AllFreeNovel
Share Us
De Luca wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire, but it seems we found common ground after all.
“Roxanne was kidnapped.”
De Luca lets a stream of curses in Italian flow. “By who?”
“Well, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t you, who the fuck do you think has her?” I snap. Then I take a breath and try to calm my racing heart.
De Luca sends out several text messages. “I’ll see what information I can find for you. If I hear anything about her, you will be my first call.” He’s genuine. He’s always protective of the women in his life; apparently he extends that to my woman as well.
“Thank you.” I show myself out.
Patrick is waiting by the car, engine idling already. I call O’Malley, who answers on the first ring.
“The organized crime detective that has been poking around, Reynolds, can you find out where he’s been recently?”
“Oh, maybe. Let me see.”
I hear typing in the background.
“He took a department car. I’m pulling the GPS. Looks like he went to some restaurant in little Italy a few hours ago. Then he drove around the city for a while before turning the car back in.”
Fuck. “Ok, thanks, O’Malley. I’ll be in touch.” I hang up the phone and throw it on the seat. Patrick’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“Popov has her,” I tell him.
“Bloody hell. Do we know where?” he asks.
“No.” Fuck. I start to imagine what might be happening to her, and a wave of nausea passes over me.Stop. Don’t go there.I call Declan.
“Have the lads start checking on all of Popov’s properties. Look for anything unusual. Maybe we get lucky.”
“Aye, boss.”
Hang on, baby, I’m coming.
CHAPTER41
Rocky
Boris’s minion is still dragging me down the hall when I realize I’m in the back of the nightclub. My satisfaction of knowing where I am is short lived. The back door opens, and I’m shoved into the bright light. The cargo hatch on an SUV is open. My new friend shoves me inside and zip ties my wrists to the D-rings in the floor. Then he pulls the cargo cover over and slams the hatch. It’s preferable to the trunk of a car, but not by much.
We drive. And drive. And drive. The familiar sounds of the city fade away. Wherever the hell we’re going, it’s not close. I feel the car slow down and turn, the tires thumping when it leaves the paved road for the gravel crunching underneath us. Finally, the car stops. The door opens and another Russian is standing at the back door. He quickly cuts the zip tie, and throws me over his shoulder.
Wherever we are is beautiful. It’s quiet, with birds chirping and a stream nearby. The grass I can see from my upside-down position is green and thick. I can smell the unmistakable aroma of horses, and it sends a pang of sadness through my chest. I suppose this is at least a pretty place to die.
We enter a building. From the wood floor, it seems more residential than commercial. After several long hallways, I’m dropped rather unceremoniously on a hard sofa. He rips the tape off my mouth.
Dimitri is leaning against the wall. Arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes are radiating hatred. He grinds his teeth, as if he’s taking great care to show restraint.
“Where is Tasha?”
He glares at me.
“Where is she?”
He smiles. It’s slow, sinister, and makes my skin crawl. “We need to have a little chat.”
“Fuck you, Dimitri.”
