In His Sights (Fire & Vice Book 7)

by Nikita Slater

  “Where’s my sister, asshole?” Jane snarled.

  The guy blinked stupidly at her and tried to squirm out from under Mack’s hold. “The fuck you talkin’ bout, bitch?” he demanded, his voice high-pitched with anxiety, but his attitude on full force.

  Jane, who never had much patience to begin with, ran out completely. She belted him across the face with her gun and asked again, “Where the fuck is my sister, Lucy Miller? Tell me now or I’m going to start shooting pieces of you off and I’m not picky about what pieces go first!”

  The guy’s eyes flared in panic and he looked frantically up at Mack for assistance. Mack raised an eyebrow and shrugged. He wanted a piece of the guy, but thought Jane was doing a pretty good job on her own. She was feral on a good day, which is why he tolerated her as a partner when he barely tolerated people in general. He didn’t know what it was about these Miller chicks, but they were decent people.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear,” the guy grumbled yanking his head away from Jane’s gun.

  She crouched in front of him and got right in his face. Mack grabbed a fistful of the back of his jacket and yanked her back just as the asshole lunged toward her in an attempt to take her down and grab her weapon. Of course, Jane was smarter than that. She grabbed him by the balls and jammed her gun right up under his chin. The man yelped in agony, but she held on tight and got right in his face again. Mack sighed and shook his head.

  “She looks like me only prettier, motherfucker,” Jane snarled. “See, we got a tip that your kind grabbed her and her friend right off the street, then you found out who she belongs to. Now I’m a bit worried you idiots are going to do something desperate in a bid to get rid of the evidence. Like killing my goddamn sister. You wanna know what happens if you get rid of my sister, asshole?”

  When he did nothing, Jane tightened her hold on his crotch. The guy gurgled, his face whitening. He shook his head. “What happens?” he gasped.

  “Sitnikov goes to war,” she said through gritted teeth. “He wipes out your little cartel.”

  Mack bent over top of Jane and pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple, his icy eyes promising death. “You heard of Mackenzie Hudson?”

  The guy nodded slowly, his eyes widening. Jane eased back and glanced up at Mack in surprise. Mack ignored her and continued to stare death at the man they were crouched over top of. “You know what I’m capable of then. You know what I did to your rival.”

  Mack was responsible for placing the current Mexican cartel at the top. He’d been paid a lot of money to take out the leader of the opposing cartel and create a power vacuum that was ripe for the taking. Power had shifted, this cartel had stepped up and ultimately the Russians had settled on top. Which made Lucy’s capture a very dangerous power play for the Mexicans.

  “Did you know who you took?” When it looked like the guy was going to play dumb, Mack gently maneuvered Jane to the side, ignoring her protest, holstered his gun and took out a blade. Opening it, he held it to the edge of the quivering man’s eye and growled, “Answer.”

  “It wasn’t me, bro!” The guy finally spat. “I didn’t take them bitches. It was Manny and two other guys.”

  “Did your fucking guys know who they took?” Mack roared, losing patience.

  “No man!” The guy shook his head frantically. “Not until that Maria bitch told us we had a Sitnikov.” His eyes flickered to Jane. Clearly, he knew exactly who she was.

  Mack laughed, sinister and low in his throat. “See, you think I care that your guys took a Sitnikov. I don’t.” The man under his knife stopped breathing, his eyes flying up to Mack’s face. “You took my woman.”

  Mack dug the knife into the edge of his eye socket, slicing until it flowed blood. The guy shrieked and flailed, but Mack kneeled on his arm until he felt bones grinding into the concrete. Still it wasn’t enough to satisfy the rage and bloodlust welling up inside him. He felt a hand land on his shoulder. He pulled the knife out and twisted so fast he nearly took jane’s hand off, stopping millimeters from her soft skin.

  She didn’t even blink. “Don’t you think we should ask a few pertinent questions before you fuck him up?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “You’re a good one to speak,” Mack grunted and turned back to his somewhat mangled prey. “Fine,” he snapped. “You get one chance, friend. Tell me where Lucy is, and I’ll only take one eye. Fuck around, and I take both eyes, your tongue and your dick before I slit your throat. Got me?”

