Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(37)

I nod at Koba and point to the door. “One. Two. Three.”

Together, we kick the white wood and the door flies open, hardware bursting apart from the force.

“What the fuck?” a man yells from inside, but Koba has his gun drawn as he steps across the threshold and I follow.

The voice belongs to a twenty-something kid, not a full-grown man. He goes quiet at the sight of the gun, but his friend sends a broken plate flying like a Frisbee at my head.

I bat it away with my forearm, and it slices across my skin with a sharp sting. “You picked the wrong apartment, motherfucker.” I stalk toward him as he stumbles back against the wall.

The room is a wreck. Broken glass and wrecked furniture everywhere. Even the couch cushions are slashed open. I don’t know what the fuck they thought they were doing, but it comes to an end now.

I grab the kid who threw the plate by his collar and lift him up. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Put me down! No one invited you to the party.”

That’s when I see the two younger women cowering on the other side of the room. Fucking hell.

“Are you hurt?” I bark out the question, and they shake their heads.

As I turn my attention back to the punk in front of me, he kicks out with one leg, catching me in the groin, and pain shoots from my gut.

This little fucker is going to be lucky to survive the night.

I toss him onto the floor in a heap as Koba points his pistol at him. “Move, and he just might fucking kill you.”

The kid’s eyes widen.

I look at the friend who backed down as soon as we entered. He can’t hold still. His hands are shaking as he picks at his clothes.

“What the fuck did you take?”

“Meth. I think they took meth,” one of the girls says. “We tried to leave, but they won’t let us go.”

Jesus Christ. These two pieces of shit did all the wrong things.

“You can go, but write down your names and numbers in case the police need statements.”

“But—” the girl who spoke starts to protest.

“You want to stay until the cops get here instead?”

They both shake their heads.

Indy speaks from the doorway. “I’ll take care of them. Girls, come with me.”

I turn around to look at her waving them out of the room. “Make sure the numbers are good before you let them go.”

She surveys the wreckage of the room and glares at the two guys. “Of course.”

The kid on the floor growls as the women leave the apartment, and the other one starts pleading, nearly in tears.

“Don’t kill us. Please, don’t kill us. We were just having a good time and doing what he told us to do.”

What. The. Fuck?

“What who told you to do?”

Koba and I move in on the kid, and I fully intend to scare the shit out of him to get him to spill everything.

“I don’t know him. He showed us the listing. Told us to rent the place and fuck it up a little, and he’d give us cash tomorrow.”

Finally not feeling like I’m going to throw up everything I ate for dinner and dessert from the kick in the balls, I crouch next to the destroyed sofa, hovering over him as my brain works overtime. Who would want to screw shit up for Alanna, on purpose?

“Tell me everything you know.”

Before the cowering punk can start spilling, the other asshole jumps to his feet and makes a run for the door. Koba tackles him, but the kid strikes out with his foot and kicks the gun from Koba’s hand. It goes skittering across the floor. The kid jerks like he’s going to dive for it, but Koba beats him to it.

But it was all a fucking distraction. As soon as Koba stands up with the gun in hand, the kid is gone.

Fucking hell.

“Follow him!”

Koba bolts for the door and footsteps pound down the hall.

I turn on the friend he left behind. “Now you’re really fucked. You’re going to tell me the whole fucking story, from the beginning.”





38





India





The two girls, Kelsey and Krystal, are a little shaken, but totally fine after they’re away from the guys who wouldn’t let them leave while they trashed Alanna’s place.

I call myself with each of their cell phones and take pictures of their drivers’ licenses. Then I ask them each to tell the story of what happened.

“They just asked us if we wanted to party,” Krystal says.

It might not be fair of me, but after getting a better look at their tight dresses and hooker heels, I ask a pointed question. “Did they pay you?”

The girls exchange glances as if trying to silently come up with a story.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re working. That’s totally cool. I just want to make sure there wasn’t some other reason you hooked up with them tonight—like you knew they were going to trash the place.”

Both girls turn to me, and Kelsey replies. “They didn’t pay us . . . but someone else did.”

“Who?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask for his name. I just took his money.”

What the hell? None of this makes sense.

The teapot whistles in the kitchen, and I stand up. “Alanna’s making tea. I’ll be right back. Please, just don’t leave. We really need your help.”