Tasha
“I’ll takefour lemon cakes, one caramel crunch frap, two strawberry, and one java chip, please,” I say as I place our order at the drive-through.
Ronan sits in the seat behind me, chuckling and shaking his head. I look up into the rearview mirror at him. He lifts a brow at me.
“What?”
“Ach, this is what you all do after handling business? You have to be kidding me,” he says, trying not to laugh his ass off.
“I’m thirsty and I need a snack.”
“Stop acting like one of those isn’t for you,” Dean says as she rolls her eyes at her husband.
He shrugs. “When in Rome.”
“Just get me home. Onyx wants us at training at five a.m. I need at least three hours of sleep,” Val groans from the passenger seat beside me.
“Yet, yer all going to drink and eat this crap,” Ronan taunts.
“Why didn’t you go with the guys if you’re going to judge?” Val grumbles.
I know why, but I don’t say anything. All the men have become super protective after what happened. If Ronan hadn’t hopped in the vehicle with us, I’m sure my husband would have.
Our loss is one none of us will ever forget. It’s a reality that could belong to any of us. We’ll all be forever scarred.
“Ya all look tired. Someone should be around to watch yer backs. The lot of ye are mums. I feel better knowing ye got home.”
And there’s the truth. These men will forever be concerned about how we get home after any trip out of the house. We all have PTSD now.
Some of us more than others. No one is to blame. However, the truth is still a hard pill to swallow.
“Thank you, Ronan. That’s sweet of you, but you’re not going to ruin my one guilty pleasure for the night. Like you said, we’re moms. We deserve this,” I toss back at him.
“Aye. Fair enough.”
I turn on some music, and we all sit and bob our heads as we make it through the drive-through for our drinks.
CHAPTER 3
Where is She?
LaSalle
Three days later …
“Where is she?”Misha bellows into the face of the poor bastard kneeling at his feet.
As we all stand here in the basement of this old abandoned house, I have to wonder why these guys have fought so hard to keep the answers we want from us. We dragged six of their asses down here. Only two will remain if this one doesn’t start talking.
My brass knuckles were the first to get a workout the first night we arrived. That was three days ago. Then it was Logan’s turn.
Uri stepped in after we had to pry Logan off the son of a bitch he beat to death. I was sure the asshole Uri tortured would be the one to cough up what we want. However, he couldn’t take it and his heart gave out right as I thought he would talk.
Then there was this one. Misha has peeled his skin from his body like a banana. Pieces of flesh are literally hanging from his body.
Misha has sprinkled salt over his head with a saltshaker like the asshole is a tenderized steak needing to be seasoned. Now he has a huge fan blowing on him, causing the flesh to blow in the wind. I don’t understand how he’s still holding out.
“That shit has to hurt,” I murmur as I stand watching.
