Page 199 of Colt

Pushing the doors open, I walked into the bar where the ol’ ladies sat, talking.

“Fuck! Colt!” Cara exclaimed. “Did you bring Freya?”

“Good to see you, honey,” Layla called out.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Kennedy drawled.

“How’s the woman they brought in?” I demanded. “Is she okay?”

Cara’s face fell. “Sophie’s seeing to her in one of the medical rooms. John went fucking crazy when he saw the state of her and started smashing up the bar.”

“He took the guy they brought in straight down to the Cell,” Kennedy added. “I’d hate to see the state of him when Prez has finished.”

The gut punch slammed into me again.

I knew exactly what these men were capable of. Hell, a year ago I’d have been down there with them. A heavy weight of guilt settled on my shoulders. I should’ve given Atlas the backstory. I knew the SAA well enough to understand what his reaction would be and the pleasure he’d take in beating information out of the FBI agent they had no idea was working undercover.

I stalked to the familiar corridor that used to house my office, before turning and hurrying down the stairs. Holding my breath, I held my finger up to the sensor on the wall, breathing a sigh of relief when the locks disengaged and opened. I prowled to the next set of doors, praying that they hadn’t removed my prints from the database as I held my thumb up to another sensor. I sent up a prayer of thanks as the locks clicked open, allowing me entrance.

The door creaked as I pushed on it and slipped inside the Cell. As I did, the scent of stale sweat, and the iron tang of blood assaulted my nostrils and memories flooded into my brain.

The dim light barely lit the room, but it was enough for me to make out the sight before me.

Prez, Bowie, Cash, Breaker, and Atlas all stood in line glowering at a man who’d been stripped and hung bare-ass naked from a meat hook attached to the ceiling.

“Who fuckin’ beat her?” Prez roared.

“I don’t know!” the prisoner retorted; his voice pitchy with fear. His lips pressed together in a tight line, defiance shining from his eyes. “Fuck you!”

Prez snarled, pulling his fist back and launching it forward with every ounce of strength he possessed. The sickening thud of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room as the prisoner’s kidneys bore the brunt of Prez’s powerful punch.

I winced, recalling exactly how hard that fucker could hit. His fists were like damned sledgehammers.

“Stop!” I roared.

Prez ignored me, his fist landing on the prisoner’s torso with a crunch.

“You’ve just cracked a fuckin’ rib!” I bellowed, prowling toward the group of men I knew as well as I knew myself. “What part of fuckin’ stop don’t you get?”

Prez pointed to the prisoner with a finger shaking with anger. “Did you see what he did to her?” he bellowed. “Sophie’s scared she might not even pull through.” His face was purple with rage, his entire body vibrating with such powerful emotion I worried he’d have a heart attack.

“He didn’t do it,” I grated out.

“Course he fuckin’ did it,” Prez snarled. “She was in the back of his car. He was tryin’ to get her outta town, to avoid gettin’ caught.”

All tension left my body. “John,” my hand went to Prez’s shoulder, “he was getting’ her away from her abuser. The mayor, Robert Henderson.”

Prez’s jaw dropped, his eyes crinkling with disbelief. “What?”

“Elise has been working for the FBI for years trying to help us gather evidence about the trafficking ring run by Henderson and Bear Rawlins. We were wrong, Thrash was involved too. It started years ago when Bandit was in charge. We’ve never been able to get enough on them to put them away until now. We’re so fuckin’ close, John. You can’t fuck it up.”

My stare slid from one shocked face to the next.

Bowie’s hand went to the back of his neck, his eyes clouding over as his brain worked overtime.

Cash scraped a hand down his face, looking helplessly between the prisoner and his dad.

Breaker’s lip curled and he rolled his eyes, rasping, “What a goddamned fuck-up.”

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