Page 17
The uninjured man smirks, amused by my stutter. “Are you Hester Hawthorne?” he asks, and the injured man moves around to the edge of the help desk. I can only nod; my voice won’t work as he pushes the sides of his jacket back to reveal two holstered guns. “Cato Daire is the man you’re seeing?” My head vigorously shakes no this time. I don’t know what we are, but I have the distinct feeling that if I say yes, things will go bad for me.
The injured guy snorts, “Listen, you stuttering bitch, we know you’re his new fuck toy; no sense denying it.” I shut my mouth, and neither man likes that.
Moving faster than I could have anticipated, the injured guy clasps my hair so tight that strands rip from my scalp as he hoists me up onto the tips of my toes. Pressing his face into my cheek, he inhales deeply before groaning. “You even smell like a whore.” He cackles like the witch from The Wizard of Oz, and his breath is foul, but I keep still and quiet.
The other man comes closer now, his eyes narrowed and angry. He roughly grabs my chin and digs his fingers into my jaw, popping my mouth open. The cold steel of one of his guns presses between my lips, and mindless fear floods my veins as he shoves it deeper, until I nearly choke on it.
“Don’t lie, Hester; we know you’re his newest slut, so you’re going to leave a message for the asshole. Understand?” I can’t speak, so I make an agreeable sound. “Good girl. Now, you let him know the Santos brothers are going to be seeing him real soon, and this time those kids of his will feel our wrath.”
Terror strikes my heart; I couldn’t stand seeing either of those sweet darlings hurt, and before I can do anything, the gun is removed, and a fist flies into my belly. Over and over, he hits me, laughing and joking about not hurting my pretty face. That it’ll need to be able to do disgusting things to him and his brother before they kill me.
As they back off, I drop to the ground; they laugh while leaving just as Chelsea comes back in. She can’t see me on the floor yet because the desk hides my location, but I hear her say goodnight to my assailants.
“Hester, where are you? I know you said no to anything, but I brought you a lemon— Oh my god!” My eyes are closed so I don’t see her, but I flinch away from her hands as she tries to soothe me. “Did they do this? I’m calling the police!”
“D-d-don’t,” I mutter, knowing it won’t do any good. I spent my life around men like them; they’ll get away with anything, especially because Cato is somehow involved.
“What? No, you need to report them. I can’t believe I wished them a good night. Jesus. What did they want?”
Squinting up at her, she’s looking around like she expects a mess from us being robbed. Any idiot would know we don’t carry cash. We’re a public library that receives electronic donations, not paper.
“I-i-i-i-I d-d-d-don’t kn-kn-know.” I just want to go home, curl up in bed, and sleep for a few days…or weeks.
CHAPTER 11
Cato
I sit across from the man who had his hands on my woman. He’s limp and bleeding, but I have to give him credit; he can take a beating. My knuckles are bruised from the blows I delivered to him alone. I left the others to Miles, who has taken a liking to Hester and doesn’t appreciate the way they scared her. Had Zaiden been here, I know he’d have removed a lot of fingers.
“You still think I should release you?”
I’ve killed men for a lot less than what they’ve done. The thirst for death has been ingrained in me from childhood. I fought for everything Ma and I needed, and even though she suspected what I had to do back then, she knows what I do now. Which is why she’s been on me since Nate was born to find a good woman. I’m sure she’s absolutely ecstatic about Hester, but she’s kept her thoughts to herself so far.
The man in front of me groans, cracks open a swollen eyelid, and spits on the ground at my feet. “Fuck you,” he groans.
“Give me his name, and you’ll be free.” I smile sinisterly, certain he recognizes my duplicity.
When he spits on my pants this time, I blow out a deep breath, not allowing my anger to take control; that’s where mistakes happen.
Moving ever-so-slowly, I whip out my Glock, aim it at his friends, and fire, shooting one in the gut, one between the eyes, and another in the throat. Gurgling from the one choking on his own blood turns my guy green, and tears funnel down his face, listening to the moans of his gut-shot friend as blood pumps from his wound.
“There are many places I can shoot you before you’ll die from blood loss, gangrene, or sepsis. None are particularly pleasurable. Or I can make it swift.”
“Boss, it’s almost five,” Miles warns, which means I need to leave to pick up Hester.
“Keep a man on him, Miles. Let the others die here; I’m sure it’ll help his decision-making skills.”
Accepting a wet rag from Miles, I wipe off my face and neck with the help of the mirror from the cleaning station in the corner of the greenhouse. I’ll have to change my clothes and shoes.
Walking out the door, I close it tightly as two of my men bound towards the isolated building. As one enters, I hear a strained, “Wait, come back!”
I turn around, re-enter, and lean against the doorframe. “Five seconds to spit out the name.”
“Roberto Santos, he’s Arturo’s bastard son.”
Fuck me. It had to be fucking complicated.
“Kill them; hold onto him.” Miles nods and does as I ask while I run up to the main house to change quickly. As it is, I’m going to be late. Ripping off my blood-soaked shirt, I quickly send Hester a text.
