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The voices in the room grew louder, the syllables more clipped. They were arguing about him.
One distinct word reached him: SEAL.
Fuck. They knew who he was.
His mind picked out the approaching footsteps and he steeled himself for what he couldn’t see coming.
His muscles tensed as he anticipated a blow, but someone grabbed the hood and ripped it off his head.
He blinked, expecting bright halogen lights glaring into his eyes, but was met with a dim, gray room built of cinderblock walls and a cement floor.
As his stare hit the man who held the hood, he widened his scope of vision to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. He followed the chain stringing his hands together to a pole that supported the roof.
In a heartbeat, he had the descriptions of the assholes holding him here imprinted on his brain. Rough, as in cartel rough. All sporting tattoos that proved he was right about their affiliation with a group known as the Black Bloods.
The two men standing in front of Slade wore black black shirts and black pants with bulletproof vests in khaki. The pockets were weighed down with ammo. Both wore ski masks with only the eyes visible, but if he had to guess, one of them had followed him from the hotel.
“What do you want?” He managed to keep his voice innocuous.
They spat a string of curses at him, sprinkled with commands to shut up. The taller of the two had an automatic rifle slung across his chest, and he aimed it at Slade when he talked.
The man used the weapon and his appearance to induce fear, but Slade wasn’t so easily intimidated. If he had to guess, he’d call this a crime of opportunity. They didn’t seem to have much of a plan. They’d merely stuck him in a garage and chained him to a pole.
“Don’t move!” the shorter man barked.
Slade held up his hands to indicate he couldn’t, causing the chains to clink.
The man took out a phone and snapped some pictures of Slade.
He groaned. “How annoying to be held for ransom. Let me guess—you need a hundred thousand pesos or you’ll kill me in twenty-four hours.”
“Shut up!” The taller man waved his rifle at Slade.
He didn’t flinch. In fact, he widened his stance and tried for his blandest look. He was bigger than these guys. Stronger, with perfect shooting skills. It didn’t matter that his hands were chained up, either—if one came too close, he’d be crumpled on the ground with a broken neck after Slade snapped it using nothing but the strength of his thighs.
The guy held up the phone and the pair argued over the quality of the photos.
God, Slade hadn’t been on a trip this bad since Bosnia.
Flashes of his ex hit his mind, her cheeks red with fury. How they’d argued…and she said some pretty cutting words that still sliced him up just to think about them.
But it was his fault. He’d embarrassed her by stripping her of her power.
She’d had the situation with a Bosnian mafia lord under control, but Slade stepped up and intervened.
He could still see the amusement in the crime boss’s eyes before Slade shot him. And to make things far worse, he’d taunted Lena first, saying that he knew she couldn’t pull the trigger. She was too soft, just a woman.
But before Lena could prove him wrong, Slade jumped into action and squeezed off the first shot.
As the man lay there with his cold eyes void of life, Lena had turned on Slade with all the anger of a thousand dark goddesses.
He’d let her spew venom at him, and he remained utterly silent while she exhausted every stinging insult and reason why she would never, ever in a thousand years be with him again.
He never told her that in that moment before she twitched her finger toward the trigger to shoot the mob boss, Slade was overcome by a moment of terror, afraid the man would jump her before she could react.
Her words kept slamming into him, even now.
“Why do you always try to rescue me? Do I look weak to you?”She’d squared her sculpted shoulders and glared him down.
