Page 6 of Savage Redemption

“What’s going on?” she demand, her voice shaking. “Never mind. I’m off.”

She rattled the door handle. It didn’t shift. Panic really began to set in.

“Let me out!” She kicked the door and thumped on it with the side of my fist. “Help! Help me…”

Her companion—Lenny, was it, the barkeeper said?—grabbed her by the hair and hauled her away from the door. She was fighting in earnest now. Bewildered, baffled, the one thing she was sure of was that she had blundered into mortal peril, and needed to be out of there.

Her assailant had other ideas. He hauled her backwards out of the poky little room through a sliding door at the rear, then along a corridor. Her heels scraped along the floor, but she couldn’t get her footing. She was screaming, kicking, fighting for her life, but it made no difference. He had a firm grip on her hair and he was not letting go.

He opened another door and hurled her through it. She landed on her knees in a crumpled heap.

“Get her ready,” he snarled, and the door slammed behind him.

Rosie scrambled to her feet, ignoring the jarring pain in her scalp, and in her knees where she landed on the cold lino floor. The next few seconds were spent frantically clawing at the door before she spun around to confront whoever, whatever, was in there with her.

Women. Perhaps twenty women regarded her with varying degrees of disinterest, pity, or contempt. They were aged from late teens like Rosie, to perhaps thirty years old. All were dressed in more or less nothing, as though they escaped from an AnnSummers seconds sale. Corsets, fishnet tights, suspenders, spike heels, and garish make up to match. Had she wandered into some sort of kinky, super-tarty freak show?

“What’s going on?” she demanded to know once again. “What is this place?”

One of the women stepped forward. She was older than the rest, aged around forty, and dressed in severe and unrelieved black. Her hair, also black, was scraped into an austere bun at the back of her head. She glowered at Rosie, then beckoned her to come forward.

Naturally, that was not happening. Rosie stuck one finger up at her. “Go fuck yourself, lady. I’m leaving.”

She swiped her across the face before Rosie could even blink. She saw stars and crumpled to the floor. The taste of blood filled her mouth. Her head was ringing.

“Get her up and bring her over here.” The woman in black clearly gave the orders around here because two of the other women helped Rosie to her feet and frogmarched her across the room. They deposited her in a chair, in front of a wall-mounted mirror, then stood back.

Her head was still spinning when the Black Widow grasped her chin and angled her face for her inspection.

“Hmm,” she observed thoughtfully, turning Rosie’s chin from one side to the other. “Pity about the bruises. Never mind, slap some makeup on to cover it. She’ll still fetch a decent price.”

CHAPTER 1

Baz

“We needto do something about San Antonio.”

Kristian and I have just finished our regular meeting where we consider our latest sales figures, gambling receipts, and takings in the restaurants. Things are looking good, nothing to be concerned about, no traders needing a reminder of where their loyalties and responsibilities, not to mention their long-term health prospects, lie. He’s already on his feet preparing to leave but he pauses, eyes me under his brow.

“How so? That bastard’s causing no trouble as far as I’m concerned. He can rot for a while longer yet.”

“He’s been down there in my kill suite for the best part of a year,” I explain, though it’s hardly necessary.

Kris is as well aware as I am of the timescale since we took Adan San Antonio prisoner following his failed attempt to assassinate Kris. He kidnapped my wife and daughter and used them as leverage in an attempt to get me to betray my boss. It didn’t work out as he’d planned. We mounted an attack, decimated his forces and rescued the hostages. San Antonio was lucky Kris didn’t kill him right there and then, but hesettled for a kneecapping and flung him in the cells beneath our headquarters for our operation on Tenerife and the rest of the Canary Islands.

The hacienda is also my family home

“Yourkill suite?” He arches a brow

Technically the hacienda belongs to Kris, but he chooses to live on his yacht in the marina.

“You know I prefer to keep the wet work away from my family.”

“It’s not wet work. Yet.”

“Lily and Julia both met San Antonio…”

“Obviously. He abducted them and kept them prisoner in a hovel. He threatened them, terrorised them.”