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I sped into the parking lot of a fancy hotel about twenty miles outside of LA. Celt, Renegade, and Blade were right behind me.
Celt grumbled, “This looks like the kind of pace a feckin’ mobster would pick.”
“They man who grabbed her wasn’t wearing a suit. He looked like a hired thug,” I pointed out.
“Well, they’re not gonna live long enough to spend any of the money they earned. That’s for damn sure,” Renegade said.
“I don’t see a white van. Let’s head to the back of the building. They’ve got to be here.”
We crept around the side of building in time to see two men wearing black jeans and T-shirts putting magnetic signage on the side of a white van.
“That’s the van,” I whispered. “They’re clearly trying to disguise it a little, thinking that if we’re looking for a plain van, we’re not going to follow one with a contracting company’s name on the side.”
Renegade put his hand inside his vest and let it rest on his gun. “They ain’t smart, that’s for sure.”
I said, “Let’s grab them, throw them in their own fucking van, and make them tell us which room my old lady is in and who fucking took her.”
We snuck up on them from behind and Celt jerked open the van door while Blade, Renegade, and I threw them inside. They came up fighting as Renegade and I climbed in, but the second my club brother pulled out his handgun, they settled down.
“What do you want from us? We’ve been working hard today. All we want to do is get a hot shower and catch some sleep.”
Renegade cursed under his breath, reached into his pocket, pulled out a silencer, and began screwing it onto the end of his pistol. He glanced at me. “I don’t know about you, brother, but I don’t have the patience for a bunch of bullshit today.”
My lips pressed into a firm line. “Me either. Kill one and I’ll bet the other talks.”
“What the hell are you two talking about? We haven’t done anything to you.”
I picked up Aprilia’s property cut from the floor and held it up in front of his face. “How about you tell me where my old lady is before anyone does something to her that you’re all gonna fucking regret?”
They looked scared shitless, but they still weren’t talking. Renegade held his gun up to one man’s face. I reached out and shoved it in the direction of the other man.
“Don’t kill this one. He’s the one who took Aprilia. I want his death to be slow and painful.”
It only took the second man a few seconds of looking down the barrel of Renegade’s gun to begin blabbering. “I’m not getting paid enough to take a face full of lead. They’re in room three sixty-eight.” He pulled a white plastic card from his front pocket. “The number’s right here on the room key they gave us.”
I snatched the card out of his hand and asked, “Who the fuck is behind this?”
“It’s her fiancé.”
“Nicco?” I said, thinking of what I’d do when I got my hands on that double-crossing mobster piece of shit.
“No. I heard someone call him Charles. He’s short, pudgy, and none too handsome. Slicks his hair back like it’s the fucking sixties.”
I swore under my breath. “His real name might be Charles, but his nickname is Chester the child molester.”
I banged on the van door and Celt slid it open from the outside. “The pedophile has her. They’re in room three sixty-eight.”
“Let Renegade stay down here with these fuckers while we take care of the pedo,” Blade said.
I climbed out of the van. “We’d best get up there. We’ll grab them, perp walk them back to their own fucking van, and head back to the clubhouse with them.”
Celt nodded. “Good plan. Storm, Grit and Thunder will be here shortly.”
“I ain’t waiting on them,” I ground out before heading for the back door of the hotel. The key card opened the door and three of us walked in, raced up three flights of stairs, and began searching for the door marked three sixty-eight.
I slid the keycard into the slot on the door handle and we all rushed in at the same time. Aprilia was nowhere to be found, but Chuck was sitting there on his laptop like he didn’t have a care in the world. Another man jumped up and went for his weapon, but Blade was all over it before Celt and I could move.
I slammed my hand down on his laptop, closing the screen, as Chuck stared in horror at Blade driving a hunting knife through his accomplice’s shoulder blade, practically pinning him to the chair he was sitting in. Blade stated roughly, “Do not fucking move another muscle if you want to survive this awful day.”
