Page 91 of Ruthless

The basement has been emptied out in preparation for a future renovation, so I spy Jeremy right away.

My heart lurches. He’s pale, and though he doesn’t speak, the wild anger glittering in his gaze reminds me of his sister. As soon as he spots me, his hazel eyes widen with relief.

When his attention dips to the gun in my hands, his lips part in confusion.

A man hovers behind him, pointing his own gun at Jeremy’s skull. One tap on the trigger, and Jeremy’s brains explode all over the floor.

At fifty, Enzo Conti has been killing people for longer than I’ve been alive. The dead bodies he’s racked up show in the grim and weary lines of his face. His chestnut brown hair almost brushes his shoulders, and coupled with his thick beard and that solid, muscular build, he resembles a mountain man than the former head of the Conti family.

Despite the years aging his skin, he appears almost exactly as he did in the photo my mother kept hidden. A dragon’s head peeks out from under the rolled sleeves of his ratty crew neck, and the missing fingers on the same hand confirm his identity.

There’s no doubt in my mind that theGhoststands before me.

“Took you long enough to get here.”

The familiar, gravelly voice freezes my muscles, thrusting me into a past that still haunts me. I can smell the acrid scent of burning skin as my neck melts beneath a soldering iron. I can feel my ribs breaking beneath steel-toed boots and the sharp bite of the whip on my back.

My palms grow clammy, and nausea roils in my stomach. I know I’m this close to shutting down completely, so with a massive force of will, I shove the memories aside.

Even those brief reminders cause me to hyperventilate a little, though, and a dark storm of hatred surges through me. Normally, the emotion is a ravenous beast, but today, my anger feels less all-consuming. I realize that while my imagination transformed him into some untouchable boogeyman, Enzo Conti is only human. A man no more imposing than my own father.

“My apologies for my tardiness. Traffic on the bridge…you know how it is.”

My fingers tighten around the trigger as I assess Jeremy. His torn, dirty clothes suggest that he and Enzo tussled before Enzo subdued him. Thankfully, other than a blossoming black eye, he reveals no other visible signs of injury.

I don’t lower my gun, but I don’t pull the trigger either. I can make the shot, but there’s no guarantee Jeremy won’t die by Enzo’s hand before my bullet reaches the Ghost.

My breath slows just like it does when I’m at the range or about to enter the ring before a match. Nothing Enzo can tell me will save his life today, but for Jeremy’s sake, and Sara’s, I’ll play the bastard’s game just a little while longer.

Chapter 37

Sara

“Help!” Despite the way my voice cracks, I keep yelling. Eventually, someone will come to check on me. I have to believe as much, or I’ll break down.

“Sara?” Angela’s voice erupts like a chorus of “Hallelujah,” and I rail against the door.

“Yes! Thank God. Angela, let me out.” I rattle the knob for good measure, retreating only when the keypad beeps and the door clicks open.

Angela hovers in the threshold and gapes. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

“Dante. He—” I stumble to a halt, my words tripping over one another. As much as I want to go into detail, I need to get to Jeremy. If I act fast, I can still catch up. “Did you drive here today? Do you have your car?”

My heart races so fast I might be one beat away from a myocardial infarction. I lunge for freedom, only for Angela to block my way. “Where are you going?”

The first stirrings of unease tease the back of my neck. “Jeremy’s been kidnapped. I have to get to him.Now.”

“Oh no, Sara. That’s terrible.” Her tone is flat, but what really snags my attention is the fact that she refuses to budge.

“Angela.” My hands clench at my sides as my apprehension swells. “Move. I need to get to my brother.”

Angela crosses her arms over her middle. “I can’t let you do that. Dante’s orders.” She throws in the last part as if it’s nothing more than an afterthought.

I clutch the front of my cardigan to steady my hands as the truth barrels into me like a freight train. Nothing alarming about Angela appeared on the crosscheck, but I’ll admit that originally, I mentally scratched her off the list and only performed a cursory scan of her data. I’m starting to believe I made a mistake. After spending some time ruminating, Dante’s certain the person who informed him that Jackson died from internal bleeding was a man, and I now recall Jasmine teasing Angela about getting friendly with Roberto, who’s one of the alternate male nurses. I envision the photo in his file, and my lungs hitch.

I couldn’t see his hair, because he had it pulled back, but the color was dark brown. Even though I was picturing a woman based on Sammy’s description of “long hair,” I realize he never specified the nurse’s gender. He only said he saw “someone.”

The pieces fit. I thought Angela was leading me to safety the night of the attack, but instead, she delivered medirectlyto the men who wanted to hurt me. She also prevented me from getting help and scurried off to hide as soon as the shooting started.