“Got a visual of the captive?” Alek asked in my earpiece.
“Negative.”
I fucking hated referring to Cat as “the captive,” but maintaining a certain emotional distance in intense situations like this—especially in this particular situation—was essential. The priority was getting her out safely and taking out Ortega in the process. Dad had tried to insist that he be taken in alive in order to face justice in a court of law for all of his crimes.
Like I gave a shit about the lawful way to carry out his punishment.
This fucker deserved to die by the hands of someone who knew how to inflict maximum pain. His body would be left in the scorching Mexican desert, where vultures could pick apart the entrails of his bloated corpse.
That was fucking justice.
“Number of guards stationed around the perimeter?” Dad asked through the line.
“Eight,” Ace answered, then gave the exact location of each of Ortega’s men.
“What about guards inside the building?” Cris asked.
“I’ve counted at least ten,” Nico replied. “Target has two with him at all times.”
“Copy.”
I could hear Rome’s voice in my head. Keep your fucking cool, man. Do your job first, then get pissed.
I’d repeated those words to myself over and over in the last five hours. As we armed ourselves and loaded up Nico’s private plane. As we flew across the country toward Cat’s Mexican prison. And as we quietly converged on Ortega’s estate in the dead of night and positioned ourselves around the exterior, Rome’s words ran on a mental loop.
Ortega passed by the window again, talking on his cell phone. He looked agitated, like he was going off the rails, but I had no confirmation on Cat’s whereabouts.
Where the hell are you, baby?
Because she was still alive. She had to be. No other option was acceptable. I was relying on Ortega’s obsession for her to keep her alive. If he needed her so badly, he wouldn’t kill her, right?
But where the fuck was she?
Ortega moved an inch to the left, giving me a clear, unobstructed shot at his skull. My finger twitched on the trigger. It would have been so easy to take the shot and watch the hole appear right between his eyes just before his body crumpled to the floor.
That’s when I saw it.
There was splattered blood on his white button-down shirt. And—I squinted through the scope—something on his knuckles. A discoloration. More blood?
Alarms blared in my head.
“Move in,” I commanded tersely. “Threat has been detected. Captive possibly in imminent danger. Move in now.”
Silently, we all advanced toward the section of electrified fence that Ace had disabled and subsequently cut. It was only a matter of time before the guards discovered the breech, so we had to move fast. We all wore night vision goggles, allowing us to cut swiftly across the rugged terrain surrounding Ortega’s vast compound. Tactical gear, Kevlar vest, fucking hand cannon strapped to my chest.
The most important mission of my life.
We spread out as soon as we closed in on the house. When the first guard in my path came into view, I took aim through my scope. We always emphasized minimum casualties on an op like this, but I couldn’t care less how many of these bastards remained alive. As far as I was concerned, they were all just as bad as Ortega and could meet the same fate.
Still, I was grateful when he spotted me and reached for his weapon.
It made pulling the trigger just a little easier.
Kill or be killed.
The silencers on all our guns ensured we didn’t draw attention. Male grunts sounded from somewhere to my right, where I knew Bryce was positioned. Seconds later, the detective appeared around the corner and nodded, signaling his area was clear. Alek then emerged from my left, communicating the same signal.
We advanced toward the interior.
The three of us were taking the south entrance, while Ace and Dad entered through the east, and Cris and Nico took the north.
Entering the mansion through a window, we used hand signals to indicate which directions to split up. Having studied the blueprints backward and forward during the flight, I had a decent grasp on the layout of the place. And after our stakeout along the perimeter, I’d determined two things: Cat was either being held in one of the eight bedrooms upstairs, or she was down in the basement. A basement that, judging by the prints, was significantly older than the rest of the house.
Over my shoulder, I silently signaled for Bryce and Alek to take upstairs while I headed for the door to the basement. Fuck, I hoped one of us found her before all hell broke loose. The place was still quiet for the time being, but chances were it wasn’t going to stay that—
Frantic shouting broke out from somewhere in the direction of the east wing.
Within seconds, more voices joined the fray, yelling in Spanish, as gunfire cracked in the distance.
“Go!” I shouted to Bryce and Alek.
They took off up the stairs at a sprint as I ran down the hallway at top speed. Picturing the prints in my head, I counted the number of doors before I reached one that looked slightly older than the rest. I pulled on the big iron handle.
Locked.
I shot the goddamn handle off and barged my way through.
Taking the stone steps down three at a time—always fucking underground—I raised my gun once I reached the bottom level that was most definitely more dungeon-like than basement. Doors on either side of the narrow hallway indicated it was likely used at one time—or still was being used—as a jail of sorts. Maybe some type of slave quarters.
Keeping my weapon at the ready, I started whipping open those doors. One, two, three, fo—
My throat went dry.
I found her in the fourth cell.
Tied to a motherfucking chair. Head lowered, body slumped, blood staining her clothes and the dirt on the floor. And…Jesus Christ. Had her hair been cut off? My knees about buckled.
She looked dead.
No, not her. Please, God, no.
