The smug grin slipped off Toscani’s mouth and something sinister passed over his face. He stepped so close that Conall could feel his breath against his cheek. He leaned in to whisper in Conall’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you raw. You’re going to feel every inch of my cock and I’m going to tear you until you bleed.”
Conall swallowed around the anxiety building in his throat. He raised his chin. “You don’t have a big enough cock for that.”
Toscani bared his teeth at Conall and slammed the knife’s blade into his shoulder. Conall couldn’t hold back his scream this time, and he hated that he gave the bastard the satisfaction, but when Toscani twisted the knife, Conall’s entire body spasmed in agony until darkness flashed in front of his eyes and the world disappeared into blackness.
Chapter Thirteen
“How far away are we?” Sloan demanded, loading his automatic rifle with bullets. He sat in the back of the BMW that Byrnes was driving, Fionn in the seat next to him and George in the front. They were getting their own weapons ready.
“Above five minutes, sir,” Byrnes answered. He didn’t usually drive, but Dylan wasn’t a fighter and they were going to war with Toscani.
“Not soon enough, go faster.” He set the rifle on the seat next to him and grabbed his knife, shoving it into the pouch connected to the belt of his black jeans. He added another, smaller, knife to the secret compartment in the heel of his shoe. He’d cleaned up his head wound earlier, and while it still stung like a bitch, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix.
“Yes, boss.”
Five minutes was too long, and Byrnes couldn’t go any faster because he was already going as fast as the BMW would allow them to in a crowded city like New York.
Fionn grasped his shoulder and squeezed it. “He’ll be okay, Sloan.”
He’d better be, because Sloan was already imagining all the horrible things he would do to the men who took his pet, but if they’d physically touched him, their punishment would go from bad to worse.
Byrne pulled the car over into an abandoned parking lot near the warehouse they’d taken his pet to. Sloan had to admit, it was smart bringing Conall to the same place they’d killed the customs agents. There were still enough police around to be suspicious, which meant they had to be careful. They couldn’t afford a shootout. There were only so many times a police captain with a secret could help them.
Sloan slipped out of his car with his rifle, then turned to his men who’d exited the cars that had followed them. “I want this done quietly. Take them out without them knowing you’re even there. There’s too many cops around.”
His soldiers nodded.
“If my pet has been harmed, I want men alive, as many as you can get so I can give them my own form of torture.”
Smug smiles met his words.
“Bring me my pet.”
The soldiers fanned out, listening to the quiet directions of George, who Sloan had put in charge. The man may have been old, but he’d done his fair share of sneaking into the enemy’s territory, and Sloan needed a professional on the job, seeing as he had Ardan on another mission.
Fionn stepped closer to him. He wore all black, including a beanie and gloves he’d slipped on in the car. “Want me to keep an eye on them?”
“No. I’m going in too.”
Fionn shook his head. “That’s too dangerous, we need you out of the firing line, Sloan.”
“I’m not a coward,” Sloan growled. “And that’s my pet in there.”
Without waiting for more arguments, Sloan stormed toward the building, purpose in his every step. He knew what he had to do, and he didn’t give a fuck if his life was in danger. His pet came first.
The warehouse was a double-story building near the Hudson River, not far from where he and Conall had been attacked. Toscani had balls, Sloan had to give him that, but what he didn’t factor in was how well Sloan knew the area. He grew up in New York City, and his father did a lot of business deals near the Hudson and warehouses in this area. He knew how they were designed and the best way to penetrate them.
Most of these warehouses had been used by mobs at least once, and this heap of red-painted wood they called a building had seen its day as a place for money laundering with the Russians, which worked in Sloan’s favor. The Russians were sneaky bastards who liked to make tunnels to escape. All Sloan had to do was find the outside entrance.
It didn’t take him long. It was buried in grass about twenty feet away, with dirt half covering it. If anyone had been taking a walk around here, they wouldn’t have given it a second glance.
Fionn was right behind him, watching him work at brushing away the dirt and grass until the entrance was clear.
“Russians?” Fionn asked.
Sloan grunted. “Russians.”
“Why didn’t we get the boys to go through here?”
