Part 3

Jake

Jake parked his truck at the gas station and climbed out. He stretched his arms over his head and started pumping gas into his truck. He’d been driving for hours, and he was on the outskirts of the city. He rubbed his hands over his face and watched the black SUV as it pulled in at the pump next to his.

The Chinese man that exited the car looked around wearily. He was nervous, jittery and he looked guilty as hell. Jake couldn’t help but keep watching him. He didn’t need any more bullshit and he hoped this guy wasn’t a tweaker intent on robbing the store.

In prison, he’d learned how to read people, situations, and he could smell trouble a mile away. This man was trouble. He had no problem killing. His aversion to blood had been rectified in the small cells he’d lived in for the past 5 years.

The man looked around again and walked inside the store. Jake looked toward the SUV when he heard a noise. A small face was pressed against the rear window, mouth taped shut and his hands bound by zip ties. His eyes were wide as he slapped his hands against the glass.

Jake took a step closer to him and pulled the rear door open. The little boy started moving toward him and tried to speak through the tape. Jake didn’t think twice. He grabbed the boy and turned around. The Chinese man stood right behind him, a gun pressed into his abdomen.

“Let go of the child.”

Jake let go of the boy and stared at the man in front of him. He wasn’t scared, he was pissed off. This man was ruining his day. He grabbed his hand and twisted the gun around and pressed his finger down on the Chinese man’s finger, shooting him twice.

The faint popping sound of the gun was barely audible and Jake held him up and moved him to the back seat of the SUV. He looked at the little boy and held his hand toward him. “Come with me. I’ll get you home.”

He carried the boy to his truck and cut the zip ties from around his hands. The boy pulled the tape off his mouth and hissed. “Motherfucker.” Jake huffed out a laugh, shocked at the boy’s language.

He rubbed his hands over his short buzzed hair. He couldn’t call the cops. He literally just got out of prison. The little boy was watching him intently, no fear in his eyes.

“No cops. Take me home, my father will take care of this,” he said. Jake frowned and the little boy looked determined as hell. “We never call the cops.”

“Why not?” Jake asked.

“My father is Dominic Rose Vittori,” he said, and Jake closed his eyes.

Of all the people in the world, he had to save that man’s child. He knew exactly who Dominic Vittori was. He understood why the boy said not to involve the cops.

“Yeah, your father will take care of this. What’s your address?” Jake asked him.

Jake went back to the SUV and wiped his fingerprints from the door handle and kicked some of the loose  dirt over the few drops of blood on the ground. The boy kept watching him with interest as he walked back to his truck and started it.

“Saint Vittori,” the boy introduced himself. He held his hand out, and Jake shook it.

“Jake Savage.” The boy nodded his head, appearing much more mature than he should have been.

“Were you in prison?” Saint asked him as Jake pulled away from the gas station.

“Why do you ask?” 

“You wiped your fingerprints from the door, and you don’t exactly look like a foot soldier.” The kid was observant. He’d expect nothing less given who his father was. Dominic Vittori was a dangerous man and his son was fucking hardcore for a little boy.

“Yes, in prison they called me Wrath,” Jake said, and glanced over at Saint.

“I like it.”

Jake drove for an hour in the opposite direction of where he’d been going when Saint asked him to pull off to the side of the road, a few miles before they reached the house.

“You’ll need to call my father. If you pull up at the gate they’ll shoot you, especially if they see me in the car with you,” Saint said.

“Give me his number,” Jake said, and took his phone from the cup holder.

A large SUV pulled to a stop in front of Jake’s truck. Two men exited the vehicle, guns drawn and aimed at him. Saint shook his head and chuckled. “That’s Hudson and Cooper.”

Dominic Vittori got out of the SUV, and strode toward his truck purposefully. Jake’s door was opened, and one of the men motioned for him to get out. He lifted his hands from the steering wheel and got out of his truck while the other man got Saint out.

“You saved my son?” Dominic asked him.

“He saved himself, I just drove the truck,” Jake said, and the man grinned at him.

“His name’s Wrath,” Saint said, and Dominic gave him a look.

“Hudson, drive back with Wrath,” Dominic said, and took Saint’s hand.

Jake glanced at Hudson, he’d been the one that had his gun on him when he climbed out of the truck. The man with the wild eyes. Dominic lifted Saint into the SUV and the door was closed.

“Wrath, huh, that’s an interesting name,” Hudson said, as they both climbed into his truck.

“Got it in prison,” Jake said.

Hudson shifted in his seat and smiled. “Ah, prison. I have fond memories of prison.”

Jake shook his head, and drove behind the SUV. Hudson seemed relaxed and Jake relaxed a little too. If they’d wanted to kill him, they would have. He exhaled a breath and glanced at Hudson again.

“Don’t look at me like that, Wrath, I’m easily swayed,” Hudson said, and barked out a laugh. “You’re certainly pretty enough.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jake asked him. He’d noticed his wild eyes, the cut of his expensive suit, and the aura of ‘don’t fuck with me’. If he had to guess, he’d say the man was a little unhinged, which was probably a good thing in his line of work.

Hudson grinned and shook his head. “Too many things to list. Listen, relax, you saved the kid.”

“I’m not worried about dying, I just don’t want to die today. I have shit to do,” Jake said, and grinned at Hudson. He felt oddly comfortable with the man.