  The guy nodded frantically.

  “Speak now, make it quick, don’t even think to pretend you don’t know where my girl is at because we both know you’re Corny’s right hand, and don’t fucking piss me off.” Jane quirked her other brow. Mack grunted. “Any more than I already am.”

  “She’s at the scrap metal yard,” the guy answered instantly.

  “Dead or alive,” Mack snarled from between gritted teeth, making it very clear there better be only one answer. When no answer was instantly forthcoming he jammed the knife into the man’s shoulder, directly underneath the bone.

  He screamed and reached for the knife, but Mack grasped his hand and wrenched the fingers back while Jane watched emotionlessly. She didn’t care what it took, she only wanted to hear the fate of her baby sister.

  “Dead or alive?” Mack asked again.

  “I don’t know,” he howled. “They put her in the container alive, but that was a while ago!”

  Mack glanced up at Jane a chill slithering down his spine. They didn’t have any spare seconds to waste, they needed to get to the metal yard. Jane jumped on the dingy mattress and searched until she came up with a phone while Mack, true to his word, gave their friend a make-over and took his eye. It took about fifteen extra seconds and was worth the effort.

  They walked away leaving the man passed out in a pool of his own blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Mack,” Lucy whispered, reaching for him.

  Her hand touched something solid.

  “I’m here,” he answered, picking up her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  She frowned and struggled to open her eyes. “I don’t know if you really are.”

  “Do you want me here?” he asked, his deep voice vibrating through her body as she struggled to breath.

  “More than anything,” she whispered back, allowing him to unfurl each finger and kiss her palm, sending goosebumps skittering up her arm and across her neck. He definitely felt like her Mack, her love.

  “Then open your eyes and look at me, baby,” he urged her.

  She nodded her head, even that small movement taking colossal effort. But she gave him what he wanted. She opened her eyes to the bright, almost overwhelming sunny day and looked up at the man she’d fallen in love with. She smiled as her eyes met his, taking in the velvet blue, so beautiful she would reach out and caress if she had the energy.

  “Mack,” she whispered.

  “I’m here, baby.”

  “Wh-where are we?” she asked, trying to move her neck to look around.

  He supported her with an arm at the back of her head, allowing her to see everything. Her eyes flared in astonishment. She was home! Back at the farm. She could feel tears burning and blinked so they wouldn’t spill and ruin the moment. She twisted as much as she could against his arm so she could see everything. She’d missed her home so very much, more than she realized. The corn stalks looked extra tall and extra bright in the sunlight.

  Gradually, she began the realize that she and Mack were on top of a horse. Her childhood horse, Cinnamon. Lucy stretched and dangled her arm alongside the animal while Mack held her tight in his arms. The back of her knuckles brushed Cinnamon’s flank as they walked. Lucy let out a long rattling breath of contentment and allowed the moment of utter peace wash over her as she drifted to sleep in Mack’s arms, riding on the back of her favourite horse down the road toward her parent’s farm.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

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nbsp; “There!” Jane shouted and ran full tilt toward what looked like freshly tilled soil in the scrap metal yard. Mack lunged forward and gripped her arm as she tripped over a piece of rebar, saving her from a nasty spill and possibly impaling herself.

  Far from thanking him, Jane elbowed him in the side and lunged toward the dirt pile landing on her hands and knees. “This must be where he said they buried her!” Jane yelled, her frantic voice ending on a sob. “Hurry Mack, find something to move the dirt.”

  Jane was already shoving handfuls of dirt out of the way. Mack shook his head, desperately wanting to land on his knees next to her and help but knowing they wouldn’t be able to get to Lucy fast enough. By his rough calculation he figured she had maybe 60-90 minutes of air and her time was already up. Jane was right though, she was probably buried in that exact location. It made sense. The disturbed earth indicated a fresh grave.

  Mack looked around and saw a backhoe, likely the instrument used to bury Lucy in the first place. Rage bubbled up inside him and threatened to explode. Ruthlessly he shoved it down and shouted, “Jane, get the fuck out of the way,” as he turned toward the digger.

