Page 65 of Shadows of Justice

Like Leo.

His dark eyes appear to me in my mind, so pensive and so soft all at once. I could get lost in those eyes. Happily, blissfully lost. I try to conjure up his smell in place of the metallic tang of blood, the feel of his hands instead of the bite of chains.

Alma mía, serás mi fin.

An accented voice shoots through my hazy thoughts, echoing against the cold, cement walls.

“Dante, ataque!”

Chapter Twenty-One - Making Deals

Saturday, July 25th

Leo

My head snaps back, cracking against the linoleum with a sickening crunch.

That marks the fourth time my nose has been broken in my life.

Police Chief Schaeffer’s silver hair is wild, sweat and exertion causing the thinning strands to stick up and frizz, adding to the crazed look of him. The lines in his face deepen with his scowl, an angry snarl curling his lips. I will say, he’s got a mean right hook—for an old guy.

He’s got brown eyes, though. Which must mean my brave girl got her gemstone gaze from her mother, along with the rest of her looks.

The old man is panting, his age showing in his windedness from beating the ass of someone that’s not fighting back. The other two men in the room stand behind him, their backs against the wall, watching with coffees in their hands. They don’t make a move to stop him.

Above their heads is the unplugged surveillance camera, staring blindly at the havoc he’s wreaking on my body. Viv’s father has kicked, punched, and choked me into passing out twice, but what’s come out of my mouth hasn’t changed a bit with the treatment.

I take it all willingly—the punishment I deserve.

In fact, I practically welcome it.

He finally tires, dropping my shirt collar to land me flat on my back as he sits heavily on the floor. He wipes the sweat from his brow, careful to use the back of his arm to avoid my blood that’s all over his hands.

“While I’m enjoying the show, chief, we need him to be able to speak if we’re going to get Viv back,” the suited fed says.

I turn my head and regard him for a moment, his hatred wafting toward me from across the room.

I know that’s Viv’s ex, Gavin Montgomery, the asshole that wasted years of her life only to fuck another woman when she needed him most. I recognize him too—as the idiot that’s been tailing me and Viv for weeks. He’s popped up in multiple locations that I frequent, trying to gather breadcrumbs against us. Fuck him.

The other guy I have no issue with. Carlos Fernandez is a good cop and all-around decent human, even when you dig into his private history—which I have. Viv’s partner has a beautiful family that you can tell he truly loves. He has an 814 credit score, he recycles, gives to charity—a real straight shooter, as they say. He doesn’t even watch pornography to jack off.

The chief rises and takes one of the seats at the metal table in the middle of the room. Even though some of my ribs are definitely broken, I ignore the pain and sit halfway upright, propping myself up on an elbow to observe all the raging bulls in the room.

I know they all want to make me pay, and I don’t blame them. That’s why I’m not fighting back and I’m telling them everything I know. I’d be storming into that club myself right now—guns blazing—if I thought that Viv would come out alive, but I’m not willing to risk her life even more with an illogical reaction like that. I’m not doing anything to get in the way of getting her help.

Even if these men kill me in the process.

“Let’s go through it one more time, Barone,” Montgomery says, wearing an air of indifference like an armor. I can see through his act though. That tap-tap-tapping of his finger is an obvious tell. He’s nervous about Genevieve, and I would know, because my stomach has been in knots since I woke up and found her gone yesterday morning.

My mouth is filled with blood, and I turn my head and spit on the floor. Thankfully, all of my teeth remain—a stroke of luck.

“We’ve already gone over it twice,” I say.

“What’s your angle here? It’s gotta be drug dealer drama. You losing out on customers to the Mexicans or something?” the old man asks, the snarl still on his lips.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t sell drugs.”

“Bullshit.”

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