Enzo switches the call to video. Nash sits on the ground against a thick yellow pole. A strip of duct tape covers his mouth, but it’s the gun pointed at his neck I can’t take my eyes from.
“As you can see, he is alive. And he will stay that way if you follow my instructions.”
Nash screams something behind the gag, and the man at his side cocks the hammer on the gun.
“If your son does not calm down, he will spend the rest of his life with two shattered knees,” Enzo says.
I cut my gaze to West, who tucks a comms unit into his ear. I mirror the motion. “These assholes are unoriginal as fuck,” he whispers.
I’d laugh if it weren’t for the desperation in Nash’s eyes.
“Nathan, stay calm. I’ll get you out of this. In a few hours, this will all be a painful memory. You can go back west—back to Seattle.”
“Enough talk.” Enzo turns the phone around so his face fills the screen. “I’m sending you the address now. When you arrive—alone—you will enter the building. You will find a phone on the floor. Pick it up and record your confession. When you’re done, you’ll receive further instructions. Good bye, Angelo.”
“Wait!” Nash’s father shouts. “Let me talk to my son—”
“You can talk to him when you get here. Have a nice little family reunion. Don’t be late.”
The call ends, and Ryker immediately taps his earbud. “Base, tell me you got something.”
“Nothing worth spit,” Wren says. “From the way Enzo’s voice echoed, the walls are concrete or cement. Ceilings twenty to thirty feet tall. The camera caught a few boxes, but we can’t tell what’s in them. I can try to enhance the video, but—”
“Liquor,” Angelo says. An hour ago, West caved and offered the man a comms unit of his own with strict instructions to give it back the second Nash was safe. “Enzo sent the address. It’s a small warehouse down by the docks. For the past few years, I’ve stored all my liquor shipments there.”
West plugs the address into his phone. “Pack up. It’s twenty minutes away. We’re out of here in five.”
Everyone starts to move like a well-oiled machine. But I stay still for a long moment, my eyes closed, and send out a silent plea to the man I love.
“We’re comin’, darlin’. Hang on for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nash
Benny stands at the door, his gaze trained on me. As soon as he left my side, I relaxed, hoping I’d done enough to create slack in the ropes around my wrists, but they’re still too tight for me to escape.
For a few minutes, I tried to feel for the ends, but he snapped at me to “stop moving” and pointed the gun at my head.
My eyelids feel like coarse-grit sandpaper, and my ribs ache with each breath. The tape tugs at my split lips. But the worst part is the overwhelming stench of vodka coming from my jeans.
Benny pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicking it on and off while chuckling. Smoke inhalation will get me before the flames. At least…I hope it does. But what about my father?
Has it been half an hour? My father has to know this is a trap. Maybe he won’t come. Maybe the cops are on their way right now. Maybe they’ll get to Benny before he can shoot me in the head. Or set the liquor-soaked boxes on fire. Maybe I’ll live through this.
The door opens, and Rocco slips into the warehouse. “He’s here. Boss says he’s alone.”
“Hear that, asshole?” Benny asks. “Hope you’ve made peace with your maker.”
“Fuck you!”
I might as well be singing him a lullaby for all the good shouting through the tape does me. The two enforcers share a laugh before Rocco pulls a gun from under his jacket and Benny retrieves a length of rope from a small, black duffel bag. They take up positions behind the door.
My father enters without hesitation, making it half a dozen steps into the warehouse before Rocco comes up behind him and jabs the gun against his ribs. The cane clatters to the floor, and Dad’s gaze locks onto mine.
“That’s far enough,” Rocco says. Benny levels a hard punch to his jaw, sending him to his knees.
“Nash…”
