Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Where’s my partner?” he asked, hoping against hope that O’Brian had somehow escaped, although he knew his friend wouldn’t leave without him.
“Oh, he’s real comfortable; don’t worry about that. He’s waiting for you right now, as a matter of fact,” Thad, the blond, answered. His side-of-beef face was twisted into a nasty sneer that seemed to stop Valenti’s heart in his chest.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked at last. Wherever it was, as long as he and O’Brian would be together, maybe they could figure something out.
“The Viewing Room,” Thad answered briefly, and that was all he could get out of them.
Chapter Twelve
Valenti tried to still the pounding of his heart as he was dragged down the darks steps leading to the Basement and re-entered the claustrophobic confines of the ominous stone walls. He heard nothing but the echo of their footsteps and the gasp of his own breathing in his ears. Not even the distant throb of music greeted him as they passed through the farthest stone arch labeled The Viewing Room and pressed deeper into the bowels of the labyrinth beneath the RamJack.
Valenti wondered distractedly if all the other guests were somewhere else, or if the walls were simply too thick to hear the noise of the continuous partying. But mainly his thoughts were with his partner.
Where are you, Sean? What have they done to you? Twonnie’s story about the fate of the rival drug thugs who had tried to penetrate the RamJack kept echoing in his head. I swear to God, if they’ve so much as touched you that way ... He would kill them. He didn’t know how, but he would, Valenti decided grimly.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity of hollow, stone corridors, they passed through another arching doorway and into a cavernous room that was set up like a theater. There were plush seats in rows leading down a slightly sloping floor and a stage placed in the middle of the room.
Mounted on the stage was a large glass box, and clearly visible inside was a bedroom set-up complete with a king-sized bed and night tables with ornate brass lamps on them. A Persian carpet covered the floor of the “bedroom,” but it was the figure huddled in the middle of that vast expanse of mattress that drew Valenti’s undivided attention.
“Sean ...” he breathed, unable to help himself. In the center of the huge bed, curled in a fetal position with arms and legs bound, blindfolded and gagged, was his partner. O’Brian’s helpless position was terrible to see, and the fact that he was completely naked fed Valenti’s worst fears. “You bastards,” he said thickly, struggling to be free of the punishing grip of the guards flanking him. “What have you done to him?”
“Nothing has been done to your partner as of yet, Detective Valenti.” The smooth, cold voice came from one side of the glass box, and Valenti pulled his attention away from his partner long enough to see Conrad striding around the side of the stage, gray eyes flashing icily. “That pleasure had been reserved for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Valenti spat, wishing he could get his hands around that long, thin greyhound throat and smash the aristocratic knife-blade nose into Connor’s brain. As an afterthought, he added, “How did you know?”
“About your little deception? Please, Detective, give me some credit. I have eyes and ears everywhere, especially in the law-enforcement community. I knew, when a batch of my ... ah ... product was incorrectly cut and resulted in some deaths, that someone was bound to come nosing around after me.
“It wasn’t my fault, you understand. I would never harm my own community that way. It was the dealer I entrusted with that particular batch who made the mistake, but of course I was blamed. He was trying to, as they say, ‘skim a little off the top.’ Let me assure you that he will never make that particular mistake again.” He grinned, a cold expression that never reached the gray eyes, and Valenti knew the dealer in question was already dead somewhere, rotting in an unmarked grave or shark-bait in the bay. Conrad was a killer, no doubt about it, and they would be damn lucky to get out of here with their lives.
“So you blew our cover,” he said as coolly as he could, trying not to let his eyes wander back to his partner bound helplessly on the bed. Every part of his being yearned to run to O’Brian and pull his friend into his arms, to comfort and soothe and look over the lithe, compact body for signs of harm, but he couldn’t let that show on his face. “Even you couldn’t be so stupid as to kill a couple of cops, Conrad,” he said, trying to gauge the reaction to his words in those dead gray eyes.