Chapter Nine
Hayes
My head snapped to the side, pain radiating through my jaw and up to my temple as the man’s fist connected with it.
“Told Red Snake last year I didn’t want any trouble,” Jack rumbled from somewhere in the darkness beyond me.
The light above me swung back and forth as dots danced in my vision.
Jack’s lackey removed his fist from my face as my bare chest heaved.
I kept my head to the side, hocking up all the saliva and blood in my mouth before spitting on his other lackey's shoe. The man growled, but I didn’t care.
I raised back up, the middle of my back digging into the rusted metal chair, the jagged pieces piercing my skin.
My eyes were focused on the shadows, searching for the bastard who’d had me running all over Southeast Asia for the last few weeks.
After having no luck in Japan, I was forced to head back to the mainland to meet up with one of Collin Stevens’ men.
Jack had not only been running Vegas for the last seven years, icing out other crime organizations, but he had been stealing from them.
He’d managed to steal millions from Stevens just in the last year while being on the run, Black Mist nonexistent.
It took seven days for us to find Jack’s safe house, and the last thing I anticipated was an ambush.
Foolishly unexpected on my part. I should’ve been more prepared.
Jack was supposed to be isolated, but somehow, he’d managed to recruit new members to his lost cause; he was a dead man walking, according to Red Snake’s government contacts.
What he promised these men remained a mystery.
All I knew was it couldn’t be money, because here, on the opposite side of the world, he had no access to his accounts.
If I gave a shit, I would have Dominic dig around in Jack’s mind, find out how he made people fall in line, because it wasn’t with fear.
Jack was the least intimidating son of a bitch I’d come across in this lifetime.
Grayson and Carrie’s orange cat, Tic-Tac, was scarier than this asshole.
It had been nearly seventy-two hours since I touched base with Murphy, meaning he’d sound the alarm soon. After what happened with Ash, he set a hard limit of seventy-five hours of no-contact. I just needed to keep Jack from putting a bullet in my brain until that happened.
“Your friend wasn’t of much help to you,” Jack noted.
I didn’t bother looking at the rotting corpse in the chair next to me.
He’d been dead for two days, and the smell, his decomposition paired with his shit, was finally starting to get to me.
Still, I somehow managed to keep my sanity intact, holding on to the hope of seeing my angry girl again.
The memories of her soft touches and breathless moans were the only things tethering me to this world, keeping me present.
It was a strange sensation, really. I’d never anchored myself to another person while staring death in the face.
Then again, before Margo, my life had been a series of events that, over time, I’d managed to detach myself from.
Something in my spirit wouldn’t let me forget her, the night we shared, or the pain I’d caused her.
I wouldn’t feel whole until I had her in my arms again.
“You’re a fool for coming after me,” Jack continued, arrogance oozing from his voice.
“There’s a bounty on your head, Jack,” I pushed out, the taste of blood on my tongue.
“Yes,” he muttered. “I am aware of that.”
“Is this your plan? Start over? Rebuild the empire?”
Silence.
I jutted my chin out. “Black Mist is no more, Jack. Why go through all this trouble?”
“Mr. Mitchell, you are in no position to be asking questions.” He paused and I heard him move closer. Still, the bastard refused to come into the light. “I’m surprised you haven’t begged for your life yet.”
“I don’t beg to worthless men.”
That earned me another punch. This time, my jaw cracked. It took a second to get my bearings, but I rolled my neck, chanting her name in my head to keep myself grounded.
Margo.
Margo.
Margo.
Margo.
Margo.
“Now is not the time to be cocky, Mr. Mitchell.”
I popped my jaw. “Says the fucker hiding out in a foreign country, starting over because he is too chickenshit to face his problems back home.”
The all too familiar sound of a bullet being loaded into a chamber filled the room then, the air going cold as death lingered in the doorway behind me.
The hair on the back of my neck rose, and a second later, I stared into the barrel of a gun.
It was only then, when a weapon was in my line of sight, that Jack stepped into the light.
He was still thin, thinner than the last time I saw him, dressed in a cheap suit that hung off his shoulders like a used rag.
His black hair was cut short, but dirty.
The whites of his eyes were yellow; his skin tinted the same shade of rot.
Last time we were together, I’d crushed his hands with a cement block, leaving him bleeding out on the floor of his castle, surrounded by drugs and bloodstained hundred-dollar bills.
