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Rufie was a fucking narcissistic sadist. What he’d have planned for me…
I should be worried about how much I was looking forward to what was about to happen. Instead, I was smiling.
Eager.
Ready.
My smile stretched wider. “So fucking ready.”
I withdrew my Glock from behind my back, started walking, and stopped when my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was. Every fiber in my body knew who it was, and despite the fact I was a fucking idiot to answer, I did.
“Babe.” I stared at the warehouse, seeing Ronnie in my head.
“When I get my fucking hands on you, Lucas fucking Pratt,” Ronnie growled in my ear, “I’m going to—”
“Kiss me,” I said. Jesus, my chest felt like someone was punching into it over and over. “You will kiss me, strip me naked, and fuck me senseless.”
Slight movement in the uppermost window of the rundown building before me caught my attention. I was being watched.
“I’m going to do all those things,” Ronnie agreed. “I’m also going to go down on you, suck your balls completely into my mouth, and press my finger into your—”
“Okay, okay,” I burst out, heart racing, balls throbbing. “I’ll come back home ASAP. I promise.”
Fuck, she’d made me hard. I was about to walk into a fucking bloodbath and Ronnie had turned my dick into a fucking pole.
“Hell yeah, you’re coming home to me,” she agreed. I’d never heard her more insistent, angry, and demanding.
I chuckled. Yeah, I loved her.
“I’ll see you soon, Lucas,” she said, tone softening. The promise in her voice twisted my gut into a knot.
My chest tightened. Fuck, if only she would see me soon.
“Love you, babe,” I said. “For the rest of my life.”
I ended the call before she could say something to make me turn around and hurry back to her.
Jaw clenched, teeth gritted, I walked toward the warehouse.
That same movement in the upper window caught my eye a few seconds before I stepped through the open roller door into the main area of the building.
Rufie stood in the middle of the floor, smirking at me, flanked by his goons. As always with the fuck-knuckle prick, he carried a steel pipe—his preferred M.O. for fucking someone up.
Two steps in, I was grabbed from behind.
It took me exactly eight seconds to render the idiots unconscious.
I counted. Elbow to the solar plexus of the fucker on my right, fist to his nose as he crumpled over in pain. Heel to the foot of the douche on my left, followed by a palm-heel to his Adam’s apple.
Both crumpled to the ground, eyes rolled back into their heads.
The sound of clapping—and guns cocking—drew my focus back to Rufie.
He continued to clap for a few moments, stare locked on me. Around him, the Trinity members he’d brought with him kept their guns trained on my chest.
Idiots.
