Page 101 of I Would Beg For You
“We need the camera footage from the hotel we were staying at yesterday when we both got taken.”
“And yet, you’re out,” he says, tone suddenly cold.
He’s only protecting his own, I remind myself. Declan Reeves is not someone to cross, same as me. You don’t get on our bad books willingly.
“It was a diversion. Lawyer got me out on a technicality, and the charge they used didn’t even compute.”
“One of these instances is a fluke. Two is not a coincidence.”
“Exactly.” I proceed to give him the name of the hotel.
“He’ll get you what you need. Do you have a computer with you?”
I turn to my men. “Laptop?” I mouth.
Marco lifts up a device.
“Yes,” I tell Reeves.
He cuts the call, and silence blankets the room.
Luciano’s the first to speak. “Val. Coffee.”
He nods at the kitchen island, and as much as I bristle and itch to run out and do something, anything, I know I’ll be no good without fuel. The only thing we can do right now is wait.
So, I sit on a stool and nurse a mug of coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, Reeves calls.
“Sent you a secure link. Check it out.”
I reach for the laptop. The link takes us to a video file—footage from the hotel. We see the crew of five men in tactical gear hot-footing it to our door, bursting it open.
My hands tighten to fists when I see one of them pulling Naomi out of the room violently, her small feet dragging on the carpet. Victor’s massive palm lands on my shoulder, staying me down, though I can hear the sharp inhale as he watches his sister-in-law being clocked in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. She’d gone just enough past the lens so her face isn’t visible, but we can all see her body crumple, unconscious, the man hitching his arm across her waist to continue dragging her.
My fist lands on the marble surface with a thud.
What have they done to her? After everything she’s been through already…
“He’s a dead man, Val.”
It’s Marco. Or Luciano. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
They’re right, though. I let this notion steal my focus. If I think about Naomi too hard right now, I’ll lose it, and then I’ll be of no help to anyone, much less her.
“Valentino?” It’s Reeves—he’s still on the phone.
“Who are these motherfuckers?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. Yet. But I do know that’s not police tac-team gear. The masks are wrong, and the chest plate? Not Kevlar or any of the new materials for law enforcement or even the military.”
“So they might not be police at all? The plainclothes cazzo who came into the room? He’s definitely police. I saw him at the station when I was leaving.”
“He’s working with these people, at least.” Reeves stays silent for a moment. “Let me see what I can find about him.”
He cuts the call, and I tell the men what just transpired.
“You know, it’s a long shot, but…” Marco frowns.
