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Her eyes fill with tears as our gazes hold while we sway to the music until the song comes to an end.
I tug Rey in against my side as we leave the dance floor, and we make our way out of the brightly lit, jam-packed club to find none other than Chad Freemont exiting his town car.
Freemont’s face is purple, mangled, with a split lip, swollen black eye, and Steri-Strip across his left eyebrow. His right arm is bandaged right against his body, and he’sclearlylimping.
He looks frantically from me to Rey and back again, his gait wavering as he internally debates what to do next.
I take a threatening step closer, and to my twisted delight, Freemont slinks back toward his town car, his immediate reaction to cower from me.
“What thefuckdo you think you’re doing here?” My words are a snarl even to my own ears, and the piece of shit flinches as though I’ve hit him – and not for the first time today.
“IknowI told you to stay the fuck away from my wife, Freemont.” Rey stiffens beside me, her quick mind connecting the dots almost instantly.
I take another step closer to him, and he holds his hands up. “P-p-please, I—I won’t cause any more t-t-trouble.”
“What do you need to say to Reyna?”
His eyes flit between both of us before he dips his head. “I’m the scum of the earth and don’t deserve to be allowed to breathe after how I treated you.”
He raises questioning eyes to mine, and I deadpan. “And the rest, Freemont. Don’t forget the best part.”
He swallows almost painfully, and I press my lips together at the sadistic joy that flows through my veins at his next words. “I’m sorry.”
Rey just stands numbly, taking in the scene before her, so I bark at the prick, “Now you can fuck off. And I don’t want to see your face here or at Maloneseveragain.”
We move past him, stepping out onto the street to the parked black town car, Ford waiting at the rear passenger door with a grin.
Once we’re safely inside, she rounds on me.
“Whatdid you do to him?”
“Gave him what was coming, Sunshine.”
* * *
“Are you sure this is the place?”
Ford just rolls his eyes at my question before pushing open the door to the pawn shop he claims is a front for a brothel upstairs.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
A short, squat man with a receding hairline and sleazy smile greets us from behind a desk.
“Watermelon, lollipop, daisy.”
His eyes light up at Ford’s crazy words, and he quickly reaches beneath his desk to press a button that allows the bookcase behind us to swing open softly.
“Have a good day.”
He goes back to his business as Ford leads the way past the bookcase and up steep stairs leading into a dark hallway.
“I have it on good authority that he’s in room 315, so keep your eyes peeled.”
We move quickly down the hall, checking door after door until,eventually,we find 315.
Low sobs are coming from within, and we both exchange a look before a cry renders the almost silence.
“I told you toscream, bitch!”
