Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
OWEN
A s soon as we arrived home, Laya fed Romeo, then I bathed my little buddy, allowing her the time to shower. My skin was itching to lock myself away in my office, but my girl needed me. No sooner than she wrapped her soft lips around my cock and began suckling, did her eyes close and her breathing even out.
Slowly, I slipped from her mouth and covered her with the bedsheet, ignoring my semihard cock as I zipped up the fly of my jeans and grabbed one of the baby monitors to take into my office.
I called Tate, and he and Mase were at my house within twenty minutes.
Blowing out a deep breath, I survey my friends. “I’m not sure what we’re going to see on here.” I point toward the computer screen while keeping my attention on Tate, knowing this could affect him deeply, especially after discovering his wife was kept a prisoner in a cage that provided entertainment to some sick, twisted fucks. My best friend had to witness her misery, and I want to know if he’s strong enough to endure it again.
He clamps his jaw shut, his teeth grind, and his nostrils flare, then he gives me a firm nod toward the computer.
I press play, and watch as crackling appears on the screen, then it slowly clears, and I take in the scene. Carlos is in a warehouse, and the sight of him has my hands tightening into fists, wishing I could band them around his throat and rip him apart. This man married my girl and gave me the greatest gift in my son, but he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s dealing with shady characters that could have used Laya and Romeo as leverage, and not for the first time, I wish he was alive, just to personally extinguish him how he deserved.
A truck appears, followed by a black car, and out steps a man I know to be the don of a Mafia family on the West Coast. Benito Carrera, a man known to be a monster and a human trafficker for his own sick amusement. My stomach clenches at the thought and anger burns through me like poison.
My eyes scan the screen as I wait to see if his heir, Azrael, emerges from the car like his usual shadow, but he doesn’t, and while that seems odd, I’ve no time to consider it because another man appears from the office behind Carlos.
I zoom into the image.
“Who is that?” Mase leans over me.
“Looks like Harrison Davis, the police commissioner.” I lick my dry lips, knowing why the memory card holds such value. Carlos entrusted me with this for multiple reasons, and I can imagine one of those reasons is to keep this as leverage to protect Laya and Romeo.
The truck door opens, and Carlos steps forward. Bile clogs in my throat at the way he pulls a woman out of the vehicle by her hair, and I close my eyes, knowing how he’s handled Laya.
Did he give her the same cruel treatment?
“Fucker,” Tate spits out, and I open my eyes to witness Carlos drag the girl across the floor. Then he delivers a swift kick to her stomach, causing her to cry out in agony.
“What the hell are we going to do with this?” Mase waves frantically toward the screen.
Tate turns to face him. “We need to keep a copy, whatever we do.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“No?” Tate’s eyes flit over my face.
“No. It has software embedded in it that will show that we have a copy.”
“The police commissioner, Owen. That’s the fucking police commissioner.” Mase’s voice becomes higher as he paces. “This is bigger than us. So much fucking bigger. We’re meant to deal with advertising and shit, not traffickers.”
I roll my eyes as he unravels.
“I know people that can help,” I try to reassure him.
Tate scoffs, and I turn my attention back to him. “You know people. Just what the fuck kind of security does our company provide, Owen?” He crosses his arms over his chest as he glares at me. “We never signed up for this shit when we invested.”
Anger boils my veins. “So, let me get this straight. You’re okay with me handling the security aspect of the business when it suits. When your girl needs rescuing”—I point toward Tate with fury—“I can use my contacts then, and not to mention, when your sister needs help. But now you’ve decided this is all too much and you’re questioning me?”
Tate lowers his head and shakes it, his shoulders deflate. “You’re right.” Then he tips his head up toward the ceiling. “Fuck. You’re right.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “It makes me wish I could have killed him myself, ya know?” He nods toward the screen, and the emotion in his tone has my anger diminishing, and I agree.
“I know. Trust me, I know.” Then I scrub a hand over my head. “When I ordered him to die, I should have made it more brutal.” Regret floods me, knowing how I could have done things differently and could have slaughtered the piece of shit who hurt Laya with the most brutal form of torture, yet I let him die so easily. It was Nico Garcia who assured me he deserved a quick death, that he treated Laya and Romeo well. The man practically pleaded with me to grant it.
Death was a privilege for a monster.