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19
LIAM
I RUB AT the twisty feeling in my chest.
Being worried about another person is normal for most people—healthy, even—but not for me. I’ve only ever allowed myself to worry about specific people, and that includes my sister and her family, my parents, and my close friends. There aren’t many due to how isolated I am.
This is new. This is me pacing a hotel room, her smell still permeating the air after her shower, her discarded clothes left behind, her smile etched into my memory. I can’t pinpoint exactly what has me so wound up.
She’s safe.
I trust Ford.
I force myself to focus on the mission. The truth is, I don’t even want to finish this job now. All I want to do is find Margaret and run away with her. I scoff at my own thoughts and tell myself to knock it off. I’m not that guy, the one who abandons something just for a selfish need. I have to finish this mission. This is more than three years of my life we’re talking about.
If I can finish out this mission and find Anton, I can act out the fantasies I have of being with her for real. The FBI will want to debrief me about everything that’s happened in the last couple of years, but that doesn’t have to stop us. Margaret can wait for me, if she is willing.
I walk over to the laptop set up on the table. The leftover breakfast has been removed, and my task is at the forefront of my mind now. Anton is too smart, unfortunately, and has many hiding places here in Sin City. He could be anywhere.
The FBI has surveillance that would be helpful, but I’m not permitted to access that kind of tech anymore. The only reason Ford was willing to help me was because he’s known me for years, and he cares about innocents getting hurt. Nearly to a fault, he will always protect innocent people before he worries about catching the bad guys.
I’m still not sure who in the organization is working for Anton, but the more I think about it, the more I’m positive that’s how they found out about the safe house and got to Margaret. I was worried about Ford taking her somewhere they could find so, despite my own needs, I didn’t let him tell me where he was taking her. While that breaks me, I had to know that no matter what, she’d be safe.
I grit my teeth when I think of Anton touching her. If nothing else, he’ll die for that alone.
The only way to find him will have to be the old-fashioned way: contacts. Vegas isn’t exactly one of my stomping grounds, so finding someone who will willingly give up his location could prove almost impossible, but my options are limited with the kind of time I have.
He could escape from right under my nose, so I gotta find someone who will talk.
The club is dark, perfect for hiding from unwanted eyes. I’ve been following a trail that led me to a man named Sylvester Crum. Not exactly a very good alias if you’re choosing one, but it does make you really easy to find.
He’s surrounded by people, mostly scantily dressed women, no doubt hired to be here with him tonight, and two bulky guys are standing nearby as his security.
They’re not enough to deter me from finding a chance to talk to Crum. He’s a scrawny guy with expensive clothes, and I’m guessing if I checked his pockets, I’d find a few thousands of dollars’ worth of cocaine, the kind only G3 produces.
Rumors about this guy being the biggest drug dealer in Vegas are what made me seek him out. Anton wouldn’t want anyone but the best, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want Crum to be selling anything but his supply.
There’s a guy standing behind one of the security guards, half sloshed and nearly falling on his ass. I walk over, and he is completely oblivious to his surroundings. The guards aren’t paying any attention to him, and I take my time walking around. It’s crowded, packed over capacity, which makes this both easier and harder.
I stand out of view from the guards and lightly shove the drunk dude into one of them. He immediately turns all of his attention to the belligerent idiot, and when his buddy turns to see what’s going on, it gives me my opening.
The drunk guy starts ranting, and everyone at the table turns their attention to the altercation, Crum included, which makes grabbing him a piece of cake.
“I swear to God I don’t know anything! Please!” The man’s wails turned muffled when I stuff the rag in his mouth, and his hands flex and pull against the ties restraining him to the motel chair. We’re far away from the limelight and all of his coke-head buddies. No doubt his security guys are panicking that they let their paycheck out of their sight.
They probably wouldn’t recognize him if they saw him now, I think as I wipe blood off of my hands. His face is slowly swelling from the impacts he’s endured.
Dude’s got some serious willpower. He hasn’t let anything slip about Anton—yet—but I’m determined.
“Let me tell you a story,” I start, watching his eyes go wide and worried. Good. “I’ve been hunting Anton down and slowly breaking apart his organization for about—oh, three years now. It’s been hell, ya know? Living on the road, undercover, all alone.” I pause, wondering where exactly I’m going with this, but then I think, Fuck it. They already know too much, and Crum here isn’t ever going to see the light of day again if I have it my way. “But then, something happens. I find myself getting a girlfriend.” Crum’s brows wrinkle in confusion. “I know, right? I wasn’t expecting it either, but I just couldn’t help myself, man. She’s amazing, and I couldn’t let her go.
“Now, the problem is, Anton, your friend”—I don’t acknowledge his shaking head as he tries to convince me how close the two of them actually aren’t—“he took an interest in her, an I-want-to-use-her-against-you kind of interest, and that’s bad, isn’t it, Crum?”
He nods slowly. Tears stream down his swollen face, and he looks damn near ready to piss himself—if he hasn’t already, that is.
“Yes, good. I’m glad you agree. So, I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me everything you know, or, for every time he’s hurt my girl, I’m going to hurt you triple. You understand?” I ask, bending down to get in his face. I’ve kept my voice even and calm, inserting an authority into it that makes him take the situation seriously. If he’s more terrified of me than he is of Anton, my goal is achieved.
I take his gag out and give him a couple of seconds to compose himself. I’m not a damn monster.
