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“Put your arms at your sides and open your mouth.”
Whimpering and scared, she did as he said.
“I know you had a tough morning, but you have only yourself to blame,” he scolded, placing a ball gag between her lips. “Bad girls who don’t tell the truth lose the right to speak for a while. You should have been honest from the start. You’ve caused all kinds of problems—for both of us.”
His reprimand stung as much as the swat, and as he lifted her hair to secure the gag’s strap at the back of her neck, she cursed herself for not coming clean about the flash drive and picture at the lodge.
“If you hadn’t gone through the drama in the garage I’d tie your wrists behind your back and shackle your ankles,” he continued, turning her around by the shoulders. “Don’t make me regret my leniency. I expect you to behave. Are we clear?”
Her heart racing and fighting tears, she started to nod her head, but without warning he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.
* * *
Wordlessly carrying Steph through the club and out to the garage, Marco placed her in the Rover, buckled her in, then climbed behind the wheel and leaned his head back. The day had been filled with too many surprises—good and bad. He needed a minute to catch his breath.
On the drive back to the club, Marco had called Liam and brought him up to speed. With the operation about to reach its climactic, dangerous end, Liam had promised to keep Max under surveillance, and pick him up if he dared to venture anywhere he shouldn’t. Marco had also asked Liam to track down Max’s lawyer.
The photograph was a disturbing development.
It showed Marco with Liam and his partner.
Working with the FBI, Marco walked a perilously thin high wire. He could create a plausible excuse if needed, but it would still cast a shadow he didn’t want or need. Finding the unknown attorney and retrieving the copy of the flash drive and picture had become a priority.
Learning Max had been responsible for ransacking Steph’s apartment had been a huge relief. Though it probably meant the Zeppelins may not know she existed, Marco had to assume the worst and keep her under wraps. But the alarming news about her theft had been unnerving.
Starting up the Rover, he glanced across at her.
What else had she lied about?
Treacherous days loomed ahead.
He could leave nothing to chance.
When they reached his house, she’d tell him everything.
“Your timing is terrible,” he muttered as he started up the SUV, “but it could have been worse. I might still be able to clean up the mess you’ve made.”
She made a muffled noise.
“We were almost killed today because you weren’t straight with me. It doesn’t get more serious than that,” he said sternly, continuing the facade. “While I’m driving home, you’re going to make a mental list of what you know, what Max knows, and every lie you’ve told me. When we get there you’re going to tell me absolutely everything.”
* * *
Marco’s involvement with the nefarious brothers had begun several months before. He’d received a cryptic message from an FBI agent named Liam Miller. If their lives had taken them on similar paths, Marco believed they would have been great friends, but they operated on opposite sides. Meeting in a dimly lit downtown bar, they’d sat at a corner table, and over a bottle of bourbon, they’d swapped tales of tribulation and triumph.
Then leaning forward, Liam had lowered his voice.
“Marco, I need your help, but you’ll also be helping yourself.”
Liam went on to explain a gang from Eastern Europe headed by two brothers, Oleg and Ivan Zeppelin, planned to expand their operation into the United States. Their villainous enterprise involved narcotics, prostitution, human trafficking, gambling, arms dealing, protection, and anything else that crossed their path. They wanted to launch in New York, and were seeking a powerful American partner. As Liam had relayed the information, Marco had remembered another of his father’s pearls of wisdom.
There’ll be times when you and the feds can help each other. Don’t make a habit of it, but when it matters, step up.
A gang like the Zeppelins could not be allowed to get a foothold in New York, but Marco was involved in none of those things. His forte was white collar crime.
“Liam, I can’t see this working. I don’t deal in any of that crap.”
“Marco, don’t you see? That’s exactly why you’re the perfect candidate,” Liam had pointed out earnestly. “You can claim you want to branch out.”
