Page 8 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

The stage is set. All we need is Hector, our esteemed middleman for the flesh trade across Chicago and the Midwest.

Across the room, Hector’s sidekick, Delilah Sinclair, lounges in a booth, a vision in red. A maneater and flesh peddler, Delilah always has her ear to the ground to sniff out new prey.

She hasn’t made it on my list yet. Maybe in a few years, when I have no trace of humanity left, she and other women like her, will make the cut.

Movement catches my eye, and there he is: Hector. Sauntering through the doors like he owns the place. Young, broad-shouldered, thick around the waist, with greasy black slicked-back hair. Like me, he comes from darkness, but we’ve carved different ways out of it.

Hector’s father was one of my first kills. I was fifteen, and the old bastard hadn’t even recognized me as the kid who escaped his trafficking ring two years before.

And now, little Hector has decided to follow in Daddy’s footsteps. And I—well, I’m here to see that he pays for that choice.

Hector slides into the seat across me with a shit-eating grin.

He’s excited. That’s new.

“You’re early, Rocky,” he says.

I only nod toward Kat and Scar who are still making out like they’re auditioning for a porno in the corner.

Hector scratches his jaw, eyes gleaming. “Blonde. Big tits,” he leers, licking his lips. “Even hotter than advertised.”

I shrug. “I see no point in boasting. Let the product speak for itself.”

Hector chuckles and then checks his watch. “That’s where you’re wrong, Rocky. Ain’t a lot of honest people in this business. They promise you a fresh-looking piece of ass, and you get a toothless hag.”

His bouncing enthusiasm grates on me. Usually, I make people nervous—it’s in their fidgeting hands, their averted gazes. But tonight, Hector’s like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Are we still on for ten at the docks?” The thought of our later meeting—under very different circumstances—almost brings a smile to my face.

Hector’s smirk vanishes. “Nah. ‘Fraid I can’t take your merch personally. Got another big one coming in tonight.”

Disappointment coils in my gut like a cold fist. “So who’s taking my delivery?”

“My man, Eduardo,” Hector says, nodding toward the dark-haired guy sitting with Delilah. “He’ll deliver the cash and take your merch. Trust me, he knows what he’s doing.”

My jaw clenches. Well, that throws a fucking wrench in the works. I’d hoped to keep the body count low tonight. Eduardo looks barely old enough to grow a beard, and I’m supposed to kill this kid?

Hector’s phone rings. He holds up a finger to me then turns away to take the call while I strain to catch the conversation.

“Yeah,” Hector says. “It’s all ready. Calm down, Mr. Brando, your princess is in expert hands, okay?”

My brain snags on the name like a hook.As in Clemenza Brando? Alfred Romano’s right-hand man?

Hector continues, “Didn’t Ricardo tell you about me? I’ve been working with him for a while now. Yes, I know this is different. If anyone can deliver, it’s me. Now, just go to sleep and let me handle the rest.”

Hector hangs up with a disgusted sigh. “Amateurs. Have to reassure them all the time.”

I arch an eyebrow, maintaining my silence while my mind races. If he means Clemenza Brando, something’s very wrong. The Romano family is dying because of their trafficking ventures. They’re supposed to be pulling themselves out of that mess, not digging deeper.

“Who’s the new client?” I ask casually, not expecting much.

Hector settles back, satisfaction oozing from his grin. “Some hotshot Romano soldier. They’re the worst—come in like they own the business, but you end up leading them by the fucking nose.”

“I see. And where’s the merch?”

“On her way,” Hector preens. “Alone.”

I frown. “Alone?”

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