Ten years.
Ten fucking years she spent being passed around like she didn’t belong anywhere. Because of them. Because of people like him.
My jaw tightens. I was planning on killing him tonight. Slowly. Methodically. But not until I have every answer. I lean down until my face is inches from his. Until his labored, hot breaths land on my face.
“What happened to him?” I growl.
Tristan blinks, confusion flickering across his face.
“Who?”
My fist tightens in his shirt and I slam him back onto the concrete floor.
“Her father.”
The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass.
“What the fuck happened to him?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The sun is barely upwhen we walk back into Perdition. The casino floor is still alive. Cards shuffling, chips clacking, people moving in and out of whatever stores are open. They have no idea the world shifted overnight.
But they will.
Everyone is waiting in the booth when the four of us step inside. Jeremy tips back an energy drink. Slater pours over security footage from the parking garage. Watching that bartender get abducted over and over, hoping he’ll see something we missed the first million times we’ve seen it. I don’t want to be the one to tell him that the likelihood of us finding her–or where they took her–is next to impossible now. I think he knows, but refuses to give up. So we won’t.
Cole sits in a chair in the corner of the room and looks me over from head to toe. “Judging by the amount of bloodnoton you, I’m guessing fuck stick is still breathing?”
“For now,” I tell him. “Let’s get Kellen and Levi up to the warehouse to watch him.”
His brows pull together. “Do we trust them?”
I shrug. “They say they had no idea what Owen was up to. Let them prove it. If they fail, they can end up in the river too.”
Cole studies me for another second, then nods slowly.
“Fair enough.”
Jeremy chugs the rest of his drink and tosses the can in the trash. “So, what’s next?”
I look over to Nick, who steps into the middle of the room.
“Already started.”
Everyone’s eyes dart between the two of us.
Nick shrugs. “Made a few calls on the way back.”
Elias nods. Slater swivels his chair around slowly.
“What kind of calls?”
Nick stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“The kind that make men like Jack Steele sweat.”
Jeremy tips his head to the side. “You talking investigators?”
