Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I force myself to push the red haze of rage out of my mind and drag oxygen in through my nostrils.
And then it comes to me.
There is one man who might be able to help.
I call Sonny, first. “Game is canceled,” I bark. “I need you and Vince on standby for a war. Gather weapons, be ready to move.”
“What is it, boss?”
“The cazzo Russian took Summer.”
“What? Fuck.”
I end the call and dial Detective Bailey.
“Carlo.”
“Alexei picked up my girl--the don’s daughter. I need help. A location. Anything you have.”
Detective Bailey blows out his breath.
“Please.” I’m not above begging. I did this guy a favor. He owes me one back.
“Yeah, we lost the tail on him earlier, but there’s a location he frequents–where he buys his drugs. I’m staking it out now. I’ll text you the address.”
I screech into the road to find the drug dealer and make him talk. Every second feels critical. Every fucking second the Russian has Summer means...I couldn’t even go there.
My phone rings with a call from Bailey.
“He just dropped by and is moving again. I’m on his tail.” He gives me the street and direction he’s headed, and I make a screaming left turn across traffic to change my trajectory.
“Was she with him? Summer? Was there a girl with him?”
“Negative. He’s alone.”
My heart pumps. Was he bluffing?
Either way, he’s a dead man. I still have to chase him down and kill the motherfucker.
“He stopped. I’ll drop you a pin.”
Thank fuck.
“Bailey. When I get there, Alexei’s mine.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the detective says, “It may take me a while to get parked for my stake-out.”
“He won’t walk away from this.”
“I didn’t hear that.” Bailey ends the call.
I texted every soldier in the organization. Russians took Summer LaTorre. All guns needed at 5458 Palmer Drive.
I hit send and call Al before the don calls me. “What the fuck?” Al yells.
“I don’t know. Her phone is at my apartment. He must’ve found her there. He’s a junkie.” That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the shit-brain’s actions. “I’m going to kill every last one of them.”
“Not if I get there first.” Al ends the call.
I scream through the streets, running red lights and screeching the tires around curves. I only slow when I approach the house to avoid alerting the occupants.
The address is in a seedy part of town, not far from where he got his drugs. I grab my spare gun from the glove box and get out, a pistol in each hand. A half block down and across the street, I see a man sitting behind the wheel of a dark sedan.
I aim my Ruger, squinting in the darkness.
The interior light of the car came on, illuminating the face of Michael Bailey, the detective.
I lower the gun. Okay, then. He’s letting me have this. I don’t care if he comes in and arrests me when it’s over.
All I care about is saving Summer.
I should wait for backup, but I can’t. Every second Summer’s in danger takes ten years from my life. I go in alone, shooting the lock off the door and slamming my shoulder into the wood to break it open.
Someone fires on me, and I pull back, but not before I aim and fire at the guy pulling the trigger. He goes down.
I go inside as three men storm up a flight of stairs that must lead from a basement. I jump back when one of them fires. Wood from the doorframe splinters in my face. I shove my Ruger around the corner and risk a quick look to aim. I pull the trigger as more shots rain from them.
From the sound of it, one body hits the ground. I shoot and another falls. The third guy fires until his gun runs out of ammo, and I step out, shooting him between the eyes.
I jog past their gasping bodies.
In the basement, I find a dozen or more girls, scantily dressed and looking high. Alexei stumbles forward, fumbling for the gun in his holster.
Where in the hell is Summer?
I shoot each of Alexei’s kneecaps. The man screams, falling to the floor and writhing. I take his gun and two knives, then kick his ribs, hard. “Where is she?”
“Carlo?” I hear Sonny upstairs.
“Down here. Search up there for Summer.”
Alexei groans and mumbles something.
I kick him again. “Where is she?” I snarl between clenched teeth.
The bastard chuckles.
I drop to my knees beside him. Search his pockets. I find a bag of cocaine. I pull out his phone, but the last call made was to my phone. Nothing pertinent in the texts.
I grasp his shirt in my fist, pick up his head and slam it back into the floor. “Who has her? Where’s. My. Girl?”
Alexei’s unfocused gaze swings around the room, scanning the girls huddled on cots. He appears genuinely confused.