Page 2 of Fast Justice

Manny shoved back the sudden rise in fury that erupted in his gut. “You don’t know anything about this, hm?”

Jesus shook his head. “No, I swear.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I find it so hard to believe that Ruiz ordered the attack from inside a supposedly secure U.S. prison, yet every single one of his men we’ve questioned knows nothing about it.” He paused a beat, tilted his head. “Don’t you find that hard to believe, Jesus?”

A pained groan came from the prisoner. “I don’t…I don’t know anything. Please,” he begged. “I haven’t done…anything to you…or your family.” He dragged in a shallow breath, his face contorting with pain. “I will be loyal.”

No, he wouldn’t. Not after this. And Manny was too pragmatic a businessman to be swayed by a man’s pleas. Under torture, men would say anything. So the fact that this one hadn’t made up some story to try and save himself proved he was either stupid, or innocent.

Manny didn’t tolerate stupid. Innocence was of no use to him either, except when it came to his daughter. He still loved her mother, Anya, in his own way. Not in the intensely passionate way he had when they’d begun their relationship twenty-five years ago. Yet enough that he still harbored a certain fondness and loyalty toward her. He’d kept tabs on her this whole time in between his visits, made sure she was financially comfortable and had adequate protection.

But Oceane. She was his future. He would do whatever it took to find her and bring her back to begin the work of learning how to run the empire he’d built at such risk to himself. An empire he and her mother had gone to great lengths to keep her mostly ignorant of throughout her life. That illusion was no doubt shattered now, and it put everything in jeopardy.

Manny shifted his stance, his anger transforming into disappointment. He’d hoped this prisoner might be the one to give them a solid lead to follow. “Do you have anything at all of use to tell me about my daughter’s whereabouts, or who carried out the attack?” he asked.

Jesus blinked, his swollen, bruised eyelids flickering. “No. I told you, I know nothing.”

Then you’re of no further use to me.Sighing, Manny looked at the man holding the rod, gave a nod of consent, and turned to go.

“No, wait,” Jesus begged, his voice catching with tears. “Wait!”

Manny ignored him, unwilling to give him a second more of his time. On his way to the door, his gaze snagged on the tray of instruments laid out on a small table next to another wall. Some delicate medical and dental ones for intricate means of extracting information. Larger, cruder ones, to carry out more heavy-handed punishment…and death.

Manny walked out the door as Jesus’s frantic pleas followed him into the hall. He never stayed to watch his men work on a prisoner. Some men got off on that kind of violence. The brutal show of force and power against a helpless victim. Ruiz had been one of them. Manny didn’t enjoy it, and didn’t partake in the physical side of the business. Never had, never would.

Torture and death were necessary means in his world, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe otherwise, and it had helped him secure his position within the cartel. But at his core, he was a businessman. He preferred working in boardrooms and making deals over a meal at an expensive restaurant.

It was whyEl Escorpionhad given his blessing and allowed Manny to take Ruiz’s place so quickly. The elusive head of the organization had been weary of Ruiz and his ways, to the point that rumors had been circulating thatEl Escorpionhimself had aided in Ruiz’s capture, giving the Americans critical intel on Ruiz’s secret location.

Sickening, bloodcurdling screams echoed off the walls as he reached the front door with David. Manny was far better at compartmentalizing things now than he had been at first, didn’t even flinch now, although he wished his men would just put a bullet in Jesus’s brain and end it already.

Except he’d learned an important lesson about power over the years, something he’d studied in his business dealings. The people he employed were tools, and he couldn’t run this without them. His lawyers were like surgeons, wielding their legal scalpels in delicate matters. Whereas hissicarioswere instruments of extreme violence, who craved the power of acting on their sadistic needs to dole out suffering and death.

From a human resources point of view, keeping his people happy in their jobs meant they were more likely to be loyal. Sometimes it was best to let them have what they wanted.

As for the people responsible for the attack on his daughter and mistress, and those involved with keeping them hidden…

Once he found them, hissicarioswould get plenty more opportunity to hone their gruesome skills.

****

Rowan Stewart mentally reviewed everything she needed to accomplish today as she exited the freeway and turned toward her office in the heart of D.C. She and her boss were still compiling evidence in a big case they were working on—the biggest one of her career thus far. Every night this week she’d been up until one going over her notes to make sure she was prepared for the upcoming witness interviews today, and she would likely be working late tonight as well.

Sleep deprivation and long hours came with the territory.

She yawned and reached out to turn up the music a bit louder. At this point she was well accustomed to burning the proverbial candle at both ends. Not her favorite thing, but it was one of the price tags that came with the title of Assistant U.S. Attorney, a position she’d worked her ass off for. And if she wanted to become U.S. Attorney one day, then she had to keep working just as hard to make it happen. If she ever earned that, she wanted it to be on her own merit, not because of who she knew or who her father was.

Pushing out a deep breath as she reached the end of the lineup of cars waiting at the next light, she forced aside everything she had to do today and let her mind wander, dying for the cup of coffee waiting for her once she made it to the office. Traffic was insane as usual at this time of the morning, but since it was early July, at least it was bright and sunny out.

When she finally made it into the left-hand turn lane at the light, a call came in on her car’s hands-free device. Finding her father’s name on the dash console, she suppressed a groan and answered anyway as she edged into the intersection, waiting for a gap in traffic to turn. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere in this traffic, so she had time to talk. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. You on your way to the office?”

He sounded bright and chipper, had probably been up since she had, even though he didn’t need to anymore. Once a workaholic, always a workaholic. Rowan shook her head. When she retired, she wasn’t getting up until at least eight every day. “I’m about ten minutes out.” If she ever made this damn turn.

“Good. So many criminals to put away, so little time.”

He used that line so often that all she could do was manage a grunt of acknowledgment. “What’s up?”Please don’t add anything more to my plate today.

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