Page 47 of Driven by Desire

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It took every ounce of self-control for Soloman to wait the half hour for Roman to get to him before tearing after Riley and the bastard that took her. He knew he had to be patient. Roman was with their information guy, getting what they needed and saving valuable time in the long run. Roman would make the smart decisions where Soloman was incapable at this time.

As he looked down at the debris littering his once immaculate kitchen, rage unlike anything he’d ever known washed over him. It was the orange juice container and the liquid spilling across the floor that felt like a punch in the gut. Each breath he took felt like a vow to the woman he loved. He would find her. He would make the man that took her suffer in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

He stepped out the gaping back door and looked across the sandy coloured patio tiles, now splattered in blood. Two security guards dead. Geoff, who had apparently gone to get Riley out of the house, was fighting for his life while several others hunted for the ’69 Dodge Charger with a woman in the trunk.

Soloman didn’t turn around when he heard the crunch of shoes approaching through his kitchen. Only one man would brave his presence at the moment. Soloman flicked his cigarette into the pool. He’d gotten a pack as he’d headed out of the police station. He’d deal with quitting again later.

“Got a name,” Roman’s voice rumbled quietly from behind him.

Soloman nodded. The name of the man that would soon die a very brutal death.

“Manuel Alvarez, known as “Shank” on the street. Nasty, batshit crazy piece of work. Deals on both sides of the border and don’t mind killing anyone who gets in his way. Apparently, your girl tried to steal his car several years ago. That pretty face is what saved her life. Don't think she knows the half of what he’s capable of or she would not have stayed in touch with him.”

Soloman grunted his acknowledgment, fury and stone-cold fear rushing through his veins. It was that pretty face and blasé attitude that was going to get her fucked up by the psycho that was bold enough to cross a known mafia kingpin. A man that no one dared to fuck with. For good reason. Soloman Hart did business with brutal efficiency.

“Where is he taking her?” Soloman finally spoke, his words clipped.

Roman didn’t hesitate. “Straight for the border. He’s going to bury himself in Mexico.”

Soloman turned and strode back through the trashed kitchen with Roman on his heels. He walked right out the front door and reached for the passenger door on Roman’s Mustang.

“Let’s go.”

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