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But all too soon, the memories come flooding back. Every single thing I’ve said and done today floods my mind, and I pick over it all at high-speed but minute detail. Second-guessing every decision. Mentally chastising myself for every wrong move. Even if it wasn’t wrong, I manage to convince myself that it was. Maybe Jeremiah would’ve told me what I needed to know if I hadn’t tortured him. What if I hadn’t cut out his tongue? What if Ace and Romeo hadn’t found out about some of my messed-up past? Maybe then they would stop looking at me like I’m a fragile piece of bone china.
Ace and Romeo. Images of them swirl in my head. Romeo with his messy brown hair and killer smile, so tall and lean and toned. Ace, so wide and muscular, with twinkly brown eyes and arms the size of a linebacker’s thighs—arms that I bet would make anyone feel safe. Their concern that the woman on the tape was being raped. Their promise to look into it. It made them seem like better men than the kind I know they must be to work for the Morettis. Although maybe it was all an act to further their mission to get Mia back.
Now Mia and Phoenix are in my head too. Maybe I’m asking too much of Phoenix. What if she hurts Mia and her baby and it breaks her? Thoughts of a pregnant woman terrified for her unborn child and wondering whether she will ever see her children again race through my head, making cold waves of nausea-inducing guilt wash over me.
I slam the heels of my palms over my eyes, grinding them into my sockets to try and stop it all. Why can’t I just be left in peace? Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I fight them. I will never fucking cry again. It solves nothing. A warrior doesn’t cry. A warrior conquers their fear.
I sink to the tiled floor, my knees curled up against my chest, and let my head fall forward. Hot water continues pouring over me, but it’s simply there, no longer soothing. I have no idea how long I sit like that, but by the time I step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me, the sun is low in the sky.
“About fucking time,” Romeo mutters and heads into the bathroom after me. I sit on the bed and look at my backpack. “Did you go through my things?” I ask Ace.
“Yeah.” A cocky grin spreads across his face. “So?”
Heat flares in my cheeks. “You had no right to do that.”
“Had to make sure you didn’t have any more surprises in there for us, didn’t I? You think I don’t know that you drugged us that night at our apartment?”
“It was a mild sedative,” I say, defending the inexcusable. But it was a means to an end. If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here now. Not that I’m any closer to finding the man I’m looking for than I was a few days ago.
“It gave me a headache from fucking hell,” Ace grumbles, rubbing his temples.
“You still had no fucking right to search my bag,” I snap. “It’s a violation of my privacy.”
He jumps off the bed and stalks toward me. I bet he thinks he’s intimidating with his huge, burly frame that would put a linebacker to shame, but he doesn’t intimidate me. Not even a little. I square up to him. He runs the pad of his thumb over my jawline, and goosebumps prickle out along my forearms. I tell myself it’s only because I’m still wearing nothing but a towel, but I suspect Ace knows the real reason as well as I do. “You lost any right to privacy when you kidnapped Mia Moretti, Trouble. And you should know that as soon as this is all over, there will be nowhere that you can hide where I won’t come and find you and make you pay for what you did.”
I lick my lips and harden my gaze, staring into his dark eyes. “You know you can’t outsmart me, Ace. I think I proved that already, don’t you?”
His menacing snarl should make me back off, but instead I lean closer and drink in his scent. He dips his head, his breath dusting over my forehead, and I hold my breath in anticipation. “I’m going to make a call.”
Then he pushes past me and walks out of the motel room. The door slams shut behind him, and I sink onto the bed and stare at it. A few seconds later, the sound of singing—tone-deaf, god-awful singing—drifts out of the bathroom. Is that— Yup. Those are the lyrics to Stayin’ Alive. Not only does Romeo sing in the shower, but he sings the fucking Bee Gees. The utter ridiculousness of the whole situation makes a hysterical laugh bubble out of my lips.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
ACE
“You have any information for me?” Lorenzo barks when he answers my call.
“The lead was a dead end. He worked with that Oscar Lang guy, but he didn’t know the man she’s looking for.”
“You sure?”
“She carved him up like a turkey, Boss, and he didn’t say a thing.” Not that he had a tongue left to speak with, but as she promised she would, she left his fingers to the end and had Romeo find him a pen and paper to write with. I don’t tell Lorenzo about it for fear that the admiration I felt for her, while purely professional, might seep into my voice. “Very few men could endure that kind of pain, and Jeremiah Boone wasn’t one of them.”
“Fuck,” he grunts. “Did you leave a mess behind?”
“I called someone to clean it up. We have nothing to worry about.”
“You learn anything else of note?”
“She hasn’t given us a single clue about where Mia’s being held. I searched her bag and her jacket. Nothing.” Nothing of note except some birth control pills, and I have no fucking idea why her being on them pleases me.
The line goes silent, and I take a deep breath. I’m as prepared for this conversation as I can be, but if my boss is about to tell me that I’ve spent the last twelve years of my life serving a family that’s involved in trafficking women and kids, I have no fucking idea how I’ll live with myself. “Boone did mention a name that surprised me.”
Lorenzo sighs. “I suspected he might.”
“Is it true?”
