I don’t lift my foot off the gas until the industrial complex where Mila was taken comes into sight, and I slam down on the brakes, kicking up a cloud of dust behind me. Before today, I didn’t even know this place existed, which only adds to my unease.
Who the hell owns this place?
So far, I have no leads, but I’m hoping the guy inside will be the key to unlocking some answers.
Reaching into the glove compartment, I pull out my handgun and a spare magazine, as well as a knife, and stuff them into the waistband of my pants, though I have little intention of using any of my weapons.
I’m in the mood for a good old-fashioned fistfight to blow off some steam.
As I enter the warehouse through the side door, Brennan is waiting just outside the room where Mila was kept. His hands are stained with blood, and his dark hair is a little disheveled, as if he’s been running his fingers through it.
“Is he alive?”
He tucks his hands into his pockets. “He hasn’t said much. Even after some…encouragement.”
Why am I not surprised?
“I think it’s time to change that.” I push past Brennan.
The room reeks of sweat and piss, and the kidnapper is slumped in the very chair that Mila was tied to. His legs are completely limp, his pants soaked with blood, and his head lolls forward with one eye completely swollen shut.
If it weren’t for the slight movement in his shoulders indicating he’s breathing, I would think he was dead.
For a moment, I stare at him as I loosen the lid on my rage.
This fucker almost made Ciara a murderer, and that alone is enough to warrant a bullet between the eyes.
The adrenaline pumping through my body narrows my focus, and I pull back my leg before slamming my foot into the leg of the chair. The metal rattles, and it’s enough to jolt the guy back to consciousness.
He groans, though he’s barely stirring. His one good eye is still closed, and his breathing is becoming shallower by the second.
I’m running out of time.
I grind my teeth as I crouch in front of him and reach into my pocket for the knife.
I slice through the ropes binding his feet. “Wake up.”
“What are you doing?” Brennan asks from behind me.
“He’s too far gone to do me much damage.”
The guy groans again as I get to my feet and walk behind him to slice through the rope around his wrists.
“Go and keep a lookout. I don’t need an audience for this.”
My brother does as I ask, closing the door behind him on his way out.
I finish freeing the guy’s wrists, and the second the rope falls to the floor, his body slumps forward, sliding off the chair.
A breath leaves his lungs as he hits the concrete, but I don’t give him a chance to recover before bending down and sinking my fingers into his shirt.
He’s a big guy, around my height and weight, but I barely notice as I haul him to his feet.
The adrenaline in my veins is making me numb to everything except my rage.
I tighten my grip on his shirt and drag him across the floor, leaving a trail of blood in our wake, before slamming his body into the concrete wall, knocking the last of the air out of him.
His shattered kneecaps mean he can’t hold his weight, so I pin him against the wall.
