17. Salvatore
17
SALVATORE
I keep my gaze upward, not sadistic enough to look down as I jump back onto the neighboring balcony, then enter the dark empty bedroom adjacent to Ivy’s makeshift cell.
Matthew pushes from his seated position on the floor. “Where is she?”
“What happened?” Remy follows.
“We need to find another way to get her out.” I pull my phone from my pants pocket and text Bishop an update. “She’s too scared to jump.”
“That’s surprising,” Remy drawls. “Who wouldn’t want to jump from balcony to balcony seventeen stories above ground level?”
I glare at him and shove my cell back in my pants pocket. “I didn’t hear you come up with a better alternative.”
“That’s because there isn’t one.” Matthew locks eyes with me, clearly trying to reiterate his statement with a pointed stare. “The balcony is the only way. We can’t make waves with this. Lorenzo will fucking kill us if the cartel finds out we’re responsible.”
Fuck Lorenzo. He’s gone soft.
He’s been pussyfooting around Gabriel and his band of merry sex traffickers since we arrived in Baltimore. If my uncle is still committed to me taking the helm then a fucking pedestal of soft-cock management isn’t how my shit is going to roll.
But Remy has Olivia now, and Matthew has Layla and a step-kid, so they don’t want to risk their lives and futures for yada, yada, yada .
My brothers have become as fucking flaccid as Lorenzo. Thus the basis for the bandanas, the untraceable stolen getaway car, and the questionable plan to escape via a death-defying height.
“We could sedate her and cart her across the balconies somehow,” Matthew suggests. “She wouldn’t even need to know what’s going on.”
“Why didn’t I think of that.” Remy holds up an imaginary drink. “Here, Ivy, have this random beverage I prepared earlier. It’s full of goodie yum-yums and not suspicious at all.”
Matthew glowers. “Either brainstorm a helpful suggestion of your own or shut the fuck up.”
“Helpful as in problematic and dumb as shit, like yours? Or…” He raises his brows in question.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and pace the carpeted floor, the thud of Latin music from next door giving me a goddamn headache.
“Given the noise, why don’t we just cut a hole through the wall so she can step right through?” Remy asks.
“Construction work is louder than that, fuck-stain.” Matthew starts toward the balcony door. “Let me go over there and put in more of an effort to convince her to jump.”
“No.” I hold out an arm, blocking his path. “She said she can’t, so she’s not.”
He stares at me, scrutinizing through the shadows. “You’re awfully amenable to a woman you barely know.”
I clench my jaw. “No. I just don’t want you fucking this up. We’ve already wasted enough of my time.”
“We could create a bridge of some sort.” Remy stalks to the bedroom door, grabs the edge of the wood in one hand, then palms the middle, as if testing it for strength. “We could unscrew this from the hinges.”
“That isn’t hard wood.” Matthew turns on his heel to join him. “My guess is it’s hollow core. Would it even hold her weight?”
“It wouldn’t need to for more than a few seconds.” Remy swings the door back and forth. “Two steps is all she needs.”
Two risky fucking steps.
“Do either of you have a screwdriver?” Matthew claims the door off our brother and does the same pressure test in the middle of the wood, as if he’s a master carpenter who’s spent his life in the company of fine lumber.
“Yeah.” Remy steps back and digs into his pants pocket. “Just give me a sec. I always have one of those stored up my ass for special occasions like these.”
Matthew glares over his shoulder. “‘No’ would’ve sufficed.”
“Then no, motherfucker.” Remy yanks his hand from his pocket. “I didn’t pack a fucking screwdriver in the few minutes’ notice I had that we were about to infiltrate a cartel hideout.”
“Why the fuck are you being such a prick tonight?” Matthew attempts to pull the door from the hinges using the knob as leverage.
“Because Olivia is going through hell worrying about Ivy, and watching her suffer through yet another disastrous situation is getting old. She deserves a fucking break.”
“Keep your voice down,” I warn.
I should’ve done this on my own. I can’t fucking think with that damn music and these assholes yapping.
“Why don’t I just go back to the parking garage and get a screwdriver from the car? There has to be one with the jack.” Remy makes for the hall.
“No,” I snap. “Getting from the elevator to the inside of this apartment was bad enough the first time when nobody but the cartel are meant to be on this floor. If you’re seen, we won’t get another chance to get her out. Check the kitchen instead. Someone might have left something useful in one of the cupboards.”
