“Nash?”
The house is utterly silent. The trees cast flickering shadows across the room. The air feels wrong, but as I turn to shut the door, a solid weight slams into me from the side. Groceries scatter everywhere. I hit the plywood, losing my breath and knocking the sawhorses across the floor.
The air returns to my lungs in a strained whoosh. Kicking out with my right leg, I catch my attacker in the gut.
Footsteps pound toward me. I scramble up, but my foot lands on a fat tomato, and I skid. My knee hits the edge of the plywood. Stars burst in front of my eyes. A loud crack echoes through the room seconds before my head feels like it’s about to split in two.
I can’t put weight on my left leg. It buckles when I try to stand. Another blow catches me across the shoulders. Thick bristles drag over my neck.
That’s my fucking broom!
Grabbing the end, I yank as hard as I can. I ain’t goin’ down like this. The asshole who swung at me loses his balance, but I can’t get out of the way in time. His skull slams into my temple.
The blow stuns us both, but the first man wraps his arm around my neck. I can’t breathe.
I claw at him, but find only thick fabric. Darkness creeps in along the edges of my vision. Straining, I try to reach his eyes, his face, any exposed skin.
A hint of copper tickles my nose.
Harder. Fight. Harder.
My lungs burn. This is it. I’m dead, and I can’t muster the energy I need to care.
Stinging pain spreads across my cheek. Someone’s playin’ my skull like a drum. But it’s my shoulders that hurt the most. My arms are stretched wide, and when I flex my fingers, ropes cut into my wrists. Lifting my head takes all the strength I have, and when I open my eyes, I instantly regret it.
Diego Ruiz leans against one of the sawhorses, staring down at me. The other man…shit. He’s behind me. The assholes lashed my arms to the top beam of the other sawhorse, leaving me sitting on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me, ankles bound tight. My ass is numb, and my left knee is so swollen, I can feel my heartbeat through the blood-stained denim.
“Where’s…Nash?” My voice is scratchy, and when I swallow, I remember how I got in this mess. Diego’s arm around my throat, cutting off my air.
“None of your concern.” He advances on me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. The punch isn’t a surprise, but my head slams into the metal beam, dazing me. Until white-hot pain lances through my shoulders. The sawhorse rattles, nearly tipping forward and taking me with it.
My whimper escapes before I can choke it down. It takes me too long to realize what’s goin’ on. The second fucker kicked me from behind.
“You’re…gonna…regret that,” I grit out. “Tell me where…Nash is…and I might let y’all live.”
Diego chuckles. “You might let us live? Look at where you are, Ms. Harrison.” He opens his jacket and withdraws a silenced Nighthawk Custom GRP from under his left arm. “I could kill you right now.”
“So do it.” Gritting my teeth, I bend my knees, desperate to relieve some of the pressure on my arms. Twisting my wrists, I hope to find the smallest bit of slack in the ropes, but they’re too tight. He knows my name. How?
“Soon.” Diego holsters his weapon. “But first, you’re going to tell us what you know about Nathan Rossi.”
“Who the hell is that?”
The snap of a switchblade sends ice flooding my veins. The asshole behind me grabs my ear. The pressure lasts for only a second before blood gushes down my neck. I swallow my scream. Fiery pain licks along the wound. The blade-happy pig fucker tosses the small nub of flesh to the floor in front of me. My tiny gold stud catches the light.
“Lie to me again, and you’ll lose the rest of it,” Diego snaps. “What did Nathan tell you?”
Sweat dots my forehead. Tiny pinpricks of light burst in my periphery. That ain’t good. How much blood can you lose from the bottom of your ear? It’s getting harder to focus.
The longer I stare at the floor, the more confused I am. A stain the size of my palm looks like dried blood. Nash’s blood. They took him. But he put up a fight.
“I don’t know no Nathan. But if you killed Nash, you’re gonna die chokin’ on your own balls.”
Diego slams his booted foot down on my toes. The crunch of more than one bone is like a hot poker. Bile burns the back of my throat. If I don’t find a way out of this soon, I’ll be up shit creek with the waters risin’.
“Nathan is alive. For now.” The hitman glances at his very expensive watch. “Mr. DeLuca has been planning his death for many years. It will not be quick or painless.”
Jerking against the restraints, I spit on Diego’s shoes. “So all y’all get off on torturin’ innocent folk, then.”
