43. Forty-Three
Forty-Three
Liam
Rage.
Pure blinding rage as I stare into the empty bedroom.
My bedroom, my bed and my fucking woman, in my fucking house. Vanished.
Pure fury engulfs me into spasms of pain, fear, anger and bewilderment. How did someone get through? The sliding window remained intact, this means…
They were inside the entire time. Watching us as I possessed every inch of her. Watching me take what’s mine and in the same breath — they stole her from me.
I’ve never felt more murderous. Someone is going to die tonight.
I look over at Joe, who is as astonished as I am, as he murmurs profanities and sits on the bed, his head wrapped in his hands.
“It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I made some calls and… I think I…” he says, pained, and as much as I want to agree with him, nothing productive will come of blaming one another.
“Joe, this is not the time. We have to go find her.” I clasp his shoulder.
He stands up, jumping up and down to get his blood flowing, like we do before a boxing match, and I realize how I’ve missed the asshole.
“Okay, the boys will be here soon.” He paces a few steps.
“I have to go take care of something,” he says as he strolls out of the bedroom, leaving me with a torturous emptiness that I let her down.
“Fuck.” My fist punches the wall, my knuckles bleeding, but it doesn’t remotely soothe any of the pain I feel. Love, I love her so fucking much. It’s paralyzing. I’ll find her; I’ll bring her home. Home, this is her home. She’s, my home.
I head to my office and pull out from one of my drawers the maps Damien had drawn of the underground location Sara had described in detail. I know she’s there. I look at my phone and try to locate her, and the loading seconds are like a hot blade digging into my skin.
Until…
Bingo.
She’s there and it’s time to move. She won't be another missing girl statistic.
She won't be a cold case. She won't be a memory…
I push my phone back into my pocket and run to the bedroom.
Concealed behind the innocuous panel in my closet is enough firepower for a small army.
I wrench it open, revealing the arsenal I've built for a day I always hoped would never come and start loading up.
Assault rifle, two handguns, extra magazines, knife.
I strap the bulletproof vest over my chest, tightening it until it bites into my skin. Good. I need the pain to focus.
I whirl around, my gun aimed before recognizing Damien standing in the doorway with Mateo and Riviera flanking him.
“Jesus Christ, Liam,” Damien says, his hands raised to his chest.
I hadn't even heard them enter the house. I lower my weapon slowly, my hand shaking. There's a wildness in me I can't contain, a savagery I've never felt before.
“Don't fucking Jesus Christ me,” I snarl when Mateo steps forward, concern etched on his face as I finish prepping.
“They took her. Right from my fucking bed. Are you geared up? Because I'm not asking for help, I'm telling you we're going to war.”
“We're with you,” Mateo says without hesitation, his voice steady even as his eyes betray his concern.
“Always,” Damien nods, already checking his weapon. “What's the plan?”
“Is Artemis safe? They could go after her,” I ask Damien, and he immediately responds that she is safe. It doesn’t get lost on me that he knows where she is. Of course he does.
“I tracked her phone. She’s at the same location where the poker game took place. We have the map you got from her description. Let’s go there and get her out.”
Riviera's expression hardens as he steps forward. “We'll burn the whole fucking place down if we have to.”
The four of us nod, understanding the gravity of what we're about to do. I feel a momentary flicker of gratitude before the rage consumes it again.
I head to the kitchen where Fiasco sits by his empty bowl, looking up at me with confused eyes and floppy ears. He knows something's wrong. I fill his bowl with kibble and some of his favorite food Sara cooks for him and place it down for him.
“Hey buddy,” I murmur, kneeling down to scratch behind his ear while he devours his food. “I'll bring her back to you,” I whisper. “I'll bring mommy home, buddy.” My voice cracks on the last word.
I give Fiasco one last pat, then rise to my feet, my control slipping. “Let's move, check every door,” I order, moving through the house. I secure each one with precision. The electricity is still out, and I won't leave this house vulnerable again. Not ever.
Outside, I slide behind the wheel of my Jeep while Mateo takes the keys to his SUV. We split up—Damien with me, Riviera riding with Mateo.
The drive feels endless, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. The village lights blur as we speed through the darkness. The sun will be up soon, and I want to get this shit over with, bring my girl home and put a bullet into whoever took her as quietly as possible, before breakfast.
