van discussing it earlier. I had been correct---they were trading the Bitter Nightshade illegally in large quantities.

Though I had tried to find out who the exchange was with, the respondents had always answered with venomous glares and I would retreat back to my lonesome self. Clearly the situation at hand was way too serious for me to even think about getting involved---we really were entering the Underworld now... Whether I liked it or not. 

The van suddenly came to a screeching halt, sending me and a couple of the smaller guys flying towards the front of the car. I tried to stand up, though being handcuffed wasn't exactly helping as I leaned against the backseat for support, only to be tripped by some jerk who thought he was a king.

Unlike all the other guys I had met so far, he actually did look like a typical mobster, or more so a gangster.   He was a larger, broad, muscular man with wide shoulders and a cross-shaped scar on his right cheek. He was wearing a beanie, so his hazel eyes were piercing and unhidden by anything. He glared down at me and the couple other guys, sneering as he kicked one directly in the gut.

"Hey, punks. Move outta the way, would ya? Pulling funny business like that is f*cking disgusting here." He snorted, kicking the man so hard he rolled over to his other side. He gasped in pain, his handcuffed hands clutching his stomach.

Though I would normally protest, I decided not to make a scene. I gritted my teeth and held my feelings back, struggling to sit up.

"Kitten, you alright? Kinda weird to see a woman here. What'd you get busted for?" He asked, crouching down next to me as I tried to escape his penetrating gaze.

"I didn't get busted for anything." I hissed angrily, leaning against the side of the car. "Why'd the stupid van stop, anyways?" I grumbled under my breath, trying to see through the front window but failing to see past the numerous heads blocking the view.

"Dunno. Probably hit something. Or someone. Or we're making a pit stop." The man continued, his little outbursts sudden and startling me each time he spoke.

The back doors of the van suddenly burst open by a couple of uniformed men, both looking stern and completely worn out. Though they didn't say anything, they gave a quick hand motion, and suddenly all the captives from the back of the van hopped out casually, still handcuffed, as they merrily walked into what seemed to be some sort of pit stop. Well then, our jerk had been correct, then.