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His gaze hardens. “I don’t really see what the end results would be. Other than overcomplicated.”
“Neither do I.” I sigh. “I need a fucking drink.”
Places like this, no matter how low rent or high, no matter who the fuck might own it or what territory it sits on, they don’t give a Quinate a mini bar. The full set up that sits on a wheeled cart because this isn’t the fucking Ritz, has a selection for all tastes, but I push up from my chair, go to it and wrap my hand around a bottle of Cuban rum, and take a deep swallow, straight from the bottle.
“Overly complicated usually means overthinking.”
“Or,” I counter, “a mastermind. Kincaid isn’t that.”
Not for the first time my fingers itch to get my phone. Call fucking Agnossio.
He’s probably calling me. A lot of people are probably calling me which is why my phone’s off. I’d love to call it a power play and maybe it is, but having my phone off means I can work out my next move. And as I said, force the note sender to come here.
Plus, I don’t want to speak to Hendrick until I have the pieces.
And MG.
Because…
I breathe out, lift the bottle to the air… Someone fucking took her.
This isn’t her double crossing on that level. This is…I don’t know what the fuck it is.
With Kincaid not responding to my note, my arrival here, I’m fucking ready to go full on Jac fucking Miller and destroy all the shit until I find her.
“Got it…”
Carlos’s voice is so quiet, I almost miss it, but it drags me from my thoughts.
“Got what?” I ask.
“More footage. CCTV so it’s blurry, but there’s this.”
He sends a file to the iPad. Opening it, I frown.
She looks fucked up. And I know the building. “Lakeside Drive…”
It’s often used for the basement by low rent thugs.
Or people who want to keep their activities below radar.
Drugs, guns, people. They get kept there. And residents never ask about the lower floors because the deal’s good.
Fucking no man’s land bullshit.
I take another drag on the rum. No point in going there. This is from yesterday. They’d have moved her by now. “Can you find where they took her?”
“Do I look like I can destroy pussy at ten paces?”
“I don’t fucking know. Can you?”
“I’ll find her.”
The clock’s tick is relentless. It’s coming from deep in my fucking brain. What I wouldn’t give for a sweet pair of lips or a tight cunt rocking my cock. Fuck. I’d settle for oblivion at the bottom of the bottle.
But none of that’s happening.
Downstairs, my car waits. The limo. This time I’m being ostentatious for a reason. I want to make a splash. To be seen.
