 by Cara Dee.jpg)
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“This is it, baby. Run.”
The murder in Joel Hayward’s eyes wasn’t merely a reflection of the rage within. It was a promise to the men who had kidnapped his daughter. The one person—this amazing slip of a girl—who showed Joel every single day that there was good left in the world.
He was running on fumes. He was desperate. His closest companion was…Elliott. His ex-wife’s older brother. Okay, once upon a time, the man had been a lot more than that, but somehow they’d become mortal enemies instead. Frankly, Joel didn’t give a flying f— He didn’t care if Elliott made it back alive. Or so he kept telling himself, as the pain intensified with each day he couldn’t hold his little girl in his arms.
As they got closer and closer to their target, one lead at a time, the men prepared themselves to go to war.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Joel Hayward
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Are you a coaster?”
I grinned and eyed her in the rearview. “I think you mean Coastie. I’m in the Coast Guard.”
“Huh.” She twirled a piece of hair around her finger and looked out the window. “I’m pretty sure Gammie said coaster.”
I shook my head to myself. I guess I was a coaster.
A slew of curses rushed through my earpiece, and judging by the anger from River and Reese, the man with a bag over his head currently being escorted to the center of the amphitheater was their Shay.
Reese growled under his breath. “I’m gonna kill all of them.”
“We will.” Greer spoke in a low, threatening tone.
I inhaled deeply and adjusted my scope, keeping Shay in my sights. I was about…fifty-six yards away from him.
“Everyone in position?” Emerson asked.
“JH confirmed,” I reported, like the rest did.
All of us were standing some forty yards apart, in the thicket between the entertainment area and the outer wall. Only Danny was hiding out somewhere on the other side of the stage, and he confirmed his position too.
Two men pulled the bag from Shay’s head and uncuffed him, followed by harsh spotlights suddenly flooding the stage.
Knowing that not everyone had eyes on the guy—considering the marble stands blocked the view on the sides—I inspected the kid and gave a brief report. “Minor visible wounds, some bruises, gaze focused, he’s alert.” Dirty-blond hair, pale, tatted-up, muscles tense.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain was just what we needed to really turn the Blanco estate into a muddy slip ’n slide. We were all covered in sweat, humidity, and grime as it was.
“Crew is on the second platform.” That was Elliott.
I clenched my jaw and shifted my scope to scan the surroundings. The bottom patio hosted primarily women and children. The second one—there. I saw Crew too. He was standing close to the balustrade, stare fixed on Shay. The men seated at the grand table behind Crew were in the process of standing up. Dinner was over. Time for the big fight.
Who could Mercier be? Cullen had shown me a photo of Crew, ’cause I couldn’t remember the kid from Elliott’s barbecue, but I had no idea what Adrien Mercier looked like.
“Where’s the Fed?” Thankfully, Greer had the same question.
“Tall guy right behind Crew, talking to the bald man in a blue suit,” Danny responded.
Okay, noted.
“Anyone got eyes on Marco?” I asked quietly. Because he was my target. He knew where my daughter was.
I kept seeing her face… Her wavy hair, her silvery-blue eyes lit up with mischief…
The light of my life.
I heard her too. Crying out for me, begging me to save her. Each sob was a knife to my heart, and the echoes of her agony distorted the images of her cute-as-fuck, happy expression. Wiping away the grins and replacing them with pain and fear.
“He might be on the third patio—I don’t see him,” Reese replied.
Fuck. We were on the damn ground; we couldn’t see that high up.
I blew out a breath and rolled my shoulders. We were running on too little sleep, and the general discomfort was fucking with my concentration. All I heard was the cacophony from the guests and the constant splats of waterdrops hitting leaves. Rainforests were never quiet.
Shay had been joined by more men, one of whom was speaking to the crowd.
Welcome to tonight’s entertainment!
You got a preview last night. Everyone excited?
Goddamn monsters.
They were done murdering. From now on, they served as my target practice.
Enzo and Marco Blanco were off-limits because of the intel they sat on, but that was it. The rest were going down. Not counting women and children, of course.
“I think that’s Enzo,” River reported. “The man walking up onstage now.”
I catalogued the old man’s features. He walked with a slight limp, not from an injury but possibly a bad hip. He looked to be around seventy. He soaked up the applause he received and spoke to their guests about the “American boy.”
Then the motherfucker announced another “warm-up,” and he fucking asked for volunteers. That sick son of a bitch. From what I’d heard, Shay didn’t lose. Enzo was sending young, inexperienced punks to a certain death.
“Motherfucker,” Reese whispered. “We need to—”
“Don’t even.” Danny cut in. “There’re too many children around, man.”
I checked my watch quickly. It was past midnight. According to Crew, most of the younger children were usually escorted to the village of villas past the entertainment area right around now. But that was more a guess than data. Crew and Mercier had been here twenty-four hours longer than us. We just didn’t have enough to go on.
Four young men took the stage, ready to challenge Shay in the warm-up, and everyone applauded.
Enzo Blanco left the stage, and I followed him through my scope until he disappeared up on the third patio.
“Suspected Enzo is on the third patio,” I said.