Page 158 of Romeo

He released a searing curse when they tightened the rope even more, causing sharp pains to radiate from his broken ribs.

“Booger!” he shouted, hoping the prospect could hearhim in the next room since the walls were thin. So thin that last night he could hear that stupid shit whacking off to porn. Not just once, but five fucking times. “Booger! Goddamn it!”

There was no way these assholes would let him keep shouting for help. But it was so damn whacked that they didn’t order him to shut up. So, until they stopped him, he would use his fucking voice since that was all he had.

“Booger! Wake the fuck?—”

Romeo groaned.His tongue was as dry as a goddamn desert from whatever was tied around his mouth, effectively gagging him. He couldn’t see shit since the pillowcase was still in place.

However, it was pretty damn clearhewas no longer in place and unwillingly on the move.

No voices could be heard, only the sound of an engine and road noise. And, of course, his own pounding heartbeat.

His head throbbed at the point where they knocked him out to shut him up. His good leg was now bound to his casted one, trussing him up like a turkey ready for the oven on Thanksgiving Day.

He had no idea who kidnapped him.

He had no idea where he was headed.

He had no idea how to fucking save himself since he couldn’t rely on his goddamn prospect. Apparently jacking off five times in a row made you sleep like the dead.

If Romeo somehow survived this, he would make sure Booger never got his fucking colors. Not after this. And if he did die, then his MC would make sure Booger wouldn’t need colors where they sent him for failing to protect his prez.

A mortal sin for a prospect.

Romeo grunted when the van, or whatever he was in, stopped suddenly and he rolled forward.

For fuck’s sake, just the trip alone was torture due to the pain.

He listened carefully to keep track of what was happening so he would be prepared in the slim chance he had an opportunity to escape. He logged all the sounds in his throbbing noggin.

The silencing of the engine.

The opening and slamming shut of both the driver and passenger doors.

The slide of a side door, confirming he was right about being transported in a full-sized van.

Wheels rolling towards the van. Not another vehicle. Something smaller. A cart? A gurney?

Suddenly, hands were on him again, sliding him across the van floor, lifting him up and dropping him onto a flat surface. His plaster casts slamming into the thin metal echoed through the night.

He gritted his teeth to endure the bumpy ride over what could be pavement, then up some kind of ramp. They took him into the cool and quiet interior of a building. Only the wheels rolling along concrete could be detected.

Why would La Cosa Nostra take him to some building in Manning Grove? That didn’t make any damn sense.

Had he been passed out longer than he thought? Had he been taken to Pittsburgh instead?

When the cart came to an abrupt halt, he was surprised he didn’t shoot off the end to be rudely introduced to the floor.

Without warning, he was jerked off the cart and onto some other metal, flat object. But this surface wasn’t solid.It felt more like a grate with holes against the bare skin of his back and cast-free leg.

The possibility of escape was flushed down the fucking toilet the second they lashed his ass down to whatever the metal grate was.

A moment later he heard a loud whoosh. Something—he had no fucking idea what—had been fired up.

What the hell was going on?

Was this the end for him?

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