Page 107

Heat bleeds into the cold night air as I open the car door, stepping out onto the concrete while dark clouds drag across the sky overhead. Rainwater still clings to the Wrangler in uneven streaks, its headlights casting an orange glow on the abandoned building in front of us.

Marcos mutters something in Spanish under his breath as we move toward the back of the Jeep, both of us pulling black gloves over our hands. I flex my fingers once, tapping twice against the back of the Jeep.

“Well,” I say lightly, “let’s find out if I’m sarcastic or not.”

The boot swings open. The man inside immediately jerks violently at the sound. Duct tape stretches across his mouth, and his wrists are zip-tied so tightly behind his back that his shoulders look close to dislocating. Another restraint binds his ankles together, and a black fabric hood covers his face completely. He makes a muffled noise, his body twisting harder against the tarp beneath him.

Marcos glances inside before looking at me again. “Gonna tell me who this is and why we kidnapped him?” he drawls.

I grin and reach up to the hidden compartment mounted beneath the roof, fingers curling around the grip of my gun before I tuck it into the back of my belt.

I slide a knife from my pocket and slice through the tape around the man’s ankles with a soft snap.

He immediately starts kicking. Panicking as muffled noises escape him erratically.

I hook a fist into the front of the guy’s shirt before he can scramble anywhere useful and drag him out of the boot hard enough that his shoulder clips the bumper. He makes a muted, wounded sound beneath the tape as his shoes scrape uselessly against the wet floor.

“Dante,” Marcos sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tactical jacket, “who is this?”

I slam the Jeep boot door shut behind us and start hauling the man toward the abandoned building where the car lights flood the opening. “A learning experience.”

“That clears up absolutely fucking nothing.”

The guy stumbles over broken concrete and nearly eats shit before I yank him upright again by the arm. He’s shaking now. His whole body is shivering as terror finally settles into his bones properly.

Inside, the building smells damp and rotten, rain leaking through cracks in the ceiling and dripping steadily somewhere deeper in the dark. The moonlight barely reaches through the busted windows.

Marcos walks ahead, grabs a folded metal chair from against the wall, and flicks it open with a loud clack in the middle of the room.

I shove the man down onto it, and he starts thrashing instantly.

Marcos crouches in front of him with a sigh and binds his torso to the chair with rope. “Does this have anything to do with your boy toy?” he asks without looking at me.

I grin as I pull the black hood off the man’s head.

Gideon blinks wildly against the sudden light, filthy blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat while panic explodes across his face the second he sees me.

“This has everything to do with him,” I say pleasantly. “And he’s not my boy toy.” I tilt my head slightly, smiling wider. “We’re officially dating.”

“Jesus Christ.” Marcos rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t detach. He pushes back his slicked hair with one gloved hand as he rounds the chair to meet my side.

Gideon’s gaze jerks between us frantically.

Oh, so you thought I forgot about him, huh? I couldn’t get the thought of this bastard touching my little stray out of my mind. Between spending three beautiful days indoors during a storm with Adrian, letting him eat home-cooked meals and watch crime documentaries, I also planned this fuck’s demise.

I crouch in front of him slowly, forearms resting over my knees, pulling off the tape from his mouth.

“W-what the fu-“ he yells in an instant. “P-please, I have a family!”

Poor fucking family.

“You kissed my boyfriend,” I cut in.

His face drains immediately, eyes violently scanning his surroundings before meeting mine with utter confusion slapped on his face.

“Oh,” I continue softly, “that got your attention.”

“I-I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he stammers instantly, voice climbing too high. The chair rattles beneath him as he tries to pull against the restraints. “Look, man, if this is about some guy from a club or some shit, I swear I didn’t know—”