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When I arrive near Dalton’s place, I sit in my car for a full five minutes, hands ghosting over my weapons—my trusty hand-forged Damascus steel Bowie knife, some fragmentation grenades, and two SIG Sauer P226s. And, of course, the bomb to end this once and for all.
It’s not much, but I’m going to have to wing it once inside. The last thing I need is getting dragged down by my bulk.
I think about Lila sitting at home, at the men who tried to hurt her or worse, and I feel the flame of fury licking my veins.
Anger sharpens my mind, like it always does, and clears my head. People will say not to fight angry, but I disagree. Theangrier I am, the more efficient I become. A better weapon. A better killing machine.
With one deep breath, I step out of the car and toward the compound.
Getting inside is surprisingly easy, and I make it to his second-floor balcony without alerting anyone, dodging both guards and security cameras. Maybe because it’s broad daylight, and they know that the only intruders who will try to break in are fools. Which I am not.
Dalton is standing in front of his king-sized bed with nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. He’s an average-looking guy—light brown hair brushed back, deeply tanned, and basically a face that won’t ever stand out. A forgettable face, save for the cruel tilt to his mouth.
Two naked women lie on the mattress, and a third one is draped over the loveseat behind him.
He swipes through his phone and puts it against his ear, looking at the sleeping women and stepping out onto the balcony.
Wrong move.
I waste no time wrapping an arm around his neck, sticking the muzzle in his mouth, and dragging him toward the adjoining room, which apparently doubles as his home office. I use zip ties to tie him to a chair, and he struggles before I wrap a hand around his neck to cut off his oxygen.
His eyes widen with fear, and I say in a low voice, “Stay still, or I might accidentally break your bones or choke you to death.”
“W-who are you? What do you want?”
Satisfied that he’s secured, I step back and drag a chair so I can sit across from him. “I’m going to ask you a question. Answer yes or no. If I find out you’re lying, I’ll bury this knife in your thigh. Then, I ask the same question. If you lie again, I’m going to bury it in a different spot.” I grin at him. “So if you don’t give me an honest answer, you’re going to end up looking like a voodoo doll.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” he spits out. “I have two dozen men outside.”
“Yeah?” I lean back and prop an ankle over my knee. “Where are they now?”
He realizes the situation he’s in, and his eyes turn wild, his breathing erratic. Fear. Good. He deserves to marinate in it.
“Did you send your men to Phillip Lennox’s house?”
The brief, unmistakable glint in his eyes confirms it—a physical reaction to my question—but instead of answering, he glares at me. “What’s it to you?”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“The bastard stole my twenty million.”
“He’s not at home, though, but you already know that.”
“His stepdaughter is.”
Something long buried in the back of my mind flickers to awareness—the primal beast that I have forgotten existed. It was this beast that had me fighting mindlessly on the streets, beating bloody anyone who came near me. The beast that landed me in jail.
“Nobody comes after my woman and gets out alive.” The possessiveness in my voice catches me off-guard.
“W-who are you?”
“Luca Lennox.”
His eyes dart back and forth. “So the woman in Belshire … She's your stepsister.”
“Did I stutter?”
We’re done talking. I need to get back to Lila.
