Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Josue Gamez,” he says, referring to the guy my brother is holding a gun on. “And Manuel Ortega.”
“Who do you work for?” I ask Manuel, pressing the barrel of the gun against his forehead.
When he juts out his chin defiantly, I know he’s about to play hardball. And since this isn’t the place for shit to get messy, it’s time to take this conversation somewhere more private. I pull out my phone and text Ricardo—one of my most trusted men, who has been with me for years. He’s savage as fuck and knows how torture information out of someone. I’ve never not seen him be successful.
Twenty minutes later, Josue and Manuel are tied to chairs in the middle of our warehouse while, little by little, Ricardo cuts into their skin every time I ask a question and they refuse to answer.
“Who are you working for?” I ask them.
When neither answer, I nod toward Ricardo to take it up a notch. He digs his knife into the meaty part of Josue’s leg, and he curses. I can tell he’s getting close to his breaking point, so I nod again, and he digs deeper.
“Fuck! We’re not working for anyone!” he hisses.
“Again,” I say.
Ricardo digs so deep that a chunk of his flesh is exposed, causing him to scream out like a little girl, “Gutierrez!”
“Nice try, he’s dead.”
Ricardo lifts the knife and Josue shrieks, “Not him! His son. Eleazar.”
My hackles rise. Why the fuck would Eleazar be after Sienna?
And then Josue answers my silent thought. “He’s got a bounty on her head. I don’t know why, but whoever delivers that chick, dead or alive, will get a million-dollar pay day.”
Lincoln’s eyes meet mine, silently thinking the same thing as me… What the fuck? I pull my gun out and shoot both of the guys in their foreheads, killing them instantly.
Generally, we try to stay away from unnecessary violence since it’s bad for business and a mess to clean up, but there’s no way I’m chancing either of these assholes going after Sienna again or reporting her whereabouts to Eleazar.
“Call for a cleanup,” I tell our guys, knowing they’ll handle it.
“Any idea what the fuck Eleazar wants with Sienna?” Lincoln asks as we walk back to his car, since we left my vehicle at the club and drove here together. “And why doesn’t he care if she’s handed over dead or alive?”
“No idea, but until we figure it out, we need to get Sienna and her sister hidden. Who the hell knows how many people are searching for her?”
When someone as powerful as Gutierrez puts a hit out on someone, people come running. Not just for the money, but also for the respect. If you’re the one who brings him who he wants, he’ll owe you, and people take that shit seriously.
As we leave the warehouse and head back to the club, I pull out my cell to make a call. “Oscar,” I say when he answers the phone. “I need you to get Sienna and her sister ready to go. I’ll be there in five minutes to pick them up.”
“Boss, they already left,” he says.
“What the fuck do you mean they left?”
“I tried to—”
“Never mind,” I bark. “I’ll deal with you later.”
I hang up on him and slam my fist into the glovebox. “Fuck, any chance you know where she lives?”
“I know she’s from Booker Park, but I’d have to get her address from my office.”
When we pull up to Wanderlust, Lincoln runs in to grab the address, while I hop into my car and start driving toward Booker Park, hitting Sienna’s name on my phone to call her. The neighborhood is only about fifteen minutes away, but at the speed I’m going, I’ll get there in half the time.
“Micah,” Sienna breathes over the Bluetooth, the fear in her voice clenching my heart like a vise.
“Where are you?”
“Pulling up to our house.” Fuck, the last place she should be going is to her house.
“Sienna, listen, you can’t go—”
“Shit, my phone’s going to die,” she says, distracted and not paying attention to me.
“Sienna!”
“Ellie, grab the—” Her words are cutoff by the sound of a blood-curling scream that has me pressing my foot on the pedal harder.
“Sienna!”
“Oh, my God,” she gasps. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SIENNA
The place has been destroyed. Cushions slashed. Glass shattered. The few pictures I hung on the wall to try to make it a home have been smashed.
But that’s not what has my heart pounding behind my rib cage. On the floor is Phil, lying in the middle of the glass coffee table with a jagged piece of glass sticking out of his chest.
“Holy shit,” Ellie murmurs. “He’s dead. Does that mean mom…?”
I snap my head up and glance around. Is she dead too? Is she the one who killed him?
“Fuck,” a masculine voice curses, making Ellie and me jump.