My foot’s heavy on the gas pedal. I check my phone again to make sure Sara's location hasn't changed, and it hasn't, at least that's something.
“Two minutes out,” Damien says from the passenger seat, his voice tight as he checks his weapon again.
My phone buzzes with a text from Mateo confirming they're right behind us. We take the final turn, and the building comes into view in the narrow street ahead. From the outside, it looks abandoned, forgotten, they’ve chosen the perfect cover in the part of the old village where everything is dated and sentimental.
You’d never know how deep some of those go underground.
As we approach to park our cars feet away, something cold slides down my spine. A primal instinct screaming danger. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I slow the Jeep.
“Something's wrong,” I say, looking around. “No guards outside.”
Damien shrugs. “They’re waiting for us. That’s okay, let’s give them a little taste of who they’re fucking with.”
I park, cutting the lights and wait for Mateo’s car to pull up behind us. My impatience is suffocating how violated I feel by them taking Sara.
Tonight, all of this ends.
My life becomes normal again. Whatever that entails — Sara will come home, Joe will find peace in whichever way he needs, and I’ll take her on a date.
I’ll walk around town holding her hand. I’ll take her and her mom and mine out to eat.
I’ll buy her flowers for the heck of it.
I’ll take her to the movies and kiss her the whole time until we have to check our receipt to know what we went to see.
I will not deny myself a future where I hold her at night against my chest. There’s no negotiating with a man in love.
Once he’s turned into a devil, anyone who stands between him and his salvation becomes his prey.
When Mateo pulls up and turns his lights off, we all get out of the car. I shut the door closed not giving a flying fuck if they’ve heard us. They know we’re coming and they better be ready.
I raise my gun, signaling the others to take positions. Damien flanks me to the right while Mateo and Riviera spread to the left. We're barely ten feet from the door when two shadows detach from the corners.
“Down!” I shout as they open fire.
The crack of gunshots splits the air. I'm already moving, muscle memory taking over as I pull my trigger twice.
The first guy drops like a stone. Beside me, Damien's weapon shoots, taking down the second with perfect aim.
They hit the ground, blood pooling beneath them in the dim light.
Damien blows on his tattooed fingers like he got a bloody manicure with no care in the world, and I don't feel a damn thing either looking at their bodies.
Not when Sara's somewhere in their vicinity.
I nod to Mateo, who doesn't hesitate. With one powerful kick, he sends the front door crashing inward, wood splintering around the lock.
We move in formation, years of training making our movements fluid despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The corridor leading underground is narrow, forcing us to descend single file.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I take point, gun raised.
At the bottom, when the corridor splits, a man in a black suit pivots toward us, reaching for his weapon.
I don't give him a chance. My bullet tears through his kneecap before he can draw, and he collapses with a howl, clutching his ruined leg. I love shooting to the knee, it’s enough to cause pain and regret, and get what you need from them.
I'm on him in seconds, pressing my gun against his temple.
“Where is she?” I snarl.
“Who?” he hisses in pain, his hands bloody, covering his knee.
“Dark hair, brown eyes, curvy. Tell me where she is, and I’ll let you live.” I push my gun harder against his forehead.
“The fuck do I know? These bitches all look alike. You’ll never find h—” I don’t let him finish his nonsense.
Pop
Thud
His body slumps to the floor, blood spattering against the wall, and the satisfaction gives me life. Something catches my eye as he falls—a badge with a barcode hanging from a lanyard around his neck. I crouch down, yanking it free from his corpse.
“This might be useful,” I mutter, and slip it around my neck. “Let's move.”
We keep going until we push through a set of double doors, and the scene shifts.
The large room reeks of expensive cologne and spilled champagne.
Plush couches surround low tables that still have cluttered glasses and bottles.
What must have been a high-end party. Three staff members in black uniforms freeze mid-cleanup, their eyes widening, about to piss themselves.
I don’t hurt innocent people, and clearly, they’re doing their job, but they don’t know the consequences behind it.
I fling my weapon in their direction, not to hit them, just to make my fucking point.
“Who's in charge here? WHO?” Nothing but silence and frightened stares.