Page 157 of Captivated

Liliana grabbed it before he could reach for it again, slipped the end tail in through the metal loop to create a noose of sorts, and then threw it over his head. When it hung around his neck like a piece of jewelry, she pulled. She tightened it as much as she could, and pulled again until she heard him gag. Yanked and fucking yanked until she watched his legs kick, and his hands try to pull the belt away.

Liliana didn’t care.

She got on the edge of the bed, and used the arm of the four-poster bed as leverage to help her keep that goddamn belt as tight as it could be.

Her pain intensified—she was probably damaging her broken bones even more. She could barely hold back the vomit. She didn’t even smell the smoke, or hear the shouts and the gunshots; she just saw Rich dying.

She just wanted him to die.

Fucking die.

NINETEEN

“SHOT SUCCESSFUL.”

The comm in Joe’s ear crackled, threatening a breakup of communication with the others, but he was laser focused on clearing the next hallway inside the house. Snipers at the back and front took out whatever guards they could pick off while the rest of them stormed the grounds.

He could have dressed in gear like the rest, but other than a Kevlar vest and leather gloves, Joe hadn’t given it much thought. And even the fucking vest had been thrown on him by his father with a harsh, “I am not going to explain that to your fucking mother, thank you.”

Joe caught sight of a flash at the end of a hall as he rounded it, and instantly threw his body back around the corner.

Brraaaap.

Bullets peppered the floor.

Joe heard one or two ricochet.

Shit, these guys weren’t playing around. Frankly, he was fucking surprised that Rich Earl had access to as many trained guards as he did.

But then again, like the Marcellos had pointed out when Joe mentioned it, anyone’s loyalty, time, and protection could be bought with the right amount of cash in their hand. So was the way of a criminal without morals or honor.

Joe waited for the raining bullets to stop.

Then, he waited some more—just long enough to know the guy was probably peeking around the corner to see if he had hit his intended target. Joe stuck his gun around the corner first, and then his face second.

His finger was already wrapping tight around the AR-15’s trigger when he saw the guy peer around his side of the hallway, and there was no hesitation when Joe cocked his finger back twice in quick succession.

One bullet plugged into the guy’s throat.

The other, between his eyes.

The man with the ski mask-covered face dropped to the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes.

“Clear,” Joe uttered.

As he stepped down the hallway, he could hear the crackling picking up on the bottom level of the large estate. One of Rich’s fucking idiots had managed to shoot some kind of decorative oil burner that was a little too close to drapery.

It went up like a dried Christmas tree.

Nothing to stop it.

Nothing to help it.

The smoke was rising, now, and he was kind of pissed off that it had happened at all. Unnecessary complications, really.

Something else to worry about.

Joe moved into the hallway, and several men followed behind. Lucian and his son, John, quickened their steps just enough to head past Joe as they came to a staircase. One that lead to the downstairs, to the upstairs, and down another hallway.