“I had a feeling you might.”
“He put out some feelers in Miami to see what he could find.”
“And what did he uncover?”
“That a Bratva hitman who’d been paid to acquire a high-ticket item went dark.”
“And you think that high-ticket item was Ariana?”
“I know it was.Worse, Salvatore called a little while ago to tell me the Bratva enforcer’s phone had been turned back on.But I’ve kept that phone off since I killed him.When I checked, it was gone.Along with Ariana.Now my Jeep looks like a war zone, and she’s missing.They fucking found her.If my gut is right and her husband is behind this?”My throat squeezed at the thought.
I knew what he was capable of.Knew the hell he’d put Ariana through for years.I swore I’d keep her safe.Swore no harm would come to her while she was with me.And because I didn’t tell her the truth, because I was a fucking coward, I delivered her straight into the devil’s arms myself.
“If I’d?—”
“Henry,” Blake cut me off, his voice sharp.“I think I’ve got something.”
I perked up, hope building inside me.
“A Pilatus landed a few hours ago at a private airstrip about forty miles from you.Came from Miami.”
My pulse thudded.“Any information about who the plane is registered to?”
“West Industries.A return flight plan has been filed.Departing in about an hour.”
An hour.That was all I had.
“I’m on it.Find out everything you can about West Industries.”
“You got it, boss.”
I shoved the phone back into my pocket, and sprinted toward the truck, Cato on my heels every step of the way.The tires spit snow as I tore onto the road, the only thought in my head as sharp and relentless as gunfire.
If a single strand of Ariana’s hair was out of place, I’d burn their world to ash.
Then I’d take back what was mine.
ChapterTwo
Henry
I rolled my truck to a stop along the perimeter road and killed the engine, letting the silence swallow me whole.The airstrip loomed ahead, the sole building a dilapidated hangar that was probably built in the 1930s.
I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and surveyed the area.A handful of prop planes sat parked under a weak floodlight.Beyond them, the small Pilatus gleamed, the plane out of place among the tiny two-seaters surrounding it.
Cato nudged my thigh from the passenger seat, a low whine escaping him, as if telling me to hurry.Apparently, he was just as anxious to save Ariana as I was.
“Stay,” I ordered, my voice a whisper.His amber eyes locked on mine, steady, and obedient.
I ruffled his head, then stepped into the night, my pistol heavy at my side.On light feet, I jogged toward the fence, muscle memory kicking in as I silently scaled it and dropped onto the other side with barely a sound.A jolt of pain hit my ankle from my still-unhealed injury, but I pushed it down.I had to.For Ariana.
Mere seconds after my boots touched the ground, the hangar’s back door flung open.
I dropped flat, the snow damp and sharp against my cheek as I hid in the shadows, my pulse pounding in my ears.But I remained still.Remembered my training.The worst thing anyone could do in this type of situation was panic.And I refused to panic.Especially with Ariana’s life on the line.
I kept my eyes glued to the back of the building as a man stepped out.Tall.Broad.Dark hair.Tattoos snaked up his hands and arms, as well as one on his neck.I squinted, focusing on the markings, my stomach twisting when I made out a tattoo of a knife being thrust into his neck.A well-known tattoo for Bratva hitmen.
He leaned against the corrugated wall and lit a cigarette, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
