to your confession, I do now.” She gave his formidable physique a quick once-over and continued, “Such a shame.”
Roni’s neck wrenched back in pain. Her original attacker grabbed her scarf again, tilting her head until she felt his prickly, unshaven cheek against her. “I should have killed you immediately, chica. You talk too much.”
Something hard pushed into the side of her head.
It clicked.
Roni closed her eyes on a sharp inhale. This was how she would die? Shot down in her own garage. The place that was supposed to be where her dreams of a racing school came to fruition. This was so unfair. But then, when had her life ever been fair?
She looked at Gunn, standing in front of her. No concern showed on his face. It was as if he didn’t care one way or the other if his partner pulled the trigger, even after he’d saved her outside. He stepped up close and lifted a strand of her hair in his finger. “Red.”
“Good, you know your colors. Your mother must be so proud.” If Roni was about to die, she wouldn’t go out cowering.
Gunn stilled, expressionless. Not the reaction she’d hoped for, but if imminent death didn’t deflate her nerve, Gunn’s lack of emotion wouldn’t either.
“You’ve got moxie,” he said. “That’s dangerous.”
The shuffling steps of the other four men drifted to her ears. They tapped their various tools against hands itching to use them. Roni’s breathing picked up even as her chin lifted higher to defy them to come any closer.
“I say we ransom her,” Gunn said with a smirk inches from her face. “Think of the money, boys. She’ll bring a pretty penny.” He let her strand of hair go after one more brush between his fingers. “Her family would pay out big.”
The room went silent. Then a deep, sick laugh erupted from the man who held the gun to her head. Slowly, he released the fabric of her scarf, then the pressure of the gun upside her head disappeared.
“I like the way you think, muchacho,” he said in her ear, then shouted, “Stuff her in the back of my van. We’re movin’ out...now.”
“No!” she yelled, but eager, grubby hands grabbed at her from all sides. All hands except for those of the man who just saved her from being killed...again.
But now Roni knew why he’d saved her.
Money. The root of all evil. And this blond-haired, tough guy with his mocking baby blues was the evilest of them all.
He was also no dummy.
But his weapon of intelligence made him more dangerous than any crowbar the other men carried.
A greasy rag filled her mouth on a gag and her hands were bound behind her. She screeched and twisted with all her might, but one against six proved her fight hopeless.
No, not hopeless, she decided, settling her eyes on Gunn. She made sure he knew he would be the one to pay for every atrocity inflicted on her, right down to each and every broken nail.
The next second a bag covered Roni’s head, putting her into complete darkness. She took solace knowing she’d made her message clear. Like Jared, Gunn didn’t know how ruthless she could be, and also like Jared, he would soon find out.
* * *
FBI agent Ethan Rhodes needed to figure out a way to contact his handler, Pace O’Malley. He had a mock ransom to set up...and fast. With every mile away he drove, the stakes of life-and-death increased and his investigation imploded. Ethan stole a glance at the passenger seat where the vicious Franco Guerra practically licked his chops every time the woman stuffed in the back of the van restarted her screeching. She went through bouts since the second hour of driving north began. Ethan couldn’t believe she had a voice left after the first hour. She had to be so raw.
And scared.
Although you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. Ethan had never met anyone so brash when a gun was held to their head. She was either really sure of her fighting skills, or she was crazy.
Or, Pace was right about her, and she was working with Guerra’s boss.
Pace had enough on her to link her to the operation, and the way she knew they were cloning cars showed her knowledge about it. But something didn’t sit right with Ethan.
Veronica Spencer couldn’t be a part of the organization, no matter what her bank statements read. Guerra had aimed his gun at her head and meant to kill her. Why, if they were cohorts?
Did the woman know how close to death she’d been in that moment? Ethan doubted it by the way she’d lambasted them all for being in her garage. She had been fearless, even after nearly losing her life in the parking lot. Franco had been torturing her then, cutting off her air little by little to prolong her misery, playing with her like a cat and its dinner.
Ethan’s lips curled in disgust. The man was beyond sick. Eight months of getting close to him had turned Ethan’s stomach multiple times a day. The man had no loyalty to any of his men, using them as an example to the others when they “disappointed” him. One wrong move, and it was over. One guy caught with a cell phone a few months back paid the ultimate price when the phone nearly led the cops to Guerra’s door. Ethan didn’t dare have a cell on his person, which meant he was deep under with no contact with his handler. Just a tracker in his boot and a gun on his ankle.
When Guerra’s gun targeted the redheaded spitfire, Ethan knew Guerra would pull the trigger and laugh for days after. But what could be done to stop it, other than blowing the investigation?
Still Ethan had to try.
He had stepped up to her, planning to confiscate the gun and turn it on Guerra, but instead he said the first thing that came to his mind. The word ransom spilled from his lips. The only other thing Guerra liked more than torturing people was money. Veronica Spencer was worth a huge chunk of change. But still, as Ethan threw out the idea to ransom her, his lungs seized as he waited for Guerra’s response. He thought for sure his cover was blown. A year’s worth of going deep, tanked. An innocent woman’s life, ended.
No. Not innocent. Ethan had to believe the evidence Pace had on the glamour girl. Enough to put her away for years. There were even pictures from a street race in Miami with her and Guerra. And as soon as Ethan could get her “ransomed” out of here, Pace could cuff her, and Ethan could get back to bringing down Guerra’s ring—and the man he worked for.
As much as Franco Guerra was a despicable man, he wasn’t the man Pace wanted. Guerra was a car thief and mechanic, a means to much more sinister crimes that his cloned vehicles contributed to.
The man waiting for the cars was the real prize.
Ethan had no name at this point, just the term Guerra used: the Boss.
The Boss was in charge of a whole list of crimes, but it was what he transported in these vans that was beyond comprehension. Drugs, yes, and lots of them. But apparently, the Boss didn’t get the memo that the slave trade had ended. He trafficked thousands of victims in and around the United States each year, and Ethan had finally worked his way up to being one degree away from taking down one of the largest human trafficking operations in the States.
So
