His Mafia Prince
Chapter 96: Life or Death

Chapter 96: Life or Death

(ARLO)

"Fucker." I glower at Miles. "I could have broken my arm."

Miles smirks. "Oh, well."

"I was almost forgetting. Why should I expect to be treated well by a low-life thug type?"

He rolls over and presents me with his back. "You aren’t exactly an upstanding citizen."

I hesitate for a bit before replying to him. "Why aren’t you sleeping? Shouldn’t you be thinking of a way of getting us out of here?"

"I am thinking."

I should even be grateful that Miles is ignoring me instead of trying to kill me for how I treated him earlier. With us being trapped down here he could as easily do whatever he likes with me. He’s more burly and tougher than me. Then again I don’t have my cattle prod on me. If he wanted to make me suffer the way I made him suffer, he would have little trouble doing it.

I glance around the dark dank room feeling dejected. I’d like to think that Miles will figure out a way to get us both out of here, but I know that there’s no way out. My father used this cellar for decades to hold and torture people. None of them ever came up with an escape plan and actually managed to escape the cellar. Even now as I stand in the middle of the room, I can still smell the rancid stench of urine and blood. I’m angry. The uncouth way that Dalton just left me down here is infuriating.

Dalton was right about one thing, however. I was so transfixed on my revenge plan that I barely noticed that he would take that chance to make a move on me. My father did. He knew Dalton was one power-hungry bastard but never once had I suspected that he would turn on me. If I make it out of this dungeon alive, which is very much unlikely at this point, that fucker is going to regret how he treated me.

I rub and blow on my chilled hands. I try to not fixate on my throbbing face and lips. My thoughts go to Marcus. I hope that he is alright. He was with me when Dalton and his goons hijacked me. One of Dalton’s thugs jammed a knife into his stomach when they arrived at the cabin. Now, in worried that he might be dead.

I’ve known Marcus long enough that I consider him family. When my cousin showed up, I had no idea that he would try and attack us both. We let our guard down. Now look at us.

The biting cold sinks deep in my bones. Part of me is tempted to climb back on the cot so that Miles and I can share body heat. I could try, but chances are that he will knock me to the ground again. Fucking asshole. Why does he get to lie on the cot while I stand here shivering and rattling like a leaf? I grit my teeth and move towards the cot. I notice how Miles’s breathing is even and slow. I think that he is asleep. How can he afford to sleep when we are in this mess?

It’s like he senses my proximity because he turns and looks at me warily. He tenses like he wants to fight then glowers at me. "What’s your business?"

"I thought you were sleeping," I say quietly.

He sits up and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. "I’m not sleeping. In trying to think of a way to get out of here." He sighs then rubs his palms together to warm them up. "Can you fight?"

"Of course I can."

He looks up and down at me. "You don’t strike me like someone who’d fight."

"Well, I can. My father insisted that I take a martial arts class. I can throw a fist. I know how to fight and I have a black belt in taekwondo."

"Is that any real way to fight?" He asks, squinting at me. "Or is it some artsy fartsy styles that rich spoilt kids like you take to find themselves?"

I scowl and retort. "I can fight. If that’s what you’re asking."

"Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking. Sophisticated breathing techniques aren’t going to get us out of this mess." He gets up and we face each other.

His features are hardened and I get the idea that he is worried. The fact that he is worried unsettles me. He was my captive and never once had he made me think that he was worried. Yet now, I sense that he is somehow uneasy. Does he think we have no way out? Does he think we are done for? I hope not, because if a guy as tough as Miles is worried, then I will surely feel hopeless.

"What do we do?" I ask softly. "Getting out of here isn’t an option, so is there anything that we can do?"

He doesn’t answer, instead, he walks over to the boxes stuffed with old clothing. I watch him as he grabs armfuls of dusty clothes and carries them over to the cot. He drops them to the ground and goes back to scoop some more. I watch him confused. I have no idea what he is doing, but if it will get us out then he better do it. Once he’s brought a sizeable pile of clothing, he holds his waist and then meets my confused gaze.

"They already know that we are down here, so we need to make them think we are in the room." He grabs a coat from. the pile as he speaks. He then shakes it roughly. "Now we...are going to stuff this coat with clothing and make it look like a person."

"So we’ll make this look like a person and place it on the cot for them to assume that we are still here sleeping?" I ask, his strategy slowly dawning in on me.

"Yes. When in reality," he asks, striding back to the boxes. "We will be lying. Waiting."

He reaches into a box full of fishing poles then turns and faces me. He grabs one pole that looks snapped off. It looks half the size of a normal pole would be. He laughs gruffly then says, I know this doesn’t look like much, but with just enough force, it can do damage. We can try impaling them from the eye to the throat to see if it works.

"Okay," I agree, shaken but trying hard to not show my revulsion. I’d appreciate it if Miles didn’t underestimate my strength more than he already does. Honestly, I’m not a violent person by nature. But life in the Mafia forced me to be vicious by nature. I was pretty brave with the cattle prod in my hands. But the idea of shoving a fishing pole into someone’s eye sockets appals me. It makes me want to puke.

Maybe something about my expression gives me away. I know that because of the impatient way Miles just exhaled. "This is life or death, Arlo."

"I know." I snap, hating the way he can read me like an open book.

"It’s us against them. I need to know now if I can count on you at the time they come back. If you’re going to freak out then forget it. I will do it alone if have to.

I curl my lip, annoyed. "I’m not freaking out. Usually, I wouldn’t relish the idea of shoving a fishing pole into somebody’s eye sockets, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it. If my life depends on it then I will gladly shove their eyes into their skulls."

"I got to trust you if we are doing this."

The idea of him trusting me is ridiculous. I can’t help but laugh. "Then I guess we are fucked."