My grip tightens. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true,” he wheezes. “We usually work as a three-man team. The fourth guy—he was brought in special for that job.”
Something cold settles in my gut. “Special how?”
“He came with specific instructions. Just for her. We were told to provide backup, but she washismark.”
Before I can press further, a groan echoes from the bathroom.
Bathroom Guy. I almost forgot him.
I turn just as he stumbles into the room—bloodied, off-balance, and clearly not smart enough to stay down. His handsare empty, but his eyes are wild, and he takes one shaky step forward like he’s thinking about doing something stupid.
Bang.
The gunshot cracks through the air.
Bathroom Guy drops instantly, hitting the floor face-first in a heap.
I look over.
V lowers his pistol like he just swatted a fly. “What? He startled me.”
I arch a brow. “He didn’t even have a weapon.”
“He groaned like he was about to try something. I’m not taking chances.”
I stare down at the corpse. “Well. One down.”
V nods toward Black Polo, still curled up and wheezing. “One nearly down.”
Then his eyes land on Jason.
“And one left to talk.”
Jason’s face goes pale.
Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“New guy mentioned a name,” Jason mutters, voice shaking. “Terrance. Said the woman was his wife who took off.”
The name hits me like a freight train.
“Ex-wife,” I snap, the correction automatic, venom lacing every syllable. My blood goes cold. Terrance.Thatbastard.
Charlotte’s abuser. The man who beat her into silence, cut her off from everyone, and forced her into a life so tightly controlled it took her years to claw her way out. And now he wants her back—wants to drag her back in chains like she’s still his to break.
Not. A. Fucking. Chance.
I tighten my grip on Jason’s shirt, jerking him closer until he’s eye to eye with me.
“Where is he?” I snarl. “You’re fucking dead either way. But I can make it quick…” I drag the gun barrel slowly across his cheek. “Or I can make it slow enough you beg for it.”
Jason’s shaking now, the blood from his nose mixing with sweat. “The fourth guy… the one who chased her? He’s staying at the Desert Palms Motel. Or that’s where we picked him up. I don’t know if he’s still?—”
“Name,” I bark.
“Vince. Or Victor. Something with a V. Vincent,” he spits, flinching. “Vincent Holloway.”