  Before he could reach it, the guy Mack hadn’t been smart enough to search out and dispose of when they’d entered the scrap yard came sauntering out of the darkness, gun drawn. “Hands up,” he snarled, eying the intruders.

  Jane froze from her half-crouched position in the dirt and raised a tear-streaked face toward Mack. He easily read the desperation written all over her as though it were his own face. She would do anything, risk anything to get to her sister before time ran out. He gave his head a slight shake. They’d been stupid by bee-lining right to Lucy’s position instead of securing the yard. They’d assumed the men had left Lucy to die. Apparently, they’d had stuck around. And now Jane and Mack would have to face the consequences. Fuck, this night couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  “That is my wife you are pointing a gun at, mu’dak,” a sinister voice drawled from out of the shadows, directly before Sitnikov’s tall, lean form stalked forward drawing the gunman’s surprised notice.

  As soon as the weapon moved away from Jane the Mexican was a dead man standing. The edge of Mack’s lip lifted in pleasure as he watched the gangbanger fill with holes. He wasn’t sure if it was the Russians or the Italians and he didn’t particularly care. The moment they started shooting Mack twisted around and grabbed the guy he’d noted in his peripheral, attempting to creep away from the scene.

  “Mistake, my friend,” he growled, shoving the cartel member to his knees.

  To Mack’s utter pleasure he realized he had Manny himself under his hands. He grinned, flashing the Mexican second-in-command a grim gritted tooth smile. “You buried my woman, Manuel,” he said to the other man before snapping his neck and dropping the body at his feet.

  When he looked up he saw that one of Sitnikov’s guys had jumped in the backhoe while the Boss himself was pulling his distraught wife away from the dirt pile. It took only minutes before the large teeth of the backhoe hit something solid in the dirt. Mack glanced over his shoulder where Jane was screaming and clawing at her husband to get at the hole. Mack shook his head grimly at Sitnikov, fear burning in his gut. He didn’t know what they would find, and Jane was pregnant.

  Mack jumped into the hole and began shoving handfuls of dirt out of the way. He took a breath and reached for the handle of the old-style 1950’s refrigerator. The fridge was half on its side with the door wedged against the side of the hole. He had to dig down a ways before he freed the door enough to get to the handle. It took several tries before he was able to brace himself against the edge of the hole and yank the door open enough. Lucy’s limp body tumbled sideways.

  Jane’s gut-wrenching scream echoed in the night.

  Mack ignored her and reached down, feeling for Lucy’s wrist. “No pulse,” he yelled.

  His entire world stopped in that moment. Everything narrowed. He could hear Jane’s harsh sobs, but they seemed to come from a distance, as though through a tube. Mack dropped to his knees on top of the refrigerator frantically trying to pull Lucy through the narrow opening. He barely noticed another body drop on top of the fridge next to him and work to pry the door open further so he could pull her through.

  Finally, he had her in his arms. The moment he felt her limp body he pressed his head to her chest. She wasn’t breathing. Tears burned, but he refused to shed them. He forced his brain to function the way he knew it needed to. He called on every bit of military training he had and laid her out between him and Niccolo DeLuca on top of the fridge. She was still warm, her body limp and pliant, a slight flush to her cheeks. Tilting her head back he checked her airway for obstructions, knowing there wouldn’t be any. She hadn’t choked to death.

  His precious girl had been suffocated.

  Without a word Mack began mouth-to-mouth while the ruthless Italian mob boss stepped in to administer chest compressions. Mack didn’t deny the man, knowing it was better to work in pairs in case they needed to work for any length of time. It felt like an eternity but was likely only minutes and a few forced breaths before Mack felt the gentle rise of her chest and the first shuddering breath she took on her own.

  “I have a pulse,” DeLuca said flatly.

  “Thank fuck,” Mack growled, dropping his face into her neck and allowing the tears to finally fall.

