Chapter 2
Kane
Scotland is cold, wet, and miserable, but I’m willing to endure anything if it means we find Chiara safe and sound.
Milo sent a message to say Barrington landed at a small private airfield near Glasgow and was then ferried away in a convoy of vehicles.
He arrived at his country estate in the Trossachs an hour later.
The security footage from the airport confirms Barrington had Chiara with him. From what Milo says, she was barely conscious. Drugged, I assume.
At least she’s not been hurt. From the grainy screen grabs Milo sent us, she appears uninjured, which is a relief.
Angelo’s not said a word to me since we took off. He spent the flight dealing with phone calls from the lawyers, his sister, and Lorenzo. Fina’s staying at the mansion to care for Chiara’s dog and the cat. Angelo seemed to think Horatio could handle them, but I pointed out Horatio was allergic.
Luckily, Fina adores animals. It’s also an opportunity for her to spend quality time with Matteo without worrying about being caught by Lorenzo.
Two men wait for us in the hangar, both dressed in black tactical gear. The taller of the two has closely cropped dark hair and a beard, while the other has longer hair and tats peeking out of his shirt.
The bigger guy offers Angelo his hand. “Declan Kelly, and this is my little brother, Ronan.” Irish mafia.
I vaguely remember seeing the younger guy at the Serpent. From memory, he likes a good fight.
Ronan grins. He hums to himself while twirling a knife around. Milo assured Angelo they could provide solid backup. I have no idea what favors Angelo has promised in return, but that’s his problem. All I care about is finding Chiara.
“Milo’s done some digging, and it seems Barrington has a special event planned for tomorrow.”
We reach a large 4WD vehicle plastered in mud. Declan tosses our bags in the trunk and motions for us to climb in.
“What kind of event?”
“An event where the buy-in is a cool million.”
Angelo grunts, not impressed by the figure. It’s pocket change to him. The casino hotels make that kind of money in an hour.
The vehicle follows a winding road into the mountains. Thick clouds descend until I can barely see the tall pines that line the sides of the increasingly rough road.
Ronan turns to grin at us.
“Barrington fancies himself as a hunter, the kind of big-game hunter who posts photos of himself standing over a rhino or elephant.”
“So he’s hunting big game up here?” It makes no sense. There are no big predators in Scotland. Stags maybe. But I can’t see anyone paying a million bucks to hunt a fucking stag.
“Not that kind of game, no,” Declan clarifies before taking a left-hand turn down a narrow rutted track. “Barrington’s in the people-trafficking business. He makes his money from shipping women over from Eastern Europe and Africa and selling them to rich men who want pliable playthings.”
Angelo grimaces. He won’t touch that trade, even though his father has no qualms about it. We don’t deal in prostitution either.
“What does all this have to do with my wife?”
Ronan’s grin fades fast. “For reasons we can’t fathom, Barrington has brought your wife to his estate in time for his hunting event. The last event involved rich fuckers hunting captives. Mostly women, although Barrington sometimes throws in a few guys to make it more inclusive.”
“Hunting women?” Angelo’s growl is enough to chill the atmosphere in the vehicle by at least ten degrees, despite the hot air blasting out from the vents.
“Yeah. Disgusting, I know,” Declan agrees, and from the way his fists clench the steering wheel, I believe the guy.
“And my wife is now a part of this event?”
“It would seem so.”
I grip the edge of my seat at Declan’s words and focus on breathing. I can normally control my emotions when placed in stressful situations. It’s something I learned to do from a young age. If I reacted to my deadbeat father’s punishments, he hit me harder.
I soon figured out that the best way to shorten the beating was to pretend it didn’t bother me because it took away some of his enjoyment.
Beside me, Angelo is on the verge of losing it.
I hope these Irish fuckers have brought enough firepower to keep us entertained.
The thought of shooting some sadistic Brits makes my heart sing.
Nothing like a bit of retribution to get the blood pumping.
And in this climate, I need something to keep me warm.
“Jesus fuck, I’ve missed this place,” Ronan announces when we pull up outside what can best be described as a barn. The structure is barely standing, and from the looks of it, the roof has more holes than a sieve.
Declan doesn’t bother replying. He jumps out of the car and makes a phone call. Ten minutes later, a second vehicle rumbles out of the thick fog and stops a few feet away.
Angelo and I climb out to greet the newcomers. We’re outnumbered, but I’m not concerned. If these bastards try anything, they’ll regret it.
“Gentlemen, meet our two best guys, Ash and Connor.” Declan gestures at the two men, who both grunt.
“Connor is the better-looking one,” Ronan informs us. “The ladies love him. Not my wife, I hasten to add, because she has more discerning taste, but all other ladies.”
“Our wife.” Declan glares at his brother, while my jaw drops. Do these guys share their wife? Jesus. It seems like polyamory is a thing these days. I’m still struggling to come to terms with the idea that the Russian guy, Orliov, has to share his wife with four other men.
While Angelo and I once had an arrangement, he’s been very clear that arrangement doesn’t extend to Chiara. Not that I care what he thinks.
“I’m pretty sure your wife will fall madly in love with Connor,” Ronan announces as Ash unloads weapons from his vehicle. They’ve brought a decent selection of semi-automatics, sniper rifles, and even a fucking rocket launcher.
Ronan picks up a crossbow and cackles like a lunatic while Angelo grinds his teeth.
“I hear your wife ran away straight after the wedding. Was that before or after she saw your tiny cock?”
Declan smacks his brother across the head. “Jesus, did our ma not teach you manners?” It has no effect on the asshole Irishman.
“What? Thea’s been speculating in the girls’ group chat. I peeked while my pixie was taking a nap after I fucked her into a coma. They have a bet running that Romeo here has a micropeen, which is why his bird ran away.”
I chuckle despite the gravity of our situation. Thankfully Angelo is too dumbfounded to offer his point of view.
“It was an arranged marriage,” I cough out eventually. “Chiara wasn’t pleased, but she’s fine with it now.” There’s no point in muddying the water. If these guys think Chiara hates Angelo, they might not be so quick to hand her over when we track her down.
“For fuck’s sake, shut the fuck up, Ronan.”
Ronan shrugs, unrepentant. “Well if she wants a big cock, Connor’s her man.”
“Fuck off, there’s nothing wrong with my cock!” Ash’s jaw clenches in fury.
Connor slaps his friend on the shoulder and grins. “Not as big as mine though, mate.”
“If anyone but me touches my wife, I will fucking gut them. Are we clear?” I know Angelo well enough to know he’s not lying.
“I get a free pass,” I interject, deciding to put my cards on the table. Everyone turns to stare at me in surprise. “Just so you know.”
Ronan chuckles before grabbing some bolts for his crossbow.
“Gut as many people as you like, dude,” he tells Angelo with a wink. “Petunia loves to chow down on guts.”
The cheese sandwich I ate on the plane threatens to come back up, Exorcist-style. Fuck me, is Petunia his wife?
Have we somehow aligned ourselves with a cannibal hillbilly cult?
Declan stares up at the sky while muttering something under his breath.
“Petunia’s his pig,” he tells me with a deep and heartfelt sigh. “We use the pigs to get rid of bodies. It’s a surprisingly effective disposal method.”
Both Angelo and I exchange relieved glances.
“Petunia’s expecting babies again.” Ronan slides a selection of vicious knives into various holsters. “Do you like pigs?”
“I like pork,” I tell him. He’s not offended in the slightest.
“You wait until you watch them crunch down on legs and arms. I bet you’ll be a convert then.”
Bile bubbles up my esophagus at the image he paints. I seriously doubt it, but I decide to keep my thoughts to myself.