firm hand, if you will.”
Letting out an inhuman roar, I pull my arm back and punch him in the face, his nose exploding into red rivulets.
His hands fly to his face. “You son of a—”
I grab him by the throat and drive my knee into his gut, cutting him off. Pulling my gun from behind my jacket, I slam him against the glass again while shoving the barrel under his chin. “Tell me I’m a son of a bitch now, you cocksucker.”
“How did you get that through the metal detector?”
“I used to fuck one of the guards. Nice girl. Bad lay. Next question.”
Even with a bullet ready to blow his head off, he smirks. “This was a costly mistake. We had a deal.”
I shove the gun deeper into his throat. “Fuck your deal. I agreed to get Alexandra to sign your contract, not suck your dick.”
“But she’s so good at it.”
“Motherfucker!” I drive my knee into his gut again and again. Eventually, the only thing keeping him upright is my hand around his throat.
“You also realize,” he wheezes, “this nullifies our agreement about your mother.”
“My mother is—”
“Being supported by your whore. I know. How many times have I told you, McCallum? I own Wyatt Everly and every son of a bitch in that hospital. I don’t care if Alexandra buys the whole damn wing. My word is God.” He smiles again, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Poor Brenda. How will she ever fare on the streets?”
I swear to fuck, I almost pull the trigger. One bullet and it’d be over.
One problem solved.
But that leaves the others. I’d be behind bars, leaving Rubio and Luciano to run free. Angel would learn the truth, and I wouldn’t be there to take her someplace safe this time.
Releasing my hold from his throat, I pull my gun back and drive my fist into his ribs. “I’ll handle my mother.”
He lets out a rattled laugh. “Like you handle things for Luciano?”
I still, my finger curled around the trigger. He can’t know. The odds are impossible. Luciano is too calculated. Too careful. Too premeditated to risk knowledge buried under blood oaths and death.
Rosten’s nostrils flare as he stands, straightening his blood-stained suit jacket. “I told you, boy. I run this town. No one takes a shit without me knowing it. You won’t do a damn thing but tuck your limp dick between your legs and go back to your piece of shit gossip rag.”
I raise my gun, pointing it right between his eyes. “And if I don’t?”
He walks forward, standing right in front of the barrel, daring me to pull the trigger. “I’ll finish what Freddy Wiseman started.”
I don’t see Angel on Sunday.
Even though she sent five more texts and three more voicemails, I ignored them all. My mind was too muddled to deal with questions I couldn’t answer. After leaving Silverline, I took care of a few loose strings then went back home, got on my Harley, and drove.
I had no destination. I just needed an open road and the roar of the engine to clear my head. To plan. To figure out how to check off the rest of my boxes.
Now here I am pacing the inside of the garage elevator at the Romanov mansion at eleven-thirty on Monday night. She’s not going to like what I have to say, but there’s no other option. I got her into this mess, and I’ll get her out of it.
I did it once. I can do it again.
It took every ounce of restraint I had in me to let her step foot on that studio lot today, but one call to Brent set my nerves at ease. He promised to be her shadow, and since I didn’t get a call all day, I assume that bastard kept his hands to himself.
As soon as the elevator doors open, Angel runs straight into me and buries her face in my chest. “Thank God, you’re here. I don’t know what to do. She didn’t even say goodbye. That’s not like her. I know I told her to leave, but all her stuff is still here, so I called the bar, but no one’s seen her. I called the apartment. Nothing.” She looks up at me, those earthy green eyes frantic as they search mine for an answer. “Why wouldn’t she say goodbye?”
“What are you talking about?”
Her shoulders sag, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent than ever. “Violet’s