Page 74 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

Antonio’s men surround us, the material of my shirt barely holding on as they take turns whipping, beating, and trying to break us down. I clench my jaw as my ribs take another blow. This fucker’s got a good swing on him.

“Shit,” Maddox says. “That looked personal.”

I only grunt in response as the guard swings again, nailing me in the exact same spot while my rib gives out under the pressure.

“Yep, definitely personal.”

Their brutal attack goes on for nearly an hour, only walking away when both Maddox and I are left completely battered and bruised, blood dripping to the ground beneath us.

Only one guard remains to keep watch over us, sitting by the door with a rifle already locked and loaded in his hands. I roll my eyes at his performance. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to achieve with that gun, but I can guarantee he’s going to be sorry if he attempts to use it.

I close my eyes and take a breath, mentally documenting my injuries and figuring out just how hard it’s going to be to get through to the next phase of my plan. But considering we could be here a while, I have time to regain my energy. All that matters is that we’re in the heart of the lion’s den, and sooner or later, Antonio is going to walk through that door to put a bullet through both of our heads, and when he does, Maddox and I will be ready. Not to mention, we’ll be splitting the five-million-dollar payout for completing the contract.

I almost grin to myself. The amount of money someone would pay to destroy their competition blows me away sometimes, especially considering just how easy it could have been to take a gun and shoot the bastard themselves. It’s not as though the type of person who ordered this hit wouldn’t have the connections. Honestly, it seems like a waste of money if you ask me, but nonetheless, I’m more than happy to take it off their hands.

“You good?” I murmur, glancing at Maddox beside me, watching a trail of blood snake down his face from the cut above his brow.

“No talking,” the guard grunts.

Maddox ignores him and nods. “Never better,” he says. “Going well so far.”

I snort a laugh. “Exceptionally well.”

“Hey,” the guard spits, clutching the gun harder. “I said no talking.”

Maddox just smiles and looks out at the windowless concrete box around us. “This is quite nice actually. I like what they’ve done with the place,” he muses. “They’ve definitely upgraded since the last time we were here. It could use a window or two for ventilation, though. All out, I give it an eight out of ten.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?”

I shake my head just as the guard flies to his feet, red faced and grasping his gun. He storms toward us but foolishly stops directly between us.

“I said,” he spits, turning toward me and pressing the gun against my chest, though I don’t doubt that he’s under explicit instructions not to kill us. Antonio would want that pleasure. “No fucking talking.”

My gaze flashes to Maddox, and the second he smirks, we each move. My foot slams out, catching the fucker in the chest and sending him flying back toward Maddox just as my best friend catches the guard with his legs.

Maddox’s thighs wrap around his head and with a quick twist, the guard’s neck is broken, and he goes down like a bag of shit.

I smirk at the way Maddox stands on the guard’s dead body to relieve the pressure on his wrists—not that I have the same pleasure. “This is not an eight,” I say, continuing our earlier conversation.

“It is.”

“It’s barely a six.”

Maddox gasps, having the decency to look appalled, but his expression only pulls at the cut on his brow, sending a fresh stream of blood into his mouth. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being accurate.”

He shakes his head. “You gave that warehouse in Brookhaven a seven.”

I scoff and glance at him, my brow arched. “Because it had character.”

“It had rats.”

“They were part of the atmosphere.”

I roll my eyes and give in to his bullshit. “Okay, justify it. What makes it an eight?”