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“We’ll break rules to find her,” he says. “They won’t. They complicate things.”
“No police then. Where’s her mother right now?”
“Alana believed she was waiting for her at Mama’s Coffee. That’s what Alana told Joey.”
“That’s a block from where we sit,” I say. “And that bitch clearly lured her onto that elevator. She knows what’s happening. Any parent capable of doing so is capable of far more. I know this from experience.” I exit the SUV and start walking, and by the time I’ve taken a few steps, Blake is beside me.
“Damion—”
I cut off the intended warning in his tone. “I won’t kill her in public,” I promise him, but I don’t go so far as to tell him I won’t kill her at all. “Go find Alana, Blake. You’re wasting time she might not have.”
“I have twenty men on this, but if you end up in jail, what the fuck good will you do it, Damion?”
“If she dies because you’re babysitting me instead of hacking and managing the situation when you could be saving her, you can consider me your worst nightmare. I want you on this, not twenty other men. Do you understand me?”
He curses and calls out, “Savage! Go with him!”
I’m another three strides closer to the coffee shop when Savage steps to my side. “Who are we killing?”
I don’t hesitate. “My father, before this is over,” I flick him a look, “and if any of you try to stop me, you won’t like the results.”
“You’ll get no right versus wrong lecture from me, man. Sometimes the world is a better place when some asshole is dead. I’m the guy who gets that, which is why Blake sends me on the jobs where an asshole might need to die.”
I reach the door of the coffee shop, and I’ve already dismissed Savage. I don’t need him to deal with the assholes and bastards. My father made damn sure I was capable as hell. Once I’m inside the tightly-packed shop, I scan the meager space and find Alana’s mother sitting at a corner table, dressed to kill in a designer dress that I suspect Alana’s money bought for her. She’s talking on the phone, her lips parted, pearly white teeth exposed as she laughs at whatever she hears—as if nothing is happening but good things and joy.
She’s such a fucking self-entitled bitch.
I begin to close the space between me and her, and she must sense my nearness, or feel the pulse of my anger radiating through the room because her gaze jerks to mine and her eyes go wide with recognition. She speaks to the person on the phone and quickly hangs up.
Her spine straightens as if she’s steeling herself for the battle she knows is coming. Because she set her daughter up today. I claim the seat next to her. She angles my direction, her smooth skin pinched with pink. “What are you doing here?”
Interesting that she isn’t asking me where Alana is right now when she’s supposedly expecting her.
“You tell me, mommy dearest,” I say. “Because she got on the elevator in your building to come and see you, and never got off. Where the fuck is she?”
“Language,” she chides. “Do not talk with such repugnant language in my presence. Show me some respect.”
“The same kind you showed your dead husband when you fucked my father and came back for more?” I lean in closer. “He’ll kill her, just like he did him. What part of that do you not understand? Or do you just not care?”
“Your father did not kill my husband.”
“No,” I say. “He only ordered the hit. You killed him by empowering my father to do so. Maybe you even knew. Maybe you want Alana dead to inherit her money.”
She gasps indignantly. “I beg your pardon. Are you serious right now?” She waves a finger in the air and points toward the door. “You need to leave.”
“He will kill her, and if you have any motherly instinct left, you need to tell me where she is.”
“He’s not going to kill her,” she snaps. “I would never allow Alana to be in danger.”
There it is. Her admission. She’s involved. I go cold inside at the brutality and callousness of the action that defies a mother’s need to protect their child. I’m back to ‘what a fucking bitch.’ I don’t hit women, but it’s all I can do not to shake her. “And yet, you set her up to be kidnapped by a man, who I know for a fact, has killed and will kill again to protect himself.”
She sneers at me. “He hasn’t killed anyone. You’re such a liar. I don’t know why Alana can’t see that.”
“Oh, he’s killed,” I assure her. “And he didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it, either. Anyone who is in his way dies. Alana is in his way. And you’re not only going to be an accessory to the crime, I bet they do true crime specials on you. You’ll finally be the star of the show. Think about that, because it’s coming. The only life my father is going to give you is one behind bars and one as the star of a show that reads something like, Bloody Mothers, that airs on Mother’s Day.”
There’s a flash of fear in her eyes, and I hope it slides inside her nice and deep and suffocates her eroding soul. I push to my feet. She follows me. “He’s not going to kill her. This is ridiculous. He’s just trying to scare her into silence.”
“Playing dumb just makes you look dumb. Where did he take her?”
