Page 107 of Toxic Glory

It's too bad that his first taste of the action is helping me find Alize.

"Why didn't you have us check this one first, then?" I ask, a little annoyed by that fact. "We've wasted almost two hours."

"All of the others already had basements," Reggie responds. "But a six-month old permit approval doesn't exactly indicate a finished basement."

I grunt, zoning out.

His words mean something, of course, but I don't care to know. I'm getting increasingly agitated. Alize was kidnapped by a family friend.

I can't stop my mind from wandering to other places. Has he hurt her any more than what I saw on the CCTV? My fingers itch. I'm desperate to wrap them around his neck and watch the life bleed from his eyes.

Might even take him back to the Castle and fuck his head up on one of those stone planters to see how much he likes it. My thoughts grow more murderous as the seconds tick by. I'm suffocating in a black cloud of my own malice.

I need blood.

A lot of it.

"We're here." George's voice barely makes it through my haze of thoughts.

I look up from my balled fists to find that we've pulled over on an empty street. It's a typical upper-class district—manicured trees in concrete planter boxes dot the paved sidewalk, covered off-street parking for every house. It's a nice place to live if you've got a white-collar job and 2.5 kids.

Not the kind of scene for a billionaire.

"It's three houses down," Reggie says with a boyish grin, and he reaches down to get his little electrical toy out of his rucksack.

The thing is a little too big to fit in the palm of his hand. I forget what he said it's called. An EMP, I think? Whatever it is, he built it himself and it packs a punch. Once he activates it, it basically bricks everything electronic in a one-block radius for a couple minutes.

Including security cameras and alarm systems.

If he's here, the motherfucker won't see us coming.

"Alright, it's done," Reggie says as every light on the street goes dark.

Five of us file out of the SUV. We all look like shadows—dark clothes, matte black guns with silencers. It's the fourth time we're doing this, so we've got the practiced efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Reggie stays back in the van with a weapon to keep an eye out. He's got some kind of analog phone to make contact with Wesley should anything go wrong.

That was the only way Ingrid would allow him to come with us.

With a nod of my head, we move in single file down the street toward the townhouse. With each muffled step of my shoes, my heartbeat grows louder in my ears. This could be it.

I could be a few minutes away from reuniting with the love of my life.

It could also be another dead end.

Alize could be miles away from here, and I'm running around London like a headless chicken, with no idea where to start.

I failed her.

I couldn't protect her, even though I knew how dangerous it was.

Wesley and George are ahead of me in the line, and the two other guys bring up the rear. The thirty second walk down the street feels like it takes an eternity. This townhouse is a little different from the others on the street.

The only entrance is through the garage.

And it's ajar.

When we step into the dimly lit garage, I realise it's empty.

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