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“Good.” My father gave me a curt nod, but I breathed easier when I didn’t see any disappointment in his eyes. Simply a warning. “Now bus those remaining tables. Natalie had to leave early. Tell your brother to report to me later when he’s finished getting the girl settled in.”
And just like that, I’d won.
Sort of.
I smirked at myself at the thought of training her to be the perfect mafia match. My hands on her porcelain skin, pinching, caressing, tweaking. Would she take my punishments with regality, or would she fight me? Fight us? God, I loved a good fight, but there was something sweet about a woman who submitted.
The image of the raven-haired woman on her knees before me had my cock twitching, and suddenly, I wished I were the one upstairs instead of my brother.
He had everything to gain from beginning her trainer.
The reporter, however, would forfeit everything she knew.
4
Iwas going to suffocate.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Soon, the compact trunk they’d shoved me in would run out of oxygen, and I would die. My screams were muffled by the makeshift gag shoved between my lips and wrapped around my head. The knot was caught in my unruly hair, pulling painfully at small chunks. I banged my bound hands against the inside of the trunk lid, but it was no use.
Jesus. I’ve been fucking kidnapped.
I was going to be sick.
The trunk reeked of oil and gasoline; the fumes making me lightheaded and adding to the nausea that was growing in the pit of my stomach. Damn, I was regretting drinking all that whiskey. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in here. I’d woken up to the feeling of claustrophobia clawing at my back, the only light permeating the small space coming from the dim glow of the taillights.
Every dip, bump, and rolling stop caused me to whimper. My stomach churned with despair and regret as we inched closer to my demise. Where were they taking me? I’d published enough stories on the police finding bodies of victims who’d crossed the mafia to know it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Cement shoes.
Executions.
Exploding cars.
Those were just a few things I’d come across.
Then there was torture, cigarette burns, iron brands.
Knife wounds so precise in the amount of pain they caused.
Were they planning on killing me? They knew who I was, but only on the surface. No one knew about the connection with my family, and that would be a saving grace. They wouldn’t try to use me as ransom to get to my father. That also meant that they had no use for me. A meddlesome reporter.
I thought back to what one twin had said. He’d known about the bombing at the Ward farm. The stables were what the Seattle underground called it. The place where traders hid their cargo from the authorities. Elias Ward’s worst kept secret among the criminal enterprise. It was where he stored the flesh he was looking to sell. Like cattle.
It was disgusting.
Were these men somehow involved? The bombings likely hadn’t crippled Ward’s trade. It was only one location out of who knew how many. Rumors had been flying around for weeks that, since his death, Elias’s son, Christian, had taken the reins and was looking to expand. The idiot was promising more flesh to those depraved enough to buy.
I’d been digging into the Ward flesh trade for months. Ever since one of my coworkers went missing on assignment. Not that anyone believed me. According to the paper, she’d put in her resignation and moved down south to be with her parents. Except Lina had been my mentor and a good friend to me. We’d talked not only about her research into the sex trafficking ring but also about her personal life. Except her parents were dead.
In my free time, I went digging for the truth. Despite ample protests. Someone had set it up to look like she had just left, and while everyone else wanted to put on their rose-colored glasses and believe the lie, I wouldn’t. I was going to investigate, no matter what.
At least, that had been the plan.
The car came to a sudden stop, the engine cutting out. There was a tightening in my chest as panic surged through me, gripping me soundly, and I struggled to control my rapid breaths when the sound of the driver’s door opening and slamming shut reached my ears.
It was the sound of my doom.
My death.
