Shadow Rider
Page 172
As the cars drove through the heavily guarded gates under the archway, Francesca spotted at least ten more guards roaming around the property. Those were the ones she could see. Her heart sank. Four guards at the gate and ten more roaming just the grounds in the front, how many more were there? Even if Stefano brought his brothers with him, the chances of all of them being able to slip through that many guards unscathed seemed nearly impossible.
They drove right up to the front door. Harold’s finger bit deep into Francesca’s arm as he yanked her out of the car. As she stumbled out, the dark clouds above their heads opened up and slammed them with rain. It poured down in long silvery streaks, falling from the sky to hit the ground in great splashes. Harold swore and dragged her up the two steps to the wide porch with its marble columns and overhead roof. Just those few steps out in the open had them soaked from the downpour.
Francesca looked back toward the other car. Emmanuelle was pulled out of the car and shoved hard against the hood, Marc behind her. Her hands were zip-tied in front of her and clearly he thought she was helpless. He reached around and caught her breast, squeezing hard through the open jacket, humping her from behind while the others watched and laughed.
Harold paused to watch as well, grinning and rubbing his crotch. “I get a turn at that,” he announced to Francesca. “And if Barry doesn’t kill you first, I’ll be taking my turn with you, too.”
Emmanuelle kicked up hard between Marc’s legs, driving the heel of her boot into his balls and then slamming her head backward to smash his nose again. He screamed, a high-pitched shriek that had his friends howling with glee as he dropped straight to the ground. Arnold, the man who had driven the car Francesca has been in, bent over Marc to try to help him to his feet. Marc shoved at his hand and continued to writhe on the ground.
Jimmy stepped over him and grabbed Emmanuelle’s arm. “Come on, wildcat. Let’s get you out of here before he can move. He’ll shoot you, and we’ve got plans.”
If anything, the rain came down harder, making it difficult to see through the silvery bands. The wind howled an ominous warning, sending the sheets of rain straight at the house. It blew so hard the windows rattled and the porch itself was instantly drenched in the downpour.
Harold cursed more and thrust the door open, nearly running through it and dragging Francesca with him. “I hate this fucking place,” he snarled. He hadn’t taken the time to wipe the soles of his boots and he nearly slipped on the marble tiles. He had to let go of Francesca in order to keep from falling.
She stopped where she was, just inside the door, holding it open so she could keep her eye on Emme. Jimmy was hurrying her up the steps, head down to keep the rain from his glasses. Francesca didn’t have her hands free, but she stuck out her foot and tripped Jimmy as he hurried inside. Stepping close to Emme, she looked her over carefully for signs of abuse.
Stefano would lose his mind if he could see his sister. Emme was very small, and the men had clearly slammed her around. One eye was showing signs of swelling shut and there were two more cuts on her face, one on her right cheekbone where someone had hit her with a fist and the other on her chin.
“I’m okay,” Emmanuelle assured her. “Just getting to know them.” She flashed a wan smile. Her bound hands were up by her breasts her and her jacket was once more in place, covering her tattered shirt and what lay beneath it. “He’ll come, Francesca.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Because Stefano would walk into a lion’s den for the people he loved, or the ones that needed his protection—or justice.
They were taken through the great room, and it was enormous. All marble floors and hanging crystal chandeliers. The furniture was velvet, and a gleaming grand piano sat at an angle, dominating one side of the room. A man played, the music swelling through the house, a haunting melody that seemed obscene as a backdrop for what Barry and his men had planned. The piano player looked up and winked as they were shoved past him. His leering grin revealed two metal teeth shaped like fangs. Francesca recognized him as one of Barry’s immediate crew that had destroyed her apartment when she lived in California. Everyone called him Fang for obvious reasons.