When my trigger hand started trembling, I released my grip and lowered my gun, moving slowly toward her still form. Was she even breathing? Her clothing was in such disarray, I couldn’t see whether or not her chest was moving. If it was, it was slight.
“Cat?”
My voice came out in a terrified whisper as I inched closer.
“Baby girl…it’s me, Luka.”
No response.
I crouched down in front of her and as carefully as possible, lifted her head. Once I pushed aside the ragged, bluntly cut shorter strands of her uneven hair—
I choked on my enraged roar.
“Oh, fuck, baby.”
Her face was black and blue, eyes puffy, blood smeared over her mouth and chin. Her jaw was swollen and could very well have been broken from the looks of it. My hands instinctively fisted as blinding fury began to take over. At least she was breathing.
That sick son of a bitch had bashed the hell out of a defenseless woman. My woman.
Keep it together. Get her out.
Then…unleash Hell.
Even from thousands of miles away, my twin guided me through my anger, my conflict, my motherfucking pain.
“Cat? Come on, wake up, baby.”
Her eyelids fluttered. I could tell it hurt her to open them, and the surge of rage about knocked me over. He’d hit her so hard and so many times that just opening her eyes was painful.
I was losing my grip.
Plummeting over the edge.
Finally, she managed to pry her swollen lids open. Sure enough, blood vessels had burst in both of her eyes, leaving more red visible than white.
But she recognized me.
She wasn’t able to get anything out the first time she opened her mouth. Then she licked her lips, winced, and was able to manage in a raspy whisper, “L-Luka? You’re…here?”
I never felt the impulse to cry. But it slammed into me like a
fucking tank at her hopeful, relieved words.
The pain is over now, baby.
“You’re goddamn right I’m here. And I’m taking you home.”
She tried to smile—she wanted to—but she winced again when her split lip opened further. And the hits just keep on fucking coming. My girl couldn’t even smile at me. Just one more reason to end Ortega’s life in the worst, most inhumane way.
I reached behind Cat and found where her wrists were tied to the backrest of the chair.
She cried out in pain.
And I instantly saw why. One of her wrists was contorted in an unnatural way. Had she tried to wriggle it loose in order to escape? She’d fucking broken her wrist trying to get free.
Can’t hold it in anymore.
Need to cause pain.
Need someone to hurt. To pay.
When I pulled out my knife and sliced through the ropes, her body collapsed forward, having lost all strength in her muscles.
I dove to catch her. “I’ve got you, baby. Everything’s okay now. You’re safe.”
I took the humming noise she emitted as acknowledgment that she’d heard my words. Gently boosting her up into my arms, I handled her like she was made from spun glass. I was terrified of causing her more pain, but there was nowhere I could touch her that was free of injuries. To her credit, she didn’t cry out or so much as whimper in pain, even though I knew any position was uncomfortable for her.
I hugged her protectively to my chest.
She hissed through her teeth.
My heart lurched. “What is it?”
“My…ribs.”
I had to breathe slowly through my nose to fight off the oncoming implosion. Right then and there, I vowed that this woman would never again feel so much as a pinprick of pain for the rest of her life.
As for the rest of Ortega’s short life, he would feel nothing but pain.
“Let’s get you out of here,” I whispered to her. “I’ll make it all better, I promise.”
Amazingly, her mouth actually quirked in a small smile as I turned for the door.
Where Ortega himself stood.
Filling the doorway in a menacing stance.
Glowering at the two of us.
“I don’t believe that belongs to you,” he snarled.
As gently as possible, I set Cat down on the floor and propped her up against the wall. Never taking my eyes off Ortega, I kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back. Gotta go handle some business.”
Before I rose to my feet, I heard her whisper, “Make him scream.”
I grinned.
With pleasure, baby.
I’d battled many enemies, both physically and mentally.
I’d fought, I’d threatened, I’d taken lives.
But I had never in my life felt such a righteously powerful thrill to kill as I did when I stared down Javier Ortega. It flooded my veins like heroin, an instant, addictive high. Death and destruction were stamped on my motherfucking nameplate, and this unspeakable bastard was about to feel the full force of my unholy wrath.
“You’re wrong, Ortega,” I hissed with a smile. “She does belong to me. And so does your last breath.”
With that first and only warning, I charged at him.
Dropping my shoulder, I slammed his back against the hard stone wall of the hallway. The impact jarred him momentarily, but it didn’t take him long to recover. I had him wrapped up, though, so when his weak fists went for my kidneys, I felt nothing.
His ribs became my speedbag. I pounded my fists into them until I heard the crack of broken bones. I wouldn’t stop until I was sure I’d inflicted the minimum amount of pain he’d put Cat through. Again, he answered back, and I didn’t feel a damn thing.
Here it comes.
Total. Fucking. Blackout.
My one-track mind registered no pain as he attempted to save his own life. Maybe he drew blood, but I didn’t know where from. Didn’t care. All I cared about was how much of his I had caked on my knuckles.
Until my fists glowed bright red.
“You can’t fucking have her!” he roared. “She’s always been mine!”
Oh, was this asshole serious?
He really thought it wise to poke the murderous beast that was mauling him to death?
