CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Something’s fucked,” Soloman growled, tensing, ready to jump out as soon as the car got near enough to the motel entrance.
They were just pulling into the entrance of the motel. The door to the room his information guy had indicated belonged to Manuel was open. The Charger was out front along with another car parked behind it, blocking the vehicle in. Fuck. Something was going down in that hotel room. He needed to get Riley the fuck out of there.
Roman stopped the Mustang behind both vehicles. Before Soloman could open the door, Roman’s hand fell on his arm, stopping him. Soloman raised an eyebrow in surprise and anger. Roman never voluntarily touched anyone. He used his bulk and deadly intensity to intimidate. He only touched when absolutely necessary. He turned dark eyes toward his boss and friend. They spoke without words.
Be smart. Don’t get her killed.
Soloman took a deep breath, reached around his back and pulled his gun. He’d discarded his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his white dress shirt hours ago. He nodded sharply. He could be calm if it meant getting Riley out alive. Then he would go fucking ballistic on her kidnapper in a way even he didn't think he was capable of. He wanted to see that fucker suffer.
Roman pulled his hand back and reached for his door, pulling his own weapon at the same time. They left their doors ajar so as not to draw attention from whoever was inside. They didn’t hear anything until they approached close to the open hotel room, then they heard low-voiced murmurs and masculine moans of pain.
“Let me do the girl man, she ain’t worth it. She fucking shot you!”
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” someone snapped and then groaned in obvious distress. “She didn’t know what she was doing. Look at her! She’s my angel, she needs me.”
There was a thump followed by a grunt of pain.
“I am looking at her, moron. She’s fucking dying anyway man. I’d be putting her out of her misery.”
The rage that suffused Soloman was unlike anything he’d felt up to this point. He saw Roman twitch next to him. He shook his head. He needed a moment to control the black that was leaking through his brain and staining his soul. They were discussing the murder of his woman, his fucking woman, like it was as simple as breathing. They were dead men as soon as they’d entered the same room as her, but now they’d ensured the death would be slow and fucking painful as he and Roman could make it.
After about a minute he managed to pull himself under control. He’d tuned out the idiotic conversation happening in the room. He glanced at Roman. Once more they spoke without words. This was why Roman was his right hand. He knew what his boss wanted. The two men in the room. Alive. Bloody retribution for Riley’s pain.
They entered the room swiftly after a glance around to ensure the men were sufficiently distracted. Whoever had left the door open had made an extremely stupid mistake. Probably thought he was giving them a quick exit. Instead, he’d given Soloman and Roman an easy in. Shank was laid out on the bed with a stomach wound while another man was leaning over him doing a shit job of patching him up.
“Fuck!” Shank snarled, reaching for a gun at his side.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Roman snarled, stalking toward the bed, his own weapon steady on the gangbanger, ready to take him out if he even thought about twitching toward the weapon.
The other man immediately stepped back from the bed, his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Hey man, I'm not really involved. Just passing through.”
“You wanted to kill her,” Soloman said, the chill in his voice uncompromising. His eyes scanned the room. Panic began to crack the ice around his heart when he didn’t immediately see her. Where the fuck was she? He’d heard the fuckers talking about her.
Then his eyes fell on a pile of dirty white lace tossed in the corner of the room. Was it his imagination or did it just twitch? He took a hesitant step toward it, unwilling to believe his gorgeous girl could possibly be the human that was collapsed against the wall of the dirty hotel room. He didn’t even hear the bellow of rage rip through him until the other men in the room flinched and looked at each other. The pile of lace whimpered and brought a frail hand up to touch her ear.
“Riley,” he whispered and strode to the corner, now certain it could be no other.
She was so lost in her own world she didn’t respond to him. He crouched in front of her and gently took her by the shoulders, lifting her into a sitting position. She jerked violently away from him with a hoarse cry, flying backward into the corner of the wall. She brought a shaking hand up. There was a gun clutched in her slim fingers. She looked so terrified that, even though he knew he could easily disarm her, he couldn't bring himself to take that piece of comfort away from her.
“Riley, my gorgeous girl, it’s me, Soloman,” he said quietly, for her ears alone.
He took in her pale, bruised features. The terrified, frantic and searching eyes. Faint, blue marks were beginning to litter her poor body along her arms, legs, neck and face. Her dress was covered in blood and hiked up nearly to her waist. Fuck, he hoped to god the blood wasn’t hers. He could see that she wore no underwear. Every muscle in his body thrummed with tension. He wanted to put his fists in the man that had done this and not stop until he was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. But for now, his first priority had to be to care for this beautiful, damaged woman.
She shook her head, blinking rapidly, a single tear leaking from her bloodshot eye. Her eyes frantically searched the room before landing back on him. She stared at him uncomprehendingly. Her tongue darted out to moisten her cracked bottom lip.
“S-Soloman’s not here… he left me…” she whispered hoarsely, the gun wavering in his face. He could tell she was trying her best to keep holding it up, but exhaustion was claiming her. Every time her beautiful cloudy eyes blinked, they became slower to open. She was having incredible difficulty focusing on him. The other men in the room may as well not even exist to her.
“No, baby,” he said carefully, drawing her attention back to him. She jumped a little and blinked at him. “I came for you. I promised. Do you remember? I promised I would always come for you.”
Her breathing hitched and her brow crinkled in concentration as she tried to remember. Finally, she nodded. “B-but… you walked away…” her whispery voice cracked and the gun jerked in her grip. He didn’t move. He could hear Roman dealing with the men behind him. Roughly. They didn't matter to him. Riley was his here and now, his whole life.
“I will never walk away from you, gorgeous,” he assured her, his deep voice washing over her. He could see her tense shoulders gradually relax. “Not in this lifetime or the next. You will always belong to me, Riley Bancroft. Listen to me, baby, I will always come for you. No matter what.”
She stared at him, completely focused on his face, as though seeing him for the first time since he’d entered the room. She lifted her free hand from the bloody confines of the dress and touched his face. “Soloman,” she sobbed, “you came for me.”
She dropped the gun between them and swayed. He reached for her, hauling her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his back. He was immediately struck by how weak she felt in his arms. He cradled her in his lap, holding her head against his shoulder so he could see her face. She gazed up at him from eyes that grew heavier by the second. She lifted her hand, but couldn't quite make it. He captured her fingers in a strong grip and lifted it to his face.
“I… I love you,” she whispered.
Her eyes closed and her head sank to his chest.
“Riley,” he said her name like a command and shook her a little. Her head fell back but she didn't respond. Her face was as pale and still as death. Her lips had gone blue. For the first time that he could recall he felt tears gathering in his eyes.
“Riley,” he muttered and dropped his head to her breast, waiting breathlessly to feel movement in her chest. Her hand was still clutched in his own tattooed hand, held tight against his cheek as he waited for any sign that the woman he couldn’t live without was still alive.