“And what are you going to do?” he demands.
I’m going to stand here, trying to hold my fucking temper while I grow more incensed at how Ivy is trapped on the other side of the wall while my brothers act like fucking third graders.
I open my mouth, prepared to launch a threat that will not only make him comply but have him begging forgiveness when Matthew cuts in.
“Just fucking look.” He pulls out his cell, turns on the torchlight, then places the device in the chest pocket of his suit jacket and shines it on the door in front of him. “I’ll see if one of my blades will work.” He retrieves a glinting knife from a sheath strapped to his wrist.
Remy huffs and storms from the room.
I keep pacing, failing to come up with a tangible plan.
I could call in a bomb threat, but the cartel are likely to keep Ivy locked in her room despite the danger. Same goes if we start a fire and set off the alarms. The only option is the balcony, and she’s not interested in playing nice.
“This is bullshit.” I scrub a rough hand over my mouth.
“You sure seem to be taking it seriously.” Matthew pauses his bladed screwdriver hack job and turns to me, the torchlight beaming me in the eyes from his pocket. “Do you have a thing for her?”
“Who? Ivy ?” I scoff. She was a good lay. A fucking memorable one. And yes, that mouth of hers is equally tempting as it is entertaining, but that about sums things up. “What I have is a need to get her out so we can get the fuck home. It’s not like Olivia is going to let it go. Which means Remy won’t either.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I fucking did,” I snarl. “And if you don’t get that torchlight out of my goddamn eyes, I swear?—”
“I know the signs, brother.” He turns off the torch, blinding me with the darkness. “You’re not the first to fall for someone unconventional. I’m just surprised you fell at all. Do you even know her?”
“No, Matthew. I don’t know the fucking woman.” Not mentally at least. I know how she smells, the way she moans, and how well she takes my dick. I also know that when she walked out of that bathroom and found me masked and sitting on her bed, it was horror that bled into her features. She was shocked, yet not entirely surprised. As if finding a threatening man in her room was anticipated. And I know that shit makes me fucking furious. “Hurry up and get that fucking door off its hinges.”
Thudded steps echo down the hall. “I found a butter knife.” Remy enters the room holding the cutlery out to Matthew. “There was also a lightbulb and an empty Snickers wrapper if they’re of any use.”
I turn my back to them, my anger increasing. We’re wasting time on that goddamn door when she doesn’t even want to step foot on the balcony.
“What would it take to cut the electricity to the building?” I crack my knuckles, the tension in my limbs growing by the minute. “No lights. No videos. No elevators. If we cause enough confusion, they might leave her there?—”
A scream cuts through the heavy thump of music, the sharp feminine shriek guttural.
I stiffen.
“Was that—” Remy doesn’t finish the question.
He doesn’t need to. We all know it was her. There’s no fucking doubt.
I stalk for the balcony.
“Don’t do it.” Matthew lunges after me, grabbing me by the arm. “Whatever’s going on in there has probably happened a hundred times before. Once more won’t break her.”
Once more won’t break her?
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I turn on him.
“He’s right.” Remy approaches. “We don’t know how many of the cartel are in there. If you get caught, you’re dead, and we’re sitting fucking ducks.”
I yank my arm free and continue toward the balcony. “You’ll survive.”
They bump past me, blocking my path.
“It was one scream,” Matthew snarls. “It could’ve been a fucking nightmare for all we know.”
“You think she’s sleeping?” I get in his face. “With the music blaring and her nerves shot to shit while she waits to be rescued?” I’d told her to do as much, yet the request was nothing but lip service. A weak attempt to placate my guilt for leaving her trapped. “Get out of my fucking way.”
“Hey.” Matthew raises his hands in surrender, eying me like the cornered beast I fucking embody. “Easy. You need to think this through.”
There’s no fucking time.
“If you go storming in there and catch one of them attacking her, what do you think they’re going to do?” His tone holds sickening calm, transitioning from his prized carpenter role into a crisis mediator.
“They’ll put a gun to her head,” Remy cuts in. “They could break her fucking neck before you even stepped foot inside.”
“We want her out alive, right?” Matthew holds my gaze. “That’s the end game here, isn’t it? So make peace with the injustice, swallow the rage, and promise yourself you’ll get her the help she needs once she’s safe. But for now, focus on helping me with this goddamn door.”