Page 37 of Outlaw
Fuck, who am I kidding?
“You told them to keep an eye on the broads, not handcuff them to the bed. NowthatI’d be willing to do, even without your asking nicely.” He makes a couple of hip thrusts and mimics smacking a chick’s ass while he’s at it.
I ignore him because he’ll never stop if I encourage his crap. “Where’s Garcia?”
“Resting. Getting ready for round two, whenever he wakes up. As for your lady, I’ve got to say thanks for bringing her around. She’s one of the most perfect specimens I’ve seen walk into our twisted establishment. I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to corrupt the shit out of her for an hour or two.”
One moment, I’m standing there listening. The next, Tate goes down. He should know better, but I give him some extra home-schooling, my fist gripping his junk and squeezing hard so he knows I’m not past ripping it off and feeding it to the coyotes. He starts to whimper, and his face twists with pain as I gave it another tug.
“If you value your body parts, you won’t fucking speak like that about her again.” Fuck, I don’t recognize my own voice.
“Shit, boss! Okay. I’m done. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” I release the guy’s balls and watch as he crumples to the gravel for a while. He gets up later, brushing off the desert dust and rearranging his groin area. Then he whistles to call out to one of the sack demons hanging around the front of the clubhouse. “Hey. Take your fine ass inside and grill up a couple of steaks for the Pres.”
“No one knows exactly where Sabrina went with Cindy?” I ask, because the two of them together, away from this compound? That can’t end well.
“They said that Cindy told someone inside they were going back to Sabrina’s condo to pick up a few things.”
“Back to the condo…where she was tranqued?” Fuck. I should have been more specific.
“This is the first I’m hearing that your girl was attacked.”
I shake my head and run a dusty hand down my face. This has been forty-eight hours from hell. Fuck, I need a shower, but personal hygiene is at the end of a growing list. Talking to Vasquez is more crucial, but my gut wants to bump Sabrina to the top of the list. The problem is that right now, everything is a fucking priority.
“Did Garcia give you another phone number for Vasquez?” I glance over at Tate again. He’s still groaning in pain. “Sorry about your balls, man.”
“Yeah. I deserved it.”
“Fucking right.”
Tate’s face shifts into a twisted smirk. “Plus, I kind of enjoyed it. It’s been a while since they’ve been rearranged. That Dominican mistress I’ve been hitting up is booked solid lately—”
“Okay. Stop talking. You need to keep that kinda shit to yourself. Tell me what information Garcia gave you. I have a number for Vasquez, but he’s not answering. I need to talk to him stat.”
That sobers him up real quick. “I’ll break him soon. He already admitted the bombing wasn’t just for shits and giggles. It was a hired hit.”
“Fuck.” I scrub my hands through my grit-coated hair, almost as angry about the confirmation as the fact that Tate took so fucking long to let me know.
“That about sums it up.”
“Did he say who hired them?”
“No. He doesn’t know. Which is probably another fucking lie.”
“Figure out a way to reach Vasquez,” I bark, heading back to my ride with a fist clenched and ready to punch something.
“Will do, boss. And I’ll keep an eye on the place while you go find your girl.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“Get some eyes out here to keep watch. I’ll call with a status when I’m on my way back.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“And tell the men inside that next time Sabrina wants to leave the clubhouse, they’re to call me first.”
