Married to the Bad Boy(80)
“A couple days? Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve just told you that I’ve reason to believe that Rafael kidnapped my husband.”
“Reason? I don’t see no reason.” His eyes sear into mine. “I see a paranoid, newly wedded wife. Your husband works ’round the clock for me. You’re going to have to get used to him not coming home some nights.”
This is not about that, you stupid piece of shit!
Johnny rolls a cigarette on the table with slim, deft fingers and picks it up.
“I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
I’m seized with an urge to lunge across the table and yank him by his striped blue tie—to make him look at me with a modicum of respect and not just as the fucking Vittorio scumbag’s daughter.
Then red sparks fly as he lights up, looking at me across the table with supreme boredom.
He won’t help me. No one will.
The enormity of my responsibility lays across my shoulders like a dead horse. I can barely rise from the table. Johnny gives me a fleeting look.
“You’re making a big mistake.”
Smoke drifts across his emotionless face. He doesn’t laugh at me, or smile, or give any indication that he thinks I’m being ridiculous, but he doesn’t reassure me, either.
I’m coming, Tony.
* * *
The concrete fortress stands like a sentinel over a ruined city. Crumbling infrastructure surrounds the place like rot. Urban decay. The triple-barbed-wire fence looks daunting, and I have no idea what to expect when I drive Tony’s car to their gates, which open when I roll the car closer.
My heart jumps as the gates groan. They swing inward, and I catch a glimpse of dirty, leather-jacketed men, their arms covered in tattoos. Some wear bandanas or baseball caps, others have long, flowing beards. They lack the professional, clean vibe of the mob. Even the guys look different. They’re definitely not Italian, that’s for sure.
They’re also armed to the fucking teeth.
A surprisingly semi-groomed man walks to my window and taps on it with his shotgun. There’s a patch on his leather vest: President. Right above it: Les Diables MC. I know next to nothing about biker gangs, only that I wish I were anywhere but here.
Tony needs you.
I roll down the window and the President, whoever the fuck he is, bows his head. He peers at me over the rims of his Ray-Bans and spits out the toothpick he worries in his mouth. The sides of his head are shaved and there’s a long star gouged into his face. He gives me a long, searching look.
“Qu’est ce-que vous faites ici?”
I don’t understand a word. “I don’t speak French. I’m Elena, Tony Vidal’s wife.”
“Carlos. President of Les Diables. I know your husband.”
“You do?”
Hope lifts my spirits as he steps back, motioning for me to step out of the car. I get out and step into the compound, which looks like a series of bunkers lined up in rows. There’s a giant ranch house, which Carlos leads me to as his friends escort us there. My skin shivers as he opens the heavy door to the house, which looks more like a saloon as I approach it. It’s well lit inside and there’s a bar with pool tables and booths. Scantily clad women dance suggestively around poles. Even stranger, there’s a woman holding a squalling baby near what looks like a canteen. It looks like some kind of depraved community area.
Carlos leads me into his office, and a couple other men slide into seats behind me as I sit across from his desk. He sits down and adjusts his jacket.
“What can I do for you?”
What do I want them to do? I want them to find Rafael and kill the fucker.
“I want Rafael Costa dead. Can you find him?”
He grins at me as the shock on his face fades. Then he leans back. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you? Johnny called ahead and told me that you might pay me a visit. I’m sorry. Much as I’d like to help you whack an Italian, I can’t do it.”
“Then—what about if you helped me find my husband? I think Rafael kidnapped him—I know he kidnapped him.”
The men behind me shift in their seats. It raises the hair on my neck.
Carlos gives me a shrewd look. “If that’s true, why are you coming to us?”
“Johnny doesn’t believe me. Look, I’m willing to pay you five grand right now if you agree to go looking for Tony. You’ll get another five grand when you find him.”
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Seems like a pretty good deal.”
He’s probably trying to hold back how much of a steal this is. Ten grand to find a missing person? Unheard of.
“If you find him and he turns out to be fine, joke’s on me, okay? But I think Rafael has him against his will and I need your help finding him.”