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I shove my weapon into the holster. Laredo tosses me some zip ties he’s dug out of the pack on his back, and I get to work. The first motherfucker I bind doesn’t say a word. Warm liquid touches my fingers as I fasten the zip-tie around his ankles. The bastard is pissing himself.
“Motherfucker!” I stand, and the man’s eyes widen. I grab a fist full of his perfectly styled hair, holding his head in place, and bury my other fist in his face. My knuckles scrape teeth, and blood drips from his mouth.
“What the fuck, brother!?” Laredo snaps.
“Son of a bitch pissed on me,” I growl in disgust, wanting to rearrange the bastard’s face some more. I move on to the next asshole and start binding his wrists.
“I’ll see to it that you men are imprisoned for this,” the man says stiffly. His pompous attitude grates on my already agitated state.
Before I react, Salem appears with Robbie Martin in tow, and I’m surprised to see him still breathing.
“Where are the others?” Salem looks around the room.
“With the women in another room,” Mystic informs him, which reminds me of the one I left outside.
“There’s a woman out on the outer perimeter of the lawn near the beach,” I say.
“Alive?” Salem asks as he shoves Martin toward the bidding stage.
“Alive,” I confirm.
“If you’re here for money, there’s a safe in the library. The code is 24-35-63-05. There’s five hundred thousand in cash. Take it, leave, and I won’t press charges.”
The large sum of money is much more than what the job is paying, and a hell of a compensation for the extra bullshit we are dealing with tonight. Little does Martin know, we don’t give a damn how much money he is willing to throw at our feet; we won’t accept it. A deal was made. His fate is sealed. There is only one outcome for him tonight.
Salem points his gun at Martin’s face. “On your knees.”
“I’m a businessman.” Martin sinks to his knees. “You want more? I’ll give you more. Name your price.”
Salem digs in his pocket and hands Martin a burner phone. “Take it.” His voice exudes authority and power. Martin takes the phone. “Dial 911.”
At Salem’s command, Martin stares at him, confused. I admit, I’m wondering where this is going myself. Salem can be a creative yet sadistic son of a bitch, which makes him good at what he does.
“You’re going to give authorities your name, address, and the names of every man in this room, or you’ll watch us put bullets in each of their heads.”
Martin shakes his head. “No. I won’t.”
Salem puts his finger against the trigger of his gun. “You will do it or die a slow fuckin’ torturous death. You’ll also tell them these men are engaged in human trafficking and inform them of the women being held captive.” The lethal tone of his voice leaves no room for negotiation or compromise.
“You do that, and I’ll make damn sure you are locked up for the rest of your life, Martin,” one of the suited men spews, his fear and anger palpable.
“Make the fuckin’ call,” Salem growls.
With trembling hands, Martin taps the phone screen.
“Put it on speaker,” Salem barks.
“911, what’s the nature of your emergency?” A female dispatcher’s voice replaces the silence in the room, and we listen to Martin rattle off the information he is ordered to give. Before the dispatcher or Martin can say another word, Salem rips the phone from Martin’s hand, drops it to the floor, and destroys it beneath his boot. He picks up the pieces and shoves them into his pocket.
“You fucking snitch. You will pay for this!” the man from before spits, wriggling in his seat. “All of you will.”
Salem presses the tip of his gun to Martin’s temple.
“Wait—wait! You said you wouldn’t shoot me.” Martin’s voice is filled with desperation, his words shaky and broken, and his eyes wide with fear.
“I never said I would spare your life, only your colleagues here. Their fate is in the hands of the law.” Salem lets his words sink in.
Martin glances around the room, his fate on the auction block, his life being weighed. Fallen Ravens are his judge and jury. And Salem, his executioner.
