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“I’m looking for information about a recent purchase,” I say, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me. “A woman, brunette, five three.”
He nods, recognition dawning. “Never seen her.”
I pull out a hundred dollar bill and slide it onto the counter. I could beat the information out of him and I yearn to do it but that would take too long. Every second counts. “Refresh your memory?” I ask, adding a second hundred.
“Yeah, now I remember. She bought my bike off me. Paid me five hundred bucks for the piece of shit.”
“Your bike? Did she tell you where she was going?”
“No, but hang on a sec.” He reaches under the counter. I’m halfway to my gun before he pulls out a laptop, swinging the lid open. “It’s still got the tracker inside the frame. Here you go.”
He spins the laptop my way. I look at the map. A warehouse. Is that where Emma’s being held? “Say, you got anymore where that hundred came from?”
“Learn to negotiate before you give away your intel,” I reply as I walk out the door.
* * *
Inside the dim warehouse, the air is heavy, filled with the scent of oil and the underlying tang of fear. Shadows cast by the sparse, flickering lights create a maze of uncertainty.
My men, shadows themselves, blend into the background, their presence felt rather than seen.
Tony limps closer, his voice low. “Are we sure about this? That store clerk could be working for them.”
I glance at him, the weight of command heavy on my shoulders. He could have stayed out of this. He should be recovering from what happened to him. But he’s here.
He believes in me. I have to prove myself worthy of that belief. “We have to be sure. It’s the only lead we’ve got. Keep your eyes sharp, and be ready for anything. If it’s a trap, we’ll turn it back on those motherfuckers.”
As we advance, the warehouse comes alive with the sound of movement. Figures emerge from the darkness, their laughter cutting through the silence like a blade. They’re not expecting us, not really.
They think they’re the hunters, but today, the roles are reversed. They only see me, Tony’s already lost to the shadows.
The largest of them, a brute with a smirk that speaks of too many easy victories, steps forward. “You lost, pretty boy?” he taunts, confidence oozing from every pore.
No words pass my lips. Instead, I let my actions speak, my fist connecting with his jaw with a satisfying crack. The fight erupts, my men springing into action, their shots precise, controlled. Within moments, it’s all over. Our enemies are dead.
As the dust settles, only one remains alive, groaning on the ground, blood pouring from his side. I grab him, hoisting him up to face me, his fear palpable. “You’re going to talk,” I demand, dropping him back to the concrete. “Where is she?”
His screams fill the space, but they’re music to my ears—a means to an end. “I don’t know,” he whimpers, “Please...”
Before I can press further, my phone vibrates. The caller ID sends a chill down my spine—Garibaldi. I answer, my voice ice. “What do you want?”
His laughter, cruel and knowing, echoes in my ear. “Ah, Alessandro. Always playing the hero. But you’re not very good at it, are you? First your sister, now your wife.”
I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to lash out. “If you’ve hurt her?—”
“You did well to find the warehouse but she’s no longer there is she? Such a shame after your lead came to nothing as well. Poor Eddie. He begged at the end, cried like a girl when the blade went in.”
“Where is my wife?” I roar.
“Come to 21st and Lexington. Alone. Unarmed. Maybe then you’ll see your precious Jess and her friend. But hurry, Alessandro. My patience has its limits.”
The line goes dead.
“We’re moving out,” I say, a storm brewing within me. “Tony, get the men ready. This ends now.”
TWENTY-THREE
Jess
