Perfect Ruin (Unyielding #2)(93)

“Location of the farm?” I kept my eyes on the guards, on their hands and on Dorsey’s movements. If he were going to do anything, it would be now.

The bell dinged and the quivering mess guy came in and stood beside the bodyguard and looked at the laptop. Dorsey’s eyes were on him. It would’ve been a sweet-ass time to reach under the table and slice across his femoral artery, but murder in a public joint caused problems. Dorsey knew that, too.

He turned back to me. “I could walk away right now.”

I laughed. “You could. But you wouldn’t make it to the car.”

His eyes shifted around the diner, but he’d never see him. Deck was good at what he did, almost as good as me. Josh was the better sniper, but I didn’t know him enough to use him as back up. Deck I’d had my eyes on for years.

“Killing me would end your chances of finding the farm.”

I stabbed a few hash browns and put them in my mouth, taking my time answering. “Maybe. But I was always fond of killing *s. And you’re at the top of the list.”

He stiffened, the grip on his mug tightening and his brows twitching. “You’ll never find it and one word from me, he’ll come after the piece-of-ass scientist you’re so fond of.”

I pushed my plate aside, leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Mention my girl again and my knife is cutting off your dick.” He flinched, but the * had the nerve to sneer. “Then… I’ll shove it down your throat until you choke on it.”

He did have the smarts not to say anything more about London.

From the corner of my eye, the quivering five-foot nothing guy nodded to Dorsey. The bodyguard let go of his arm and he f*cked off out of the restaurant. “Now, are you going to tell me the name of the Colombian who oversees the farm?”

Dorsey’s eyes widened.

I smirked. “Yes, I know it’s in Colombia.”

“Then why meet me?”

He shifted in his seat and his eyes blinked more than usual. He knew his power had been stripped away.

“Because it takes time to find out his name and I don’t like wasting time. I have a plane ready to take me to Colombia tomorrow.”

“If I tell you, you can kill me the second I do.”

I chuckled. “Yes. But you know me better than that, Dorsey. A messy, public killing is your specialty, not mine.” I leaned forward lowering my voice. “Name.”

“Moreno. Carlos Moreno. But I don’t know where the farm is. None of us have ever been there, but he lives in Medellin.”

I didn’t need anything more, so I tossed a hundred on the table and got up.

“You’ll take him out?” Dorsey said before I was five feet from the table.

“Yeah, I’ll take him out.”

“How long before it’s done?” he stuttered and it really didn’t suit him, but I knew why. He was scared of Moreno and he had a good reason to be. I knew the name and he was a drug lord with connections and enough money to pay off anyone looking at his illegal activities.

I kept walking. “Thanks, darling,” I said to the waitress.

“You’re welcome, handsome.” She smiled and the lipstick on her front tooth was gone.

I pulled out my cell and typed a text to Deck.

Ernie?

He texted back.

Safe.

I walked outside, the cool air doing nothing for the internal heat radiating through me. Dorsey was slime. He wanted me to do his dirty work dealing with Moreno and he’d sit back on his throne, probably sell the drug or use it. Whichever way he went, it was about making a shitload of money.

Not happening.

I texted,

Take him out.

There was no need for him to reply and I folded into my car and drove away. As I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of Dorsey getting into his limo.

Then a loud boom.

The ground vibrated and fire and smoke billowed into the air.





A BLIND RAGE ripped through my insides like an out-of-control inferno, tiny red-hot pinpricks piercing me over and over again.

I couldn’t f*ckin’ escape it.

The handcuffs trapping me to the pipe cut into my wrist as I fought to get free. Blood dripped off the tips of my fingers from the damage I’d done to my wrist. The pain was nothing compared to the burning.

My flesh was melting. My reality was messed up and I was choking on the tightness in my chest; it was strangling me.

If I’d been given a knife, I was pretty sure I’d cut off my own hand to escape. My mind was so f*cked up that I wouldn’t have felt anything. I’d do it because it was better than being contained again, better than burning alive.

The clash inside me was destroying the coolness I’d been living in for years. Although, lived was the wrong word. I didn’t live. I existed.

I was buried beneath a sea of darkness. I no longer knew who I was or what the f*ck I was doing. I had no memories. Each day it was like they’d been blacked out. Some days I started to catch glimpses of what I was doing and then I disappeared again.

I never woke up. Days. Weeks. Months. I had no idea what I did or how long it’d been.

But since I’d been here, flashes of memories from my past hit me. They came and went like snapshots. It f*cked with my head because I didn’t know if they were real or not. It was easier in the dark. The darkness didn’t hurt.