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“You’ll never get away with this,” I manage to wheeze out, clawing at his hands to let go.
Alton laughs, the sound psychotic. “Did you know that Dad killed your father years ago by cutting his break line? That he planned—used your mother to gain access to Julian’s wealth?” Another laugh, his face hovers over mine. Pure evil reflects in his stare. “However, I did something so much worse. I’m the one that killed Amelia, Lola…I pulled the trigger and now I’ll own their little girl.”
“You—” I don’t get to finish as the door is kicked in and multiple guns are cocked.
37
Two and a half hours ago…
THE DOOR TO MY office is thrown open and as I reach for my gun, Javier comes into view. He’s angry. Full of agitation as he clenches and unclenches his hand, one that has blood dripping from the center knuckle.
“What’s going on?” I’m already standing and making my way toward him. The man never reacts—he’s calm and collected at all times—knows better than to barge in here like this unless it’s an emergency. His expression makes me pause as I reach him, my stomach churning as the worst case scenario plays out. “Where’s London?”
“She’s been taken. They’re holding her at a warehouse attached to a power plant on Lake Michigan just outside of Milwaukee,” Javier answers, and I nod. Take a moment to breathe as a rage the likes of which I have never experienced surges through my veins. It’s sudden. Maddening as I grit my teeth and fight to not give in to the emotion.
Emotional reactions lead to mistakes. Bad calls of judgement.
She can get hurt in this process if I don’t play my cards right. They don’t want to hurt her, not when she comes with a price tag, but will to save themselves. Especially Marcus. He’s been shopping her innocence—the one she gave me so sweetly—to the first son of a bitch with the right amount of zeroes at the end.
They know I’m coming but will never guess which route I’ll take. How far I’ll go to save her.
“Alton, Marcus, and Jimmy.” It’s not a question, but a statement.
“No Marcus, but we do have one Shawn Hayes assisting.” This one surprises me, but then again, after what he said to London about Karina, I’ve been waiting for him to strike. Finding out she was his ex was the easy part. A few clicks and the world’s your oyster; the internet has it’s pros and cons, and this is the perfect example.
A man in love with an old social media account from his days in college that he hasn’t closed. That he hides from his job along with a creepy fascination for women who look like Karina. Photos of the couple. Declarations. The last post on his wall is of the day she left him.
It’s a personal purging. Dark and full of bitter rage.
Yet it’s the last line that stood out for me.
I’ll kill him for us. Take his everything and place it at your feet.
“Where were they, and why the blood?”
“At Lake Forest, and I punched a wall.”
My brows furrow as I focus on the first part of his answer. “Why the fuck would she—”
“London wanted to surprise you and they went to pick something up.” What could she possibly want from…that dirty girl. I’ll turn her ass a nice shade of red for this after I kiss her stupid. “They were in his office when shots rang out, killing Liam, injuring a girl named Stacy, among other patrons.”
“And Gina?”
“Run over trying to get London out and into their car. She has a flesh wound and a broken leg but is otherwise fine. I have someone with her and Stacy at the E.R. for precautions.”
“Who?”
“Carmelo.”
Nodding, I scratch my jaw. “Where’s Marcus Foster? One doesn’t go far without the other.”
“We have a tail on him. He’s out by the pier and seems to be waiting on someone.”
“He’s not to leave.” Not a request and at once, Javi pulls out his phone and sends out a few messages. Pings follow as I walk back around my desk and remove a black and white drawing of The Asher building given to me as a gift by a customer. It’s large and heavy in its expensive casing, and the perfect size to hide the access panel behind my desk.
Placing my entire palm over the screen, I wait for the scanner to skim my hand and the section of wall to unlock. It does with a loud click, and I pull it open, entering my private collection of weapons here.
Javier follows me inside and grabs two assault rifles with silencers while I remove my suit jacket and hang it from a hook on the wall. I’m a man that appreciates the nicer things in life, and my holster is leather-made and one of a kind. Tailor made by an old Italian man in a shop where a billfold will run you a few grand easily.
