Page 49 of Hell on Wheels

Flint’s head lowered as his lips brushed mine. “Trust me as I trust you. You’ve got a big heart, little dove, and I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again.”

“Thank you.”

“Angel doesn’t have a fucking clue about who he messed with. He declared war on the Royal Bastards. He won’t live long enough to enjoy that mistake.”

It should have shocked me that Flint discussed murder so casually, but it didn’t. Angel Mackenzie was evil, and he needed to die for the crimes he committed. I felt no sympathy for him. I bet none of the women whose bones lingered in Angel’s house would care either.

They deserved justice. I planned to exact some of my own vengeance.

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

We opened the door and descended together.

I could tell Flint wanted to step in front of me to shield me from Angel when we reached the bottom, but he didn’t. His body angled so that he could react quickly if a threat emerged, and I appreciated that he wanted to be my protector, but I wasn’t helpless. I learned a long time ago how to fight off the enemy.

Fred made it necessary.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting in the basement as I hovered on the last step, noting all of Angel’s injuries as he came into view. The only light in the room hung low, directly above his head, shining so brightly that it messed with his vision. He squinted, squirming in the wooden chair where he’d been trussed up like a hog ready for slaughter.

I appreciated that analogy.

The back of the chair bowed inward, pushing out his sternum. His forearms were lashed to the armrests, held down with leather straps. Both ankles were strapped to the legs, which had been secured to the floor.

Naked, his bruised, battered body was fully exposed.

Someone had roughed him up. Angel’s bottom lip was puffed and split, leaking a tiny trickle of blood from the cut. One eye was swollen, almost shut. Several cuts dripped more blood from above his left eye and high on the right cheekbone.

One of the Tonopah Bastards, Rael, the SAA, didn’t bother to hide bloodied brass knuckles. The VP, Mammoth, wiped blood from his hands with a towel.

Angel’s chest and midsection displayed various cuts, bruises, and darkened patches of skin. Burned skin. The round diameter of a cigar.

Damn. They worked him over good.

“Mi mascota.”

Angel’s voice greeted me before I left the shadows. I wasn’t sure how he knew I entered the basement, but he seemed tuned into my presence.

“I’m not your pet.”

He tsked, shaking his head. “Not from my point of view.”

“Good thing your opinion is irrelevant.”

The words hit their mark.

Angel’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “Puta.You waste my time.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere,” I pointed out boldly, moving closer.

Rael laughed. “Nope.”

“Tell me, Angel. How many women’s bones are in that little underground cell in your house? Two? Ten?”

“Why do you care? Want to add to the pile?”

Flint growled, and I ignored his reaction.

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