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“On it!” Dante’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and unwavering. I know he means it—he’ll tear this place apart to save them or die trying. And that’s exactly what settles in my gut like a lump of lead.
The warehouse is massive, engulfed in flames. Goddamnit, he needs a direction. I tighten my grip on the man’s throat, his eyes bulging as I snarl, “Where’s the locker?”
He gasps, his face turning a sickly shade of purple. “North corner,” he wheezes, his voice a desperate rasp.
“Who else do you have in there?” When his eyes glaze over, I knock his head against a rock to jog his memory. “Answer me.”
He sucks in a breath. “No. I hid them for me.”
That’s when Dante’s voice crackles through the earpiece, choked with smoke. “I’ve got them,” he coughs, the sound harsh and raw.
“And they’re alive?” I ask, my heart pounding hard in my chest.
“Yes,” he gasps out between coughs, and relief floods me. Losing my brother is not an option. Losing any of them would destroy me.
“Two girls,” Dante continues, his voice ragged. “Kept in a fucking gym locker.”
The guy who’s not Jimmy decides he’s got more to say. “You’ll like them,” he sneers, as if he and I live in the same twisted universe. “Come on, man. You have them. Give them a little bread and water, and they’ll do anything you want. You can train them to drop to their knees and suck your dick on command.”
At this point, reality blurs. Jimmy. Not Jimmy. It doesn’t matter.
I slam his head against a rock so hard, his face morphs into a grotesque mask of blood and bone. It’s just like Dante said. He could be anyone.
I don’t mean to kill him, but the rage surges unbridled, and knocking his skull around until the bones rattle like pinballs inside seems almost instinctive now.
I know there’s a fine line between justice and vengeance. Where it is, I have no idea. All I know is in this moment, brutality feels fucking great.
“Time to go, boy,” The Scottish voice insists.
But I don’t hear him. Rage pounds in my ears, a deafening roar that drowns out all reason. It’s all too easy to lose myself in it, to surrender to the dark urges my brothers, Sin, and a battalion of corporate attorneys insist I keep chained away.
Then, a sound slices through the chaos.
It’s like a pin dropping in a cathedral, echoing through the silence, sharp and clean.
When the whiz snaps past my ear, no pain registers. It’s not until I feel warm liquid trickling down my hand that I realize what’s happened.
Not even the ghost of a Scotsman can save me now.
Fuck.
I’ve been shot.
Chapter Fourteen
ENZO
“Cazzo!” I spew through gritted teeth.
“What does that mean?” the little girl asks, her accent thick, her brown eyes wide as I clench my jaw so hard, I damn near crack three teeth.
Bruno pours more antiseptic onto my wound like acid cleaning a rusty blade. The pain is instant and fierce, and so blinding that I nearly throw up.
But, I don’t.
Instead I suck in a breath and simply hand a little girl back my cigar to hold while I exchange it for my scotch. I take a sip, the liquid burning down my throat, offering enough of a distraction from the fire in my arm I can answer her.
“It means ‘ow’,” I say, managing a strained smile. Technically, it means dick, and as an expletive translates to fuck, but considering this little girl is five at the oldest, I try to keep it PG.
