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You keep ignoring my messages. It would be wise for you to start listening. The longer it takes for me to get what I want, the worse it’s going to be when I do get my hands on her. You know, I’ve heard all about that tight fucking cunt of hers. I’ve always wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Have you ever fucked a dead girl? You see, there’s this moment when the fear overtakes them, and their cunts tighten to a painful point. That’s when I’ll slit her pretty little throat. I’ll enjoy licking the tears from her cheeks, and when I do, you can drown in the knowledge she copped it worse because of you. Hand her over, and I might, just might, go easier on her.
DJ
It tookSam and three guys to hold me back when all I could think of was going on a fucking killing spree. He’s got family. I’ve already found them. I have no issues in killing each fucking person off. He wants to threaten the one person I love. Let’s see how he fucking likes it when I retaliate by doing the same. But I won’t make fucking threats, and he won’t see it coming until it’s too fucking late.
Even with being held down by four grown fucking men, the only thing that dragged me out of that haze was my phone ringing with Emily’s ringtone. She very rarely calls—today she called at the right time.
Now I’m sitting here, like a fucking useless fuck. He wants me to turn Emily over to him. He knows I’m hiding her somewhere. But he will never get to her. I’ve already got us new identities, passports, bank accounts, and a plane fuelled and ready to go on a moment’s notice. I will disappear with her if that’s what it takes. There’s a little island I purchased under a shell corporation. Nobody knows it exists—well, nobody but me.
I’m hoping it won’t come to that. I want to give Emily everything she dreams of, the horses, the grandkids. Everything. I want to give her the fucking world. And I can’t do that until I find this fucking asshole and deal with him.
Heading to the bar, I pour another glass of whisky, downing the contents as the door to my office gets thrown open. Sam walks in like he fucking owns the place. He helps himself to a glass before sitting on the lounger. He tilts his head at me, looking contemplative, then he speaks.
“Do you really think getting wasted at three in the afternoon is wise?” he asks.
“Got any better ideas?” I shrug as I pour another glass. Getting wasted seems like a really good bloody idea right now.
“Yeah, I do. Give me your keys. I’m driving. You’re coming with me.”
He stands, waiting for me to respond. “Where’re we going?”
“Tony pinged the IP from the last email. It’s a warehouse over in Marrickville, near Cooks River.”
“Well, why didn’t you fucking lead with that? Let’s go.” I swipe my keys and wallet off my desk and storm out of the office.
“Ah, you’re not fucking driving, Josh. Give me the bloody keys.” Sam steps in front of me at the lifts, holding his hand out. I only give him the keys because he’s right. I can’t drive right now. I’d probably end up driving us into the damn river at this point, not from being drunk, because I’ve only just started to get a light buzz on. No, I’d drive into the river out of pure fucking rage at this point.
I pass the keys over as the doors to the lift open. “Disregard any and all fucking road rules. Just get me to that warehouse.”
“Done.”
* * *
“Wait, hold up. Are you carrying?”Sam stops me from jumping out of the car. We’ve pulled over at a block of abandoned industrial sheds. The place is deserted. For Sydney, that’s fucking disturbing as hell. The thirty-minute trip gave me time to sober right up.
“Of course I am. And I’ll be more than happy to show you if you do not remove your hand, now!” I grit out. He knows I don’t fucking like being touched, unless it’s Emily doing the touching, that is. Thinking of Emily, I pull my phone out and send her a quick message.
Me:I’m taking you out for dinner. Be ready at seven.
Her response is immediate.
Emmy: I can’t go to dinner, Josh. Let’s just have dinner here.
Me:Em, we’re going out. Be ready. Love you. xx
Emmy:Are you sure that’s wise?
Me:Yes. Talk tonight. I gotta go.
Emmy: Okay.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I jump out of the car. Sam’s waiting for me with a group of around ten men I’m assuming he’s brought along. Walking up to the group, I instruct them, “If anyone sees this fucker, shoot to hurt, not kill. That kill is mine. Let’s go.”
I get a mixture of grunts and “yes, sirs” in response.
Sam leads the way to the warehouse marked number six. Pushing past him, I kick the door open. I pull the Glock out from my back and storm into the building.
“Jesus Christ, Josh, let the whole fucking neighbourhood know we’re here, why don’t you.”
