Page 73 of Sin City Obsession

Rocco held still.

The comm in his ear crackled. “Your guy’s fleeing the compound. I’ve got eyes on the car.”

Rocco cursed. “Keepeyes on him.” He paused, glanced around, and snapped, “We’re moving out!” He didn’t wait for the voices of assent before retreating out the way he’d come and taking the closest exit. Fire crawled up the building to his right, and he thought he could hear sirens signaling their inevitable approach in the distance.

Changing location wasn’t a half-bad idea.

He met up with Cristiano on the back end of the property, the bulk of their blended crew still in the process of catching up. “Did you get the plate?”

Cristiano nodded. “Ryoma found some wheels, so he’s keeping an eye. And I’ve got him.” He held up his phone, showing a map with a blinking cursor. “Looks like the target’s heading into the desert.”

Rocco rolled his neck. “Of course he is. Even he doesn’t want an all-out firefight in the heart of Vegas. Desert’s the only other option.” He turned toward the gathered men. “If you’re too injured to follow, fall back for treatment. That is not a suggestion. If you only have a few scrapes, patch up, reload, and come with us. Also not a suggestion.”

The first SUV squealed to a stop almost before the words left Rocco’s lips. Rocco jerked his thumb to it. “Wounded, go.”

Four men peeled off, for visibly obvious reasons. A fifth body was lifted into the back.

Rocco nodded at Cristiano and they stood. Their transport would have to be adjusted, but he had the means to do that quickly.

Not that anything was quickly enough to his mind.

He just wanted it done. He wanted Viktor Sobol, and by necessity also his top men, out of the picture in a permanent way. He wanted his father to be able to recover peacefully.

He wanted to pull his woman into his arms, to breathe her in, and never let her go.

It took another forty-one minutes before they managed to catch up with Ryoma’s marker. Forty-one minutes wherein Viktor continued to live. Forty-one minutes more Rocco was forced to endure without reaching out to Alessa.

Rocco dragged a hand through his hair, gaze locked on Sobol’s obviously abandoned truck. “That dumbass really ran out of gas?”

“That’s what the scout reported,” Em replied quietly.

Cristiano’s voice whispered into Rocco’s ear. “Eyes on target. They’re moving on foot, but they’re moving slow. Two o’clock off the road.”

There was a beat of silence, and Rocco was fairly sure he heard Ignazio drop his head against the side of the SUV they were crouched behind. It was a fair response. Who the fuck wanted to go running through the fucking desert on a summer night? The sun had finally set, but it was still damn near a full hundred degrees outside.This is how people die in the desert.

If only he could trust the Sobols to be so unlucky.

Rocco shoved from the shelter of the SUV. “Let’s get it done. We can cool off after.”

They jogged across the way, past the verified-abandoned truck, and into the expanse of desert in the direction Cristiano had indicated. The new venue had more than its share of drawbacks. Catching up required abandoning a certain degreeof stealth, and they were completely exposed. No grown man could hide behind the sporadic Joshua tree, and the low desert brush wouldn’t provide much more in terms of adequate shelter. There were some rocks, gathered together and built up in spontaneous-looking structures. If they could take up position behind those, it would be something. But that was nothing to pin their hopes on.

Cristiano rejoined them a few minutes later, guiding them to a rockface where Ryoma remained crouched. “One of them’s either drunk or wounded, because they’re not traveling a straight line. Over there.”

Rocco followed the indication, easily spotting a rising dune but requiring another moment to separate human-shaped figures from the nearby clump of Joshua trees. They looked to have stopped moving and one of them was gesturing with visible agitation. He frowned. “There’s only four of them?”

“Yep,” Ryoma answered without lifting his head from the night-vision binoculars.

Cristiano offered a subtle shrug. “Sobol took off with three other guys. He was the priority, so he’s who we followed.”

Rocco did understand the point. And, if Ugo’s information was correct, there were only two others he definitely needed to eliminate. He looked out toward Sobol’s group again. “I’m not waiting.”

“Sir,” one of Rocco’s men said as he shuffled forward. “If we are where I think we are, there’s an old dirt road out that way.” He gestured unnecessarily toward Sobol’s group. “It winds between some of the dunes and eventually connects back to the main road.”

“So that’s what the bastard’s doing.”

Rocco and Cristiano exchanged nods, and everyone reached for their weapons as they prepared to descend from their hiding spot. Cristiano moved to take point, Ignazio and Em on either side of Rocco, and they’d moved forward all of three feet before going still again at the sound of an engine rapidly approaching. For a split-second, Rocco assumed it was the transportation Sobol was trying to get to.

But it was coming from the wrong direction. The engine—which was starting to sound like some type of bike—was coming from the approximate direction of wheretheyhad come from.

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