Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“He’s the head of the Delgado crime syndicate. Really bad mother fucker, or so they say. He holds his meetings here, but I’ve never had too many problems with them before,” Devereaux says.
Dean’s lips thin, and for a moment, he just stands there, breathing hard. Then he turns to his men, voice cutting like a whip. “Some bad shit went down a while back between his brother and our mission when we were looking for Bishop.”
Ah, Bishop Blackstone, the asshole who threatened a lot of influential families. I’d watched Maddox Security while Dean left to finally rid the world of Bishop Blackstone and his brand of filth last year.
The door to the room opens and a taller, blonde woman walks in. Her heels click on the floor with purpose as she strides confidently toward Devereaux. “Tyler and Livvy Mayweather. That’s the couple in the picture you sent. They left the club about an hour or so ago. Not sure where they went,” the woman says.
“Thanks, Adele. Call Chloe, and get her and the rest of Saint Pierce PD in on this.” Devereaux nods. “My wife’s a detective with the Saint Pierce Police Department, and I’m going to have Adele get her up to speed.” Devereaux steps away from the group with Adele, obviously filling her in on the situation.
I don’t know how I feel about having the cops involved now. Part of me is relieved that we’ve got more hands on deck, but another part of me worries that this means the situation has escalated out of our control.
“Ranger, Orion, call everyone you know. I want video footage of all the streets. I want to know where that van leaving my house went. I want video footage surrounding this club, seeing where Isabel’s kidnappers went. I want answers. Now.” Dean’s furious as he grips his phone tight, making a call.
Orion and Ranger nod and hurry off, leaving me and Dean in the room. I press a hand to my forehead, reeling from the conversation. “We walked into a trap,” I say bitterly. “I should’ve known.”
Dean’s hand clamps on my shoulder, a heavy weight. “It’s not your fault,” he says, though his voice is tight with suppressed anger. “They fooled both of us. Right now, we need to figure out how to get them back.”
My mouth tastes like ashes. “I feel like I’m losing her.”
He exhales, posture rigid. “We’ll find her, Lincoln. You really care about my sister.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question because I fear he already knows the answer.
“I think I always have,” I tell him, worried about what he might make of our connection.
“I know you have,” he smiles briefly, “it’s why I put you on this job.”
Together we leave the security room. I stare down the long hallway where I hoped to find Isabel. Now it feels like an empty tomb of shattered illusions. I can almost hear her calling my name, that last worried glance she gave me when she left with Vera. Guilt churns in my stomach. She needed me, and I wasn’t there.
Dean’s voice breaks through the haze. “Come on. Let’s figure this shit out, and get ready for one hell of a fight.”
I nod, forcing air into my lungs. “Right.” My mind lasers in on a single thought: Isabel is out there, afraid, possibly hurt. And I have to do whatever it takes to bring her home. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 26
Isabel
I wake to the sound of metal scraping against metal, and a dull ache pulses behind my right temple. My mouth feels dry as paper, and my stomach lurches with every ragged breath. For a moment, confusion swamps me: Where am I? Why does it smell like rust and brine? Then I remember.
The van. Morris’s goons forcing me inside, the sickening jolt as we sped away from Club Greed. My heart thumps hard enough to hurt, fear snaking through my veins. For a split second, my vision swims, and I press my eyes shut, inhaling slowly. Stay calm, Isabel. Don’t lose it now.
I open my eyes again, blinking away the blur. The container I’m in is stiflingly hot. Dim light filters through cracked openings high overhead, revealing walls of corrugated steel. My nostrils flare at the mix of salt air and grease. The sharp tang of fish and diesel hangs in the background, mingling with an acrid odor I can’t place. The musty smell leads me to believe we could be near the ocean.
I try to shift, but my wrists are bound behind my back with plastic zip ties that cut into my skin every time I move. My ankles are similarly secured. My shoulders burn from the awkward angle I must maintain. Gritting my teeth, I scoot upright, ignoring the jabs of pain radiating from my arms.
That’s when I hear a moan—soft, pained—somewhere behind me. I twist around, neck craning in the dimness. Another figure is huddled in the gloom, near a set of metal bars that look welded together to form a caged partition at the far end of the container. My heart lunges. Someone else is here.