Page 81 of The Devil's Pawn

If I don’t get her back…

I slam a fist down over the console.

“Fuck!” I roar, stamping on the horn to make the car in front of me go faster.

The one on my right veers into the middle lane, letting me pass. Finally exiting off the highway, I go down the less populated roads, knowing they’re only a block away.

Faster.

Faster.

The tires burn through the concrete.

I need to get to her. I need to save her. If I can’t…if she dies…it’s on me. I won’t forgive myself. She was mine to protect, and I failed. I let them take her. I did this.

I make a sharp left, finally seeing the van and recognizing the Audi behind it, which belongs to my guys. We supply all our men with one for work purposes.

I speed faster and loop around to the right of the van, driving parallel. My eyes go to the door, then the passenger side window. A man sits there; his face turns to mine, his dark eyes visible through the ski mask as his lips curve into a vicious smile.

My hand is on the gun, ready to use it. But I can’t let the bullets fly if there’s even a small chance she could get hurt.

The asshole stands, moving out of sight, and suddenly the door in the back glides open until I come face-to-face with someone I know. The one whose skin I’ll enjoy peeling from his face. There’s a nine-millimeter in his hand.

“Where is she, you son of a bitch?” I ask Carlito, who’s unmasked.

“Oh, look. It’s my long-lost best friend. Long time no see. How you been?”

I keep pace with the van, my eyes glued to his. Thankfully, the street here is quiet. Woods surround their side of the road, while mine is filled with grass, sloping downward on a small hill.

“Is she alive? You’d better fucking hope she is.”

Grating laughter is his response. “You know, I had no idea who the hell you were until recently. You got me good. But lying to a man over drinks and a stripper should get your balls cut off.”

“You’re no man.” My mouth curls cruelly.

“Yeah…” He moves his other hand behind him, and I keep my finger on the trigger. “We’ll see about that.”

As I’m about to shoot him right between the eyes, he drags a body forward.

Her body.

On the floor.

Raquel?

I elevate the pistol so the barrel meets his face, my pulse wild.

“Might not want to do that,” he announces, his hand gripping her shirt at the front and lifting her up to a stand.

Something’s wrong.

“What the fuck did you do to her, you piece of shit?!”

Her head hangs forward, eyes closed.

No! She can’t be gone.

My heart drenches in the sin of my regrets.

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