Page 111 of Filthy Little Games

“Okay. Text me the number. I’m driving right now, but I can pull over and run it when it comes through.”

“The number is Emilio Rovina’s,” I warn him, so he knows what he’s getting himself into.

Roscoe whistles through his teeth. “Then the search will probably get flagged by someone on his payroll when I type it in. I can try to get someone in IT to delete it…”

“I know and I don’t care. You don’t need to worry either. He won’t be a problem for you or me as soon as I find him.”

“Understood. Get the number to me. I assume you want to try and pinpoint his location?”

“Yes. How small an area can you narrow it down to?”

“Ten blocks at best.”

Ten blocks of New York are still a lot of ground to cover. But it’s better than the entire state, since I don’t even know for sure if he’s crossed into New Jersey.

“That’ll help. Thank you.” I end the call.

Tristan and Dre are bent over my desk, going through the list of properties and splitting them up into groups of our guys.

“Roscoe will try to narrow it down. The three of us go with ten others to whatever property is the closest to where the cell phone tower pings. While you’re handling the assignments, I’ll go upstairs and grab us more firepower. Be ready to leave when I get back.”

“We’ll be ready.” Dre nods.

34

Zara

My head rocks to the side as if something struck me during my sleep. I try to lift my palm to cup my throbbing cheek but can’t. That’s when I remember where I am and what’s happening to me.

I blink my heavy eyelids open to find I’m still restrained to the workbench. Emilio’s smug face stares down at me.

“Last chance to confess that Creed Ferraro killed my son before I put you through even worse hell. This table saw goes right through bone, you know. It’s so messy, though.”

However long I’ve been here, Emilio has carved his son’s name in my skin, slowly burned every line of each letter, and broken several of my fingers and toes. Oh, and how could I forget when he covered my mouth and held my nose for several minutes over and over again until I was certain my lungs would explode, and I’d never take a deep breath again.

Now, simply breathing is agonizing. Every part of my body hurts, and I just want to go back to sleep.

But torturing me is no fun for him if I can’t stay awake. And threatening to use the table saw…I don’t even want to know what he plans to do to me with that damn thing.

I thought I was ready to die, to never see my daughter again, or Creed.

But there’s still a part of my soul kicking and screaming, yelling at me not to give up. Not yet. That if I hold on a little longer, Creed will burst into the room, killing Emilio and his men to save me.

Only, there’s no fucking way Creed will find me in time.

And there’s no point in dragging him down with me.

“Just kill me…and get it over with,” I tell Emilio.

“Kill you?” Emilio laughs. “Why would you think I want you dead? This is just the beginning of your long, drawn-out punishment. One where you will never see Oriana again.” He runs a finger down my nose, over my lips, and lower between my breasts, right through the burnt lettering, making me whimper. “I enjoy fucking you too much to ever get rid of you, though. It’ll be even better when I don’t have to worry about knocking you up. I have a surgeon who owes me a favor. He’ll tie your tubes to avoid any more accidents, since Izaiah’s no longer around to take the fall. I don’t want to have to share you with Saint to cover another mistake.”

There are some things worse than death.

And this is definitely one of them.

Leaning his scowling face over mine, he grabs my chin. “You don’t like that idea, do you? Too fucking bad. You can’t do anything about it now. Why don’t you just admit Creed Ferraro killed Izaiah, so you can keep all your limbs intact?”

“I killed Izaiah. And I don’t regret it.”

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