Page 33 of Ruthless Redemption

Not ever again.

“Leave him in there. But don’t uncuff him yet,” someone new ordered.

The air had cooled significantly as they entered a building, creating another series of moves he mapped in his head. But when he was roughly shoved into a seat, he grit his teeth to endure it.

Fine. Have your way now, mother fuckers. But don’t count on it lasting for long. I’m going to kill every last one of you bastards.

Those thoughts ran continuously through his head as people shuffled around him.

He grit his teeth as every bit of darkness and poison that resided in his blood rushed forward. Hatred fueled him as much as his love for Izzy. He could already see his captor’s blood running from their veins. Some might have thought he only did his best work with a rifle, but they would be wrong. He’d learned to fight at a young age and fight dirty.

While a knife in this situation would be great, his hands would do. They had no idea how much violence they had unwittingly unleashed.

He was mid thought in his plans to snuff the life out of everyone in this room, when the hood over his head was roughly pulled free. Blinding light hit his eyes making it difficult for his vision to focus for a moment as it tried to adjust.

“Hello, Houston. Long time no see.”

His heart stopped and he swore all of the blood in his body dropped to his feet. He didn’t need to see to know who sat beside him now. But as his vision focused he turned to his right and stared anyway. His brain struggled to compute what in the hell had to have occurred to bring them to this. How was this happening?

“Rock?”

“Nice to know you still remember my name.”

Houston’s heart restarted with a kick as a surge of heat pumped through him. How in the hell was he sitting in this room? And why?

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“That’s the million dollar question, but it’s you who needs to answer it. I don’t hear more than a few words a year for ten years and all of sudden you’re in Vegas and about to blow the biggest case of my career. So, Houston, what the fuck areyoudoing here?”

Rendered momentarily speechless, he didn’t respond. Instead as the words out of Rock’s mouth began to penetrate, his gaze drifted down to the Insignia imprinted across his brother’s left chest pocket.

F.B.I.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Chapter Fourteen

Izzy

After Houston and I were grabbed in the hotel parking garage, I was forced to watch him be shoved into an unmarked black van and driven away from me.

The two men holding me prisoner refused to answer any of my questions or respond to my pleas. I tried to fight, but I’d been caught off guard and no amount of kicking or thrashing had made a difference.

I recognized neither of them as my father’s men, but did that really mean anything? I’d been gone for months. He could have cleaned house after my disappearance.

Frank had a zero tolerance policy for failure and if his men failed to comply with his demands, they generally disappeared. Maybe they were let go, but my gut had always churned with an entirely different scenario.

Now I was the betrayer. He’d thrown me to the wolves once, so I had no doubt he would do it again.

Although why I’d been forced into the back of a utilitarian sedan, driven to an office park in the middle of the desert and locked into an office empty except for a few uncomfortable chairs I had no idea. None of this looked like typical Mazzeo operations. Where were the armed guards? The plush, but sparse accommodations, like before?

Sick dread sat in my stomach, threatening me. This wasn’t supposed to happen again. I could not go back to that. I grabbed my bare arms and rubbed my hands up and down. It wasn’t cold in this room, but I was chilled to the bone.

When I wrapped my arms around my midriff, my fingers grazed the small pocket taped underneath my dress. While I felt like my options were dwindling by the second, I took comfort in the fact I did have a final way out. I had made JD promise that I would never be drugged or tortured again. As long as there was even a slight chance that Frank or Marco could recapture me, I refused to take a chance that I couldn’t escape one way or another.

I glanced around the room to look for any signs there were cameras watching me. Keeping everyone in their life under constant surveillance were typical hallmarks men like my father and his associates used on a consistent basis. I couldn’t risk them seeing me reach into my dress to pull my last chance at escape.

Fortunately, this dress as with the black one had not only a low cut front and back, but it was sleeveless as well. I had many subtle access points.

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