They moved through a wide hallway with wainscoting and arched doorways opening into other various rooms. Two men played pool and both straightened from where they were bent over the table and smirked at the women, all the while rubbing their crotches grotesquely, deliberately showing both Francesca and Emmanuelle what was in store for them. She knew them from San Francisco when they’d helped destroy her apartments. Denny and Si were brothers and notoriously nasty.
They drove right up to the front door. Harold’s finger bit deep into Francesca’s arm as he yanked her out of the car. As she stumbled out, the dark clouds above their heads opened up and slammed them with rain. It poured down in long silvery streaks, falling from the sky to hit the ground in great splashes. Harold swore and dragged her up the two steps to the wide porch with its marble columns and overhead roof. Just those few steps out in the open had them soaked from the downpour.
Francesca looked back toward the other car. Emmanuelle was pulled out of the car and shoved hard against the hood, Marc behind her. Her hands were zip-tied in front of her and clearly he thought she was helpless. He reached around and caught her breast, squeezing hard through the open jacket, humping her from behind while the others watched and laughed.
Harold paused to watch as well, grinning and rubbing his crotch. “I get a turn at that,” he announced to Francesca. “And if Barry doesn’t kill you first, I’ll be taking my turn with you, too.”
Emmanuelle kicked up hard between Marc’s legs, driving the heel of her boot into his balls and then slamming her head backward to smash his nose again. He screamed, a high-pitched shriek that had his friends howling with glee as he dropped straight to the ground. Arnold, the man who had driven the car Francesca has been in, bent over Marc to try to help him to his feet. Marc shoved at his hand and continued to writhe on the ground.
Jimmy stepped over him and grabbed Emmanuelle’s arm. “Come on, wildcat. Let’s get you out of here before he can move. He’ll shoot you, and we’ve got plans.”
If anything, the rain came down harder, making it difficult to see through the silvery bands. The wind howled an ominous warning, sending the sheets of rain straight at the house. It blew so hard the windows rattled and the porch itself was instantly drenched in the downpour.
Harold cursed more and thrust the door open, nearly running through it and dragging Francesca with him. “I hate this fucking place,” he snarled. He hadn’t taken the time to wipe the soles of his boots and he nearly slipped on the marble tiles. He had to let go of Francesca in order to keep from falling.
She stopped where she was, just inside the door, holding it open so she could keep her eye on Emme. Jimmy was hurrying her up the steps, head down to keep the rain from his glasses. Francesca didn’t have her hands free, but she stuck out her foot and tripped Jimmy as he hurried inside. Stepping close to Emme, she looked her over carefully for signs of abuse.
Stefano would lose his mind if he could see his sister. Emme was very small, and the men had clearly slammed her around. One eye was showing signs of swelling shut and there were two more cuts on her face, one on her right cheekbone where someone had hit her with a fist and the other on her chin.
“I’m okay,” Emmanuelle assured her. “Just getting to know them.” She flashed a wan smile. Her bound hands were up by her breasts her and her jacket was once more in place, covering her tattered shirt and what lay beneath it. “He’ll come, Francesca.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Because Stefano would walk into a lion’s den for the people he loved, or the ones that needed his protection—or justice.
They were taken through the great room, and it was enormous. All marble floors and hanging crystal chandeliers. The furniture was velvet, and a gleaming grand piano sat at an angle, dominating one side of the room. A man played, the music swelling through the house, a haunting melody that seemed obscene as a backdrop for what Barry and his men had planned. The piano player looked up and winked as they were shoved past him. His leering grin revealed two metal teeth shaped like fangs. Francesca recognized him as one of Barry’s immediate crew that had destroyed her apartment when she lived in California. Everyone called him Fang for obvious reasons.
They moved through a wide hallway with wainscoting and arched doorways opening into other various rooms. Two men played pool and both straightened from where they were bent over the table and smirked at the women, all the while rubbing their crotches grotesquely, deliberately showing both Francesca and Emmanuelle what was in store for them. She knew them from San Francisco when they’d helped destroy her apartments. Denny and Si were brothers and notoriously nasty.
