I snort with derision. “Not fucking happening.”
She pouts. “Well, that’s a shame. Guess you don’t wanna find her that badly after all.”
I’m beyond pissed that she’s behaving like this. I feel ashamed of myself for believing Lena left voluntarily. I almost sat back and did nothing. I feel rage at Zeke for what he did, for hounding Lena and now kidnapping her. And I feel fucking petrified of what he might do to her and my little girl.
I can’t take it anymore. I want to wipe that smug expression off Trish’s face. I explode, losing my temper. I do something I’m not proud of, that I’ve never done before, I lay my hands on a woman in anger.
I grab Trish by the throat, and her eyes go wide with fear. “Enough games,” I snarl. “We’re never going to fuck you, and you should be ashamed of yourself for begging for it. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic,” I sneer. Trish starts to cry. “I know this is a foreign concept to you, but Cole and I are loyal. We would never cheat on Lena. Now, you can tell us where she is, or I can make you tell us,” I say, my voice low and deadly.
Trish claws at my hand, trying to speak, but I’m lost to the white hot rage I feel. I haven’t lost it like this in a long time. Not since Jen died.
“Enough,” Cole says.
It’s enough to bring me to my senses and realize what I’ve done. I release Trish, and she coughs and splutters. I move away, but I resist the urge to apologize. We still need the information from her.
“Fucking psycho,” Trish spits, brave now that Cole is protecting her. “If you want it rough like that, you gotta fuck me while you do it.” She’s putting a brave face on, but I can tell she’s shook up.
“Trish,” Cole barks. A warning. He’s had enough, too. “Tell us where Lena is.” He places another hundred in front of her.
She realizes that we aren’t playing around and quickly snatches the money up. “I heard Zeke took her to his party house. It’s this big old colonial manor in the middle of the countryside. It’s mostly in ruins, but he used to throw big ole parties there years ago when he was a teenager, and it was abandoned. Not many people know this, but he actually bought the place and is currently restoring it. Zeke has big plans for the future, wants to be the next Pablo Escobar.”
I laugh at the admiration in her voice. “And I wanna be the Pope. Neither is gonna happen. Zeke’s a small-town drug dealer and common criminal.”
“Shows what you know. Zeke’s got connections, big ones, with some Mafia guy.”
“Sure he does.” I don’t believe it for a second. Though I’m sure Zeke likes to posture and pretend.
Cole shoots me a warning glare and I realize I’m wasting time with this petty argument. “So, where is this house?”
Trish shrugs. “I don’t know the address. It’s a couple of hours away, and I was driven out there.”
My heart sinks. We were so close, but we’re no closer to finding them. Every minute that passes puts them in more danger.
“But I could show you.”
If Karma exists, this is undoubtedly my punishment for laying my hands on Trish.
“Alright then, you’re coming with us,” Cole says.
Jesus Christ. The last thing I want is for some annoying drugged-up whore to come along for a road trip. But we’ve got no choice. Trish is our best chance of finding Lena and Mia.
They say that God works in mysterious ways. I think that sometimes he’s got a sick sense of humor.
Chapter 22
Lena
You don’t go through years of foster care and living on the streets without learning a thing or two about self-defense. I try to channel everything I know into surprising the first person to come through the door of my room.
When the door finally creaks open, hours after I woke, I’m ready and waiting. I spring into action before the goon that Zeke has sent can react, kicking him hard in the balls. He drops to the floor, clutching his crotch, and I rush past him before he can collect himself enough to grab me. Unfortunately for me, Zeke knows me better than I thought, and two more men are waiting outside.
The one lunges forward to catch me, and I use his weight against him, kicking out at his legs to take advantage of his momentum and trip him. He stumbles forward, and I punch him square in the nose with all my might. My hand throbs, but I’m satisfied to see the blood that spurts out. He yells out in pain, and I try to dart past him, but the other one grabs me from behind. I struggle against his grip, but he holds firm. He’s too strong and there’s no space for me to use any of the defense tactics I know.
The man chuckles as I continue to fight. “Zeke said you were feisty.” His tone is almost admiring, as if this is fun to him.
“I think she broke my fucking nose, Chuck,” the other man says.
I don’t recognize either of the men I attacked, though the one holding me is vaguely familiar. If asked to identify them in a line-up, I’d struggle, they all have the same look—shaved head, tattoos, smushed pit bull features, with arms the size of tree trunks.
