Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ENZO
God, I could do this all night.
The satisfying crack of bone meeting fist is like magic for easing tension.
Mine. Not his.
I cock a brow and study the man strapped to a forklift. I’m pretty sure tension is the least of his worries. Considering I’ve moved from punching his face to a hard jab to his throat, he’s probably praying for death about now.
After a minute of wheezing, he speaks. “I swear, I d-don’t. Know. Anything...” he eventually sputters out. Actually, he’s talking pretty good for a guy with six teeth on the floor.
And yet he’s not telling me what I wanna know. “At the risk of sounding repetitive, I’m going to ask again. Where’s Jimmy Luciano?”
The stubborn bastard shakes his head. For one of Uncle Andre’s foot soldiers, he’s surprisingly loyal.
I handpicked him because he’s high enough up to have the intel I need, but low enough that his absence won’t raise any alarms. Like, ever.
He was also in the midst of beating a woman I presume was his wife, so I doubt she’ll miss him either.
I crack my neck and give it another shot. This time, my foot connects with his knee, a sharp pop echoing loudly enough that it has to hurt like a motherfucker.
He howls in agony, followed by an obstinate “Fuck you!”
It’s like watching the stages of grief unfold before my eyes: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Right now, he’s stuck in anger. I need him at bargaining.
Spoiler alert: no one ever gets past bargaining.
I check my watch and blow out an indecisive breath.
Push.
Don’t push.
Six of one, half dozen of the other.
I examine his breathing and slumped physique. He’s so out of shape that, frankly, just saying boo might give him a heart attack.
Besides, either way gets me there around the same time. Not that it matters.
It’s not like Bella is waiting for me to come home and spoon her. Not that spooning would ever be on my agenda. I’m more of an on your knees, suck my cock kinda guy.
But every time I go to take her—really, truly fuck the girl senseless—my brain derails.
Make no mistake, I want her. There is no part of me that doesn’t want to pry open the gates to Bella’s heaven and slam in to the hilt. Repeatedly.
Fuck . What’s stopping me ?
“You seem a little”—Dante blows out a breath—“I don’t know. Frustrated,” he says suggestively.
Both bodyguards smirk.
Great. You want to announce it to the world?
The fact that I still haven’t fucked Kennedy and my balls are three sizes too full and desperate for relief has nothing to do with it. “This guy has answers,” I quip back.
“Uh-huh,” Dante replies, unimpressed. “Is that why you’ve been pounding him like veal off and on for twenty hours straight?”
Yes. That, and I’m avoiding Bella . I need answers before I see her again. If that means an entire day of taking out my frustrations on this scumbag, so be it.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dante says as he strolls over and placates me with a paternal pat on the shoulder. “Women have needs.” He smacks my cheek playfully. “The right girl who’s into needle dicks will come along one day.”
“And when she does, I’ll be sure to hand her your card.” I snatch my phone from my pocket, flip to the image, and point it at Dante’s face. “That’s Andre. That’s this guy.” I gesture to the mass of blood and broken bones barely breathing. “And that ,” I point to the center of the image, “is Jimmy Luciano.”
Dante squints at the images and scratches his chin. “I feel like that could be anyone.”
I narrow my eyes and thrust the image toward the man clinging to life, forcing him to focus on it with his good eye—not the one that’s all kinds of jacked like a swarm of bees went ape shit on it.
“Could this be anyone?” I sneer.
Exhausted, he strains to look, then lets out a sigh. “That’s J.,” he manages between labored breaths. “He’s...the... Shipper.”
Shipper . Both Dante and I exchange a glance. We’ve always known Andre’s achilles heel was seeded in distribution. We could never sniff it out.
I pull out my steel-cased Glock and weigh it in my hands. “Let’s cut to the chase. You spill the details on the next shipment, and I’ll end it fast and clean with a bullet between the eyes.”
I’m not sure if he’s nodding or his body is going into convulsions, but I take it as a yes.
“Good. Let’s start with an easy one. What’s he shipping?”
“ Pelle ,” he utters with a gasp and what might actually be his last breath.
Fuck .
Pelle . As in skin. It confirms my uncle’s despicable human trafficking operation is in full swing.
“When?”
Silence.
I smack him harder. “Where?” I shout.
No answer.
My mind goes into a tailspin, and I’m not even fully aware of pounding the man’s lifeless body over and over again until Dante and the guards forcibly pry me off him.
“How many women? Dozens? Hundreds? Are there children, too?”
“He’s gone,” Dante insists.
I know he’s right. Still, I deliver one last ruthless blow to his head.
Our sister, Trinity, was raped, brutally beaten, and left for dead by a sadistic monster, but she’s not alone. For every Trinity, there are countless predators eager to unleash their worst.
My uncle’s empire rises on the broken backs of these victims. Well, tearing it down, bit by bit, will become my favorite pastime.
My pulse quickens as anger shifts to a desperate need to set things right. But how?
I quickly scour his belongings for his phone. Dante shakes his head. “Facial recognition probably won’t do the trick.”
I deadpan. I press the dead man’s broken finger against the phone. Instantly, it unlocks.
I hold up the unlocked phone. “Not my first rodeo,” I quip.