Chapter 9
Hollis
“Care to explain your email?”
Angel sighs on the other end of the line at my question. I don’t know if he’s upset with what he has to tell me or if it’s because I called him rather than responding in email like I normally would. I don’t have time for him to check his computer. I need fucking answers right now.
“What started as an intel gathering gig has now been changed.”
“I got that from the email,” I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Any idea why?”
“I guess some shit went down, and the customer wants a woman pulled from the group rather than it being just a watch-and-gather job.”
I remain silent, hoping that it will make Angel divulge more information, but he plays this game better than I do.
I press the speaker button and pull the phone from my ear, switching from the call app back to the email.
I stare down at the picture of her. It’s a few years old, and it makes me wonder who the person is requesting her rescue if they don’t have anything more recent than her high school graduation picture.
“Some shit went down?” I repeat.
Angel signs once again. “I should’ve told you from the start, but you weren’t concerned then.
The customer is Madelene Lombardi’s father.
The men she’s with are Alessio and Marcello Severino.
From what I gather, she’s Alessio’s fiancée, but her father feels like his daughter is no longer safe with them. ”
“He didn’t think to just call them and tell them to bring her home?” I ask, not hinting that I know one of them is lying dead on a concrete slab somewhere.
“I don’t have all the details, but I don’t think she’s exactly willing to be there. I get a family feud, servitude vibe from the man. He isn’t exactly rushing to give me all the details. He did say the job will pay double what the first offer is.”
“That’s a lot of fucking money,” I mutter.
“I made him pay half down because he honestly didn’t sound like he could back up his offer, but the money came through with no problem.”
“I’ve seen her with them,” I say. “She doesn’t look nor act like a fucking prisoner.”
“It’s up to you. Hold on.”
Rustling comes over the line, but it doesn’t completely silence his next words.
“Do it, Lauren, and I’ll fuck your ass until you beg me to stop.”
“Try and see what happens, asshole,” she growls back.
I’m scared for the man. Lauren isn’t the type to be fucked with.
“Take it or don’t,” Angel says, irritation clear in his voice. “Gotta go.”
The call goes dead.
***
I can’t pull my eyes from her picture, no more than I felt the urge to tell Angel that I’m the one who caused the problems for his customer down here in Mexico several days ago.
I don’t care if the woman was offered up as some kind of consolation prize by her family.
It’s clear in her behavior that she took to it like a pig to shit because she’s just as stoic and unaffected by murder as I imagine Alessio would be.
Things aren’t going to plan. I haven’t seen the Severino family men scouring the streets looking for Marcello’s murderer.
I have noticed them nearly doubling forces over the last two days as I’ve sat in my truck and watched the hotel.
Other than the guards making regular patrols around the building, I haven’t seen much action.
I’m on edge, the lack of sleep over the last three days making me feel insane.
I slept from two thirty to five this morning, but the limited sleep just isn’t enough.
I know how dangerous it is, but I’m operating under the premise that I can sleep when I’m dead.
Considering my goals with this entire situation, I won’t have to wait much longer.
She seems like an illusion when she emerges from the front of the hotel. Alessio walks ahead of her, keeping his distance, which is in contrast to the way he guided her in the club.
He looks no worse for wear than he did the morning after Marcello’s death. His suit is pressed to perfection. His hair is perfectly slicked back with gel or hairspray.
To my surprise, she gets into a car, riding in the front seat with one of the guards rather than climbing into the back of one of the armored SUVs with Alessio.
It feels like a trap as the vehicles are loaded with their luggage, but it doesn’t stop me from following the girl when the other SUVs split off in a different direction.
I follow the car. It doesn’t take long to realize we’re heading toward the small airstrip in the south part of the city.
They’re sending her home, but I doubt the father placed that call and these men are listening to what he has to say.
I’ve done plenty of research on the Severino family to feed my lust for their deaths.
Not once has a Lombardi been mentioned in anything I’ve read.
That alone tells me that the man wanting his daughter back has no control over this family.
I made a choice, following this car rather than Alessio’s, but as the vehicle pulls up to a red light, I still haven’t decided exactly how any of this will pan out.
I throw my truck in drive behind them and rush out.
The single shot I fire into the vehicle draws the attention of every other person at the intersection, but I don’t pause to concern myself with what they could be capturing with the cameras on their phones.
I don’t care if authorities will watch the video footage from the red-light cameras and identify me.
There’s no way I can grab her if she makes it past the gates at the airfield.
It all seems to move in slow motion—the firing of my gun, the way the guard slumps forward, his hand inside his coat jacket because he saw me coming but was a little too slow in trying to get to his own weapon.
I reach into the car from her side, using the interior handle to open it before swinging it wide and grabbing her.
She fights me, but her resistance doesn’t even begin to match my strength.
“I’ll shoot you in the fucking head if you move,” I growl, throwing her inside my truck from the driver’s side.
It takes less than a minute, but I know people saw what happened.
My tires squeal as I pull through the red light, narrowly missing a city bus as it was turning through the intersection. I feel her eyes burning through the side of my head as I drive.
After watching for several miles in my rearview mirror and being satisfied that no one is following me, I pull over and face her.
Unlike the other night, her chin is trembling. Her hands are shaking in her lap.
She pulls them up to protect her face when I shift closer to her.
I shove down the memories, refuse to think about the way her reaction to me makes me feel.
She isn’t any less guilty for her role in what the Severinos have done.
I don’t give a shit about excuses. Complacency is just as bad as if she would actively participate in the brutality the family has committed.
She looks terrified, but I can’t let it affect me. I’m sure she’s had years to perfect her reactions and lies.
She shrinks into the seat when I reach past her into the glove box, and I hate the thrill that zings through my body when she gasps at the sight of the rope, gag, and dark cloth bag I plan to put over her head.
She whimpers, her body shaking so hard as I tie her hands behind her back that I almost believe she’s as frightened as she’s pretending to be, but then I remember that I blew a man’s brains out right in front of her and all that she could do was issue a warning. The joke’s on her.
I know exactly what I’ve done.
I know the lengths that the Severinos will go through to seek justice for their dead.
It will be fun to get a little vengeance of my own while I wait.