Page 70 of Hart of Vengeance
I glanced at my BFF, the same woman who hated Duke probably more than me at the moment.
She nodded. “I’ll work from Duke’s too. We can both drive him nuts.”
Dillon was holding back a grin.
I wasn’t. But I doubted I could do much of anything until I didn’t feel like I’d been run over by a Mack truck. Still, if Mal was at Duke’s with me, at least she would keep me from throwing him out the window.
“I need to make a phone call,” Dillon said. “Then, Mallory, you can take a break.”
Mallory laughed, shaking her head. “This woman isn’t leaving my sight either.”
“You should go home and get some rest,” I said. “Dillon will protect me.” I wanted more time alone with Dillon. He was making me feel better emotionally. I was beginning to feel as though I were part of a family, which I hadn’t had since before the house fire.
“You two work it out. Either way, I’ll be back.” Dillon left.
I grasped Mal’s hand. “You need a shower and a good night’s sleep. Go home. I’ll be fine. Tito isn’t going to kill me.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because he’s gotten what he wanted.” I hated to say he’d killed Denim. The more I voiced that thought, the more I was afraid it would come true, and I prayed I was wrong.
22
Denim
Puddles of water were scattered around the trash strewn on the floor of the barren warehouse. A hint of fish hung in the air, or maybe it was the stench floating off my sweat-soaked body.
I groaned even though I couldn’t feel my legs. The only pain resonating in my brain was the burning in my muscles or the intense friction of the rope cutting into my wrists as I dangled from the ceiling. My mouth was parched. Every limb and muscle hurt like a bastard, and I could barely open my eyes.
I was in hell—the kind from which a person didn’t escape.
I licked my split lips, and the metallic taste of my blood gave me a small jolt to wake the fuck up and get out of there. I wasn’t sure how, though. My ankles were tied, and my toes barely touched the cement floor. I drew in a breath and choked from the disgusting dead fish smell lingering in the air.
“Boss, he’s coming to,” a baritone voice said.
I knew that voice. My gaze flitted from one side to the other, searching for Lou Romano. My vision was blurry, and I couldn’t see past my swollen nose or cheeks.
“Hey.” I sounded rough and ragged. I cleared my throat. “Hey,” I said a little louder. “Tell my brother to be a man and confront me himself.” I hadn’t seen Duke yet. I was sure my brother was behind my kidnapping and the contract on my head. After all, Lou Romano worked for him.
When I’d first arrived—I was guessing four or five days ago—I had been knocked out. The minute I’d gained consciousness, I had been knocked out again by three men who got their rocks off on using me for their own entertainment. I’d asked to see Duke, but the men had laughed and continued to play the torture game.
I pulled on the rope around my wrists, but the act only served to make it cut deeper into my skin.
“You’re not getting out of those,” Lou announced with excitement as his footsteps grew louder.
I blinked several times. I was sure I had blood in one of my eyes, hence the blurriness.
Lou Romano entered my vision. He was short in height with a short neck and pointed chin. He was known on the streets as Pliers.
He cocked his head to one side then the other. “You’re one tough motherfucker, Hart. Then again, you always were.” True to his nickname, he plucked a pair of pliers from his back pocket. The metal glinted in the dim light spraying down from above.
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’ll have to do better than making love to those pliers.”
He dragged a dirty fingernail over the handles. “You were always a cocky fuck.”
A ragged laugh escaped me. “How’s my brother, Duke?”
He opened and closed his pliers. “Peachy.”
