Page 61 of Trapping His Darling

I went to the guy who always fucking knew everything.

“Where is she?” I growled. “Tell me. Now.”

“Where is who?”

Roger’s nonchalant reply is what earned him my hand around his throat. “My wife! Tiffany!” My grip tightened as I marched his feeble ass backward, until he hit the wall with a crack and an oof. Like my father, he wasn’t looking so well these days.

“Isn’t she wherever you saw her last?” Roger strained.

My jaw ticked. “Tell me where my wife is. Tell me now. Or you will be departing this existence.”

“Can’t breathe. Can’t talk.”

I narrowed my gaze and slackened my grip.

“I haven’t seen her at all. I’ve been helping with the Italy issue all day.”

I took a deep breath through my nose, attempting to calm my frayed nerves. Roger had indeed been assisting me with the Italians throughout the day, but that didn’t mean shit.

“Nothing happens around here without you knowing.” My fingers itched to rip his throat out. “Nothing.”

“I… know… nothing… swear it. Did… check security?”

I released him, then punched the wall near his head. Blood smeared the space. “We need to gather the men and begin a search,” I said quietly.

Roger retrieved his cell phone from his back pocket, pressed buttons, and rapidly issued orders. He then placed a hand on my shoulder. “We will find her, rest assured.”

I shrugged him off, walking away before I did something I wouldn’t regret a single bit.

I wanted my wife back.

Flashes of her smile haunted me; her laugh, the way she looked at me as if I were the only man in the world. I even missed the way she drove me fucking insane.

With her gone, the world felt colder, darker.

“Son—”

“I don’t want to hear it, mother. You are part of the reason I am so attached to her.” My phone pinged and I stopped to look at it. Roger had texted me an address.

Seeing the address, and knowing the shit neighborhood where the residence was located, made me sick to my stomach.

I blanked out, imagining all the horror my sweetmilyymight be going through. I was so lost to my torturous imagination, that I didn’t even remember the men gathering weapons for a war, or the drive over. Now, standing on the porch of the place felt surreal.

“Take your gun out,”I heard my mother whisper.

Blinking, I did just that and kicked open the door to the dilapidated house and shot the first drug addict I saw, right in the dick.

“Where is my wife?” I demanded, snatching up the wailing man by his collar.

He didn’t know, so he claimed.

My men rounded up a whole group, and none of them seemed to have the answer. So began the torture. Still, nothing.

In a haze of fury, I hacked away at their bodies.

“Clean this shit up.” I told my head man, stepping over decapitated bodies. “Burn it to the ground.”

“Maybe the auction house?”

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