My eyes dropped. I didn’t give a shit about the gun or the punk-ass holding it to my face.
“Your hands heal up all right?” I drawled, tipping my head to Jack’s slacks, where he was hiding his hands.
His jaw tightened, but now that he was under the harsh light, the truth was damning.
He wasn’t on the run. He was trying to find somewhere to die.
“If death is what you’re searching for, I’m sure Collin would be happy to oblige.” I clicked my tongue.
“He’ll never get the satisfaction.”
I smiled at him, wide and sinister. “He will.”
Jack looked at his man. “You can kill him now. I’ve grown bored of this game.”
“Oh, come on, Jack,” I said, shifting my wrists for the thousandth time. “We were just starting to have fun.”
“Fuck you, Mitchell.”
From behind me, there was a near-deafening boom, the force of the explosion ramming my chair forward.
I braced, using all my strength to twist in my binds, landing on my shoulder as chunks of the concrete wall landed all around me.
I blinked, finding myself in a cloud of white smoke, with sparks in the distance and guns firing as Jack’s men screamed.
They weren’t prepared. Not for this. Not for my team.
The ropes at my wrists suddenly snapped, and I was free.
I didn’t think, rolling away and getting to my feet fast. To my right, the man who’d put three bullets into Collin’s man aimed his gun at me.
I advanced, pushing his arm aside, gripping his wrist, and twisting as I yanked him forward, my knee going into his abdomen.
He grunted in pain as I kneed him again, forcing him into the wall, where I pinned his wrist and snatched the gun from his loose grip.
I turned it on him, firing twice. Once in the shoulder, once in the thigh.
Then I turned, finding my team. The smoke was clearing out, and I spotted Ash, his black and blue polycarbonate mask covering his face, dressed in full tactical gear.
He had his rifle hanging over his shoulder and his hand was around Jack’s neck, holding the man up so his feet dangled a foot from the floor.
I brought my arm up, coughed into the crook of my elbow, pistol in hand, as Dominic approached me.
He lifted his black and red mask, revealing his indigo eyes, his mouth tight with concern.
“You good?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder, scanning me quickly.
I nodded. “Didn’t expect you boys here so soon,” I told him honestly.
Ash spoke then, his voice brimming with malice, but he wasn’t talking to us. “You’ve been busy, Jack.”
The bastard didn’t respond, choking on the last bits of air Ash allowed him to have as his fingers flexed, tightening around the column of his throat.
He jerked in Ash’s hold, his body bucking against the wall.
As Dominic and I watched the show, he handed me my mask, the silver wings around the eyes, a symbol of home.
“Put this on,” he instructed. “You’ve drawn the attention of some high-ranking players here. ”
“That wasn’t me,” I told him, knowing he was referring to the small car bomb that Collin’s man set off in the middle of town a few days ago. “How did you find me?”
“Hell if I know,” Dominic muttered, reloading his gun before tucking it into the clip on his thigh. “Jake found your breadcrumbs; we just followed them. Usually, Ash is the one who likes to blow shit up.”
“Le—let go of me,” Jack sputtered, gasping for air.
The retired SEAL was toying with him now, torturing him a bit before we needed to hand him off. “We are under orders not to kill,” Dominic calmly reminded Ash as I put my mask on, my jaw sore.
“Collin still want him?” I guessed, tucking the gun into the waistband of my pants, ignoring the soreness in my body.
Dominic put his mask back on and looked at me. “What do you think?”
Ash raised his fist and clocked Jack in the face three times, knocking him out before dropping him to the floor. Then he turned, his chest heaving, and gestured to the body in the chair. “The mafia boss isn’t going to be happy about that.”
“Not our problem,” Dominic replied, his voice monotoned. “He knew the stakes.”
It was cold, but true.
“We need to take him,” I said, staring at the man. Though I didn’t know him and we hadn’t talked about anything other than the mission, I still valued his life. “Collin buries his men.”
The man I’d shot groaned behind me, and I turned, kicking him in the face, knocking him out. He would come to in a few hours, weak and confused, and by then, we would be gone.
“Fine,” Dominic allowed. “Also, Dela has called both offices three times.”
Fucking hell. “Everything all right?” I asked, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
“Grayson spoke with her, but yes. She was just checking in.”
My little sister, filled with guilt, always checking in.
“I’ll call her when I get back,” I assured him.