I dragged him to me by the collar. “The moment you ripped her from my hands was the moment your life ended. I’m just here to finish the job.”
His face became my canvas. My fists were the paintbrushes. And with my tools of savagery, I created a swirling masterpiece of red, black, and blue. With every punch, I pictured him hitting my Cat. Driving his fist into her gorgeous face. Making her flinch in pain. Making her hurt. Marring her beautiful body with bruises and blood.
He had laid his hands on my woman.
Made her cry. Made her ache.
In that moment, I was the personification of murder and mayhem.
And never had the stench of death smelled so heavenly.
After another punch launched him against the wall, I landed a hard kick to his wrist, snapping it.
He screamed like a little bitch.
Dragging him back inside Cat’s cell by his shirt collar, he thrashed his feet, attempting to loosen my grip. After dropping him in the dirt, I found the large knife that still had strands of Cat’s long hair clinging to it.
Using the same weapon, I scalped the motherfucker.
All for you, Cat.
Fuck, I could drag out his screams all night if she wanted me to. And I’d do it with the utmost pleasure. Monsters like him who wanted to crush a flower like Cat deserved to be snuffed out of this life with immeasurable pain and zero recognition. I’d delight in delivering his pain.
His life was meaningless.
Worthless.
Cat’s soft hand curling around my arm had me briefly snapping out of my blackout. Using me for support, she steadied her shaky legs but stood upright on her own steam. That’s my tough girl.
God, she was incredible.
Ortega was lying on the floor, passed out and drenched in blood, so still I assumed I’d killed him. Then I saw his chest compress. Dammit. So close.
With a bruised jaw and bloodied lip, Cat glared down at Ortega. “Where is Luciana?”
He didn’t answer. Eyelids didn’t even flutter.
With more strength than I expected, she drove her heel into his groin as hard as she could. He groaned in agony, barely even conscious.
“Where is she!”
“Up…stairs.”
Cat slumped against me. Having gotten her answer, she allowed me to be her strength.
Conflict warred within me. I wanted nothing more than to get Cat out of this place, away from the bullets and the evil, and ensure that she never got in harm’s way again. But I didn’t feel that Ortega had suffered enough. Not nearly enough. I wanted to tie him to the chair and perform every manner of torture I could think of—and invent new ones when I ran out. I wanted to leave him for dead, then bring him back to life and start the process over again.
Over and over and fucking over.
He hadn’t felt enough pain.
“Luka!” Bryce shouted from the top of the stairs. “Get your ass up here! We have to go now!”
Cat tried pulling me away, hobbling under her injuries. “Come on, Luka. I want you to take me home.”
Home. I had a home with her now.
And yes, I desperately wanted to get back to that.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I helped her down the hallway, toward the stairs. If I thought too hard about how severely her knees trembled under her miniscule weight, I’d go back and end the fucker in one fell swoop.
Lucky me, the decision was ripped out of my hands.
“I’ll never…” Ortega coughed, choking on blood. “I’ll never…stop. Come back…for her. She was always…meant to be…mine.”
That stopped me cold.
Because you know…he was right.
Not about Cat being his. But this e
vil piece of shit was so obsessed and so psychotic that he probably would come after Cat again. Who knew how long down the road…maybe a year, maybe two. Maybe in a fucking month. But as long as he remained alive, the threat of him stealing my Cat again would always be there, hovering over our heads. She would be in danger as long as Javier Ortega walked the earth. I would never relax, never rest, never know that she was completely safe.
More than that, I didn’t want her to be afraid. She’d already gone through too much in her young life. I couldn’t take her living in fear on top of what she’d just experienced at the hands of this devil.
Abruptly changing directions, I calmly walked back to my enemy, lifted my foot, and launched it at the bridge of his nose. Broken nasal cartilage was driven up into his skull cavity.
Instant death.
Enjoy the flames of Hell.
Cat was safe.
Everything inside me suddenly went calm.
Peace.
In my head, I heard Rome’s grunt of approval. Well done, bro.
My mission completed, I walked back to my girl, swung her up into my arms, and carried her to our new beginning.
Luciana and I were safe.
But she wasn’t free.
I held her in my arms as she sobbed uncontrollably the entire trip back to Brooklyn. Luka insisted on getting us both checked out at the nearest hospital. He was particularly worried about the internal injuries I had. But I just wanted to get as far away from Mexico as I possibly could. It wasn’t that I didn’t miss my family and didn’t want to see them. It was the village and modest house where I grew up that didn’t really feel like home anymore.
Wherever Luka was—that felt like home.
And his home was in Brooklyn, so that’s where I wanted to be.
I finally got Luciana calmed down enough to sleep. Luka gave us space on the plane, but he watched intently as I stroked my sister’s hair and allowed my own tears to spring forth. He’d been on a razor’s edge, clearly disparaging the distance between our bodies but understanding that my sister needed me. His knuckles whitened on the seat, like he was holding himself back from reaching out for me. Was he waiting for the moment when I shattered into a million pieces so he could glue me back together?
Maybe that would happen.
Glitter and Greed (Brooklyn Brothers #4) Page 31
