Page 53 of Dark ’N’ Deadly

She lunged for the wad of cash in a puddle then spun and bolted back to the truck. Once inside, she slammed the door shut and cranked the gearshift into reverse. The last thing she saw before backing onto the road was the malevolent look on Pritchard’s face.

To say she’d made an enemy of him was an understatement. If he ever got his hands on her again, he’d make her suffer in the worst way possible. He’d rape her until he was done with her. Then kill her.

Chapter Seventeen

Eric slammed his fist on the wheel. “I’ll kill him.”

Tiger thrust his head through the cage, uttering a concerned growl.

Watching that POS touch Tess had awakened a monster inside him, and all he wanted was to pound the bastard headfirst into the ground.

He yanked the gearshift into reverse, about to stomp on the gas pedal.

“Wait.” Dayne grabbed his arm, pointing to the mobile computer’s screen. “Look. You missed the good part. Your girl’s got a mean knee, and she knows how to use it.”

Through the haze of red fury, he managed to focus enough to see the asshole no longer had his arms around Tess, trying to mash his smarmy lips on her mouth. The motherfucker was doubled over in pain, and she was snatching up the pile of cash from the ground.

“Fuuuck.” Dayne chuckled. “I think she sterilized him for life.”

Two seconds before the pickup started backing up, the man raised his head, a vicious sneer curling his upper lip as he looked directly at the dash cam.

Eric pulled the laptop closer, staring at the image. Age and hard living had leaned out the man’s face to the point where he barely recognized him, but the camera didn’t lie.

“That’s Mark Pritchard,” he muttered, trying to process the full implication of the man’s presence in the middle of all this.

“Who’s that?” Dayne asked.

“Harley Gant’s right-hand man.” And the link he’d been looking for.

“No shit.”

“Actually, lots of it.”

As much as he was convinced Gant was behind the hit on him and his friends, Gant wouldn’t have dirtied his hands directly. The man was too smart for that. He would have ordered someone—Pritchard—to do the job for him.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Revenge was so close he could nearly taste it.

His gut had told him Gant was connected to those drums from the beginning, and now he had proof. Pritchard’s presence in New Jersey sealed that truth up with a bow. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to hold up in court. Guilt by association didn’t cut it.

As he watched Tess on the monitor, backing out of the driveway then shooting down the road, he drew his first easy breath all day.

Since the moment she’d pulled up alongside the barn, protective emotions had nearly gutted him. When the chopper had to land and he’d lost audio and visual, he wanted to blast out of the parking lot like a rocket ship on rails and pull her out of there. Now, knowing it had been Pritchard laying hands on her amplified those feelings by a thousand.

The man was a rapist—a child molester.

Like his friends’ murders, Pritchard’s crimes were never proven, but he’d gotten it straight from the Birmingham PD how many times the sick, twisted pervert had been hauled in for questioning in child sexual assault cases and how many times the charges had to be dropped because the victim either disappeared or her parents were seen driving around in a brand-new vehicle they could never afford.

Amped up by Eric’s agitation, Tiger began pacing back and forth on the bench seat, then stuck his head through the opening, pushing his wet nose against Eric’s neck.

He curled his hand beneath his dog’s chin. “I’m okay, boy. Easy does it.” Only he wasn’t okay, far from it. Tiger sensed the latent fury still lighting up his nerve endings and pulled back his head to resume pacing on the bench seat.

The pickup blew past them, heading south. Eric pushed a button and the screen went dark. With the chopper down during most of the meet, they hadn’t been able to monitor the delivery in real time, but they could review and listen to the video as soon as the devices were removed from the pickup. If any of the other men were in the system, they should be able to run facial recognition for an ID. They also had the tags from their vehicles.

Overhead, the sky continued clearing, and the chopper flew past.

“Subject vehicles are heading north on Sawmill Road,” the pilot radioed.

Eric clicked his mic. “Stay with them until ground units catch up. Units One, Two, and Three, move out.”