Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Do you think he cares about you?” he asks as I try to pull my hand away. It’s impossible, though. Impossible with Rami pinning it down.
“Michael paid him. But Michael’s dead,” Malek continues and I half-hear him. “So you belong to me now. You’re mine to do with as I please. And what I please is to hear you scream,” he says, and I do scream. My God do I scream.
I scream and scream and scream. I think I’ll never stop screaming.
8
CASSIAN
“You always keep a second gun strapped to your ankle?” I ask Jet as I speed through the gates of Moore’s property.
“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He holsters his Glock and hands me mine. “You know where he took her?”
“I think so. I hope so. Malcom Hall. They called him the Maestro. He was Sarah Moretti’s piano tutor, and it was his house she died in when a fire broke out during their lessons. Or so the official story went. It’s got to be it. If she’s not there…” then I don’t know. I don’t say that part out loud, though. “She has to be there.” My chest tightens, the road blurring momentarily.
She has to be there.
I feel Jet’s gaze on the side of my head, but I keep my eyes on the road.
“I was right about this being a distraction.”
I nod. It was. It was to waste my time and delayed my finding Allegra.
But how did Malek know we had eyes on Moore’s house? Because I’m sure he did. I’m sure he arranged for the distraction.
I add up all the little things. The betrayals. Someone tipped off the feds to a shipment of arms with details only very few people have access to. Someone sent a loaded weapon to my nephew. A very clear message to me that they can get to what I hold dear. Someone gave Michael Moretti eight million dollars, so I’d have no right to Allegra.
To do what I’m going to do, to take her back, it could start a war.
That’s if Malek Lombardi has the support of the family. And he might, if I’m too late and he forces her to marry him.
I push the thoughts from my mind. I need to focus on one thing right now. Find Allegra. Get her back. Do it before he hurts her.
Because I can imagine how he’ll hurt her, and I can’t let that happen to her. There’s that twisting again, a choking sensation at the thought of Allegra afraid. Allegra alone and afraid and unable to defend herself.
By the time we drive onto the cul-de-sac where the Maestro’s house once stood, it’s full dark. There are only two other houses on this street.
It’s quiet here, the night completely still. A stone wall encircles the property and ornate iron gates stand closed at the top of a long drive. The house is set too far back to see anything from the road. I slow as I round the cul-de-sac. I’m not sure it’s a good sign or a bad one that I don’t see soldiers. If I’m wrong about this, if I made a mistake, she’ll pay the price. Every minute I don’t find her, she’s paying the price.
“Hey, focus,” Jet says, and I turn to face him, seeing in his eyes that he can read everything going on in my head. “We’ll find her.”
I don’t answer, don’t nod. Because there is a part of me that is terrified that I’m wrong. That we won’t find her. Or it’ll be too late. I begin mentally bargaining. Let her be alive. Let her be here. Let her be here and alive and I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything for her. I won’t leave her unprotected again. I won’t set her in harm’s way again. Because that is what I did. That is what I did when my temper exploded.
I see her face, see how she looked at me that last time. How she swore she’d never forgive me. And now, this.
This horror.
The gates are chained together. If he’s here, he’d have soldiers. If he’s holding Allegra here, he won’t take any chances. He won’t face me alone.
But if I’m wrong, if Allegra isn’t here, I don’t know where she’ll be. I don’t know where he’d take her. And I’ll be too late.
I can’t think about that now. I glance at the SUV’s lined up behind me.
“Hey. Get it fucking together. We’re here. Let’s go,” Jet says.
I nod. He’s right.
“You ready?” I ask Jet.
“We’re not worried about being polite here, I guess.” There’s no humor in his voice. He’s just looking straight ahead, eyes narrowed. Determined.
“We’ll be announcing our arrival in a minute. If his soldiers are armed, they’ll shoot.”
“Then we’d best be ready to shoot back,” he says, checking his weapon.
I hit the gas pedal. The tires scream as we propel forward, up the driveway picking up speed as I floor it. Jet mutters a curse, gripping the dashboard as I crash through the gates, the heavy iron giving way, the chain breaking apart, crashing against the windshield which splinters where the lock hits then cracks all the way across. I don’t stop. The SUV bounds along the unkempt path overgrown with weeds, the garden creeping onto the gravel drive.