  Mack was allowed a few seconds of peace with his woman in his arms before he was dragged bodily out of the hole, two men holding his arms. Lucy was wrenched from his arms and held fast in what would have been her grave. Mack yelled and fought like a demon, punching for all he was worth until a gun was shoved in his face. Even then he likely would’ve continued to fight, her life more important, except someone struck him in the side of the head. It wasn’t quite hard enough to knock him out, but he was sent reeling in the dirt. The strike to the head was followed by a vicious kick in the ribs.

  “That’s enough, I think our friend is down for the moment,” someone said coldly. It took Mack a moment, through his swimming senses, to recognize the accent as DeLuca’s. He’d been attacked by DeLuca’s men. At first, he was convinced that Sitnikov was responsible for Mack’s sudden beating, furious over having his wife put in danger throughout the evening. However, swinging his head around, Mack realized that Sitnikov and his men had retreated and Sitnikov didn’t look happy.

  DeLuca looked to Sitnikov for a long moment, then crouched in the hole next to Lucy who lay crumpled on top of the cold metal of the refrigerator, still unconscious. The sinister Italian kneeled next to her body, half lifted her onto his knee and slapped her sharply across the face. Lucy’s eyes flew open.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  She was staring up at the terrifying visage of her imminent death, a silent scream stretching her lips. She reached out to push him away, but her arms were too weak. She sobbed but the tears wouldn’t come. She was too parched; there was nothing left in her to cry but dust.

  “Lucy,” DeLuca said sharply. “Where is Maria?”

  She shook her head and tried to roll away from him. He gripped her chin hard and forced her face up to his. She could hear someone bellowing in the background and tried to roll her eyes up to see what was happening above her. Everything was dark, and particles of dirt were raining down all around them. Her dress was torn and dirty.

  “Speak now, Lucy Miller, and I might let you live,” he hissed down at her. “Where the fuck is my woman?”

  Lucy sucked in a panicked breath and tried to force her oxygen starved brain to function. She closed her eyes and thought hard. She could remember being slapped. She reached up with shaking fingers and touched her forehead then winced at the pain. DeLuca shook her impatiently.

  “T-trying to remember,” she whispered and opened pleading eyes.

  He nodded sharply.

  She could remember the bar and having some drinks with a woman that she’d only met that night. A lovely, vivacious woman. Very smart. Maria had saved Lucy’s
life. Convinced the Mexicans not to shoot her on the tarmac.

  “An airplane,” Lucy told him. “Th-they took her on an airplane.”

  “Where?” he demanded, his hands tightening on her arms.

  “I don’t know!” she cried out softly, wanting to help him. “They didn’t say.”

  He gritted his teeth and dropped his head against hers, his dark hair brushing her forehead. The move wasn’t comforting though. Not even close. It was utterly chilling. As though he were, in fact, the harbinger of Lucy’s death. Lucy felt, in that moment, as though she were closer to her own demise now, than she had been when she was trapped in the fridge.

  DeLuca lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. She saw nothing in his expression. Nothing on his harsh face. Absolutely nothing. He felt nothing for her; no pity, not a flicker of empathy. He probably felt nothing for anyone but Maria. And god help anyone that touched that woman.

  “She said it was her blackmailer,” Lucy whispered suddenly, the memory finally swimming to the surface. “She said the name… Ronson.”

  DeLuca stiffened above her, his dark eyes boring into hers as though they could tear through her skull and rip the information he wanted right out. Then, finally, an emotion lit his expression. A terrible rage unlike anything Lucy had ever seen before or wanted to see again. Her heart pounded in terror and she couldn’t so much as swallow until he shuttered the look, saving it for those that took Maria from him.

  “Thank you, Lucy,” he said quietly, his voice no less sinister. He continued to hold her, his gaze roving over her face and body. His perusal was entirely impersonal and chilled her to the bone. Finally, he touched her face. Long fingers brushing the hair from her forehead and cheeks gently, as though he cared for her well-being. They both knew he didn’t. When he spoke again, his voice was low and brutal, for her ears alone. “If anything happens to her, I will be coming back for you, Lucy. You were instrumental in her disappearance tonight and I cannot tolerate…” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence as he imagined something awful happening to his beloved.