Anna exited the building first. Hunt had asked her to get the Cherokee while he took care of Pomar. She was glad Hunt hadn’t killed him. She had been testing him when she’d suggested it, and he had passed with flying colors. He was nothing like her father, which was a good thing—nothing, even, like the man she’d assumed Terrance Davis was.
Anna was still struggling with her father’s death. It had been much easier when she didn’t know about the atrocity her father had committed. It had been somewhat comforting to pin his death entirely on Hunt’s shoulders. But now that the Black Tosca was involved, it complicated things. She just couldn’t push the thoughts away. What had her father done? Forcing a young girl to set fire to her own dad? It was a side of him she didn’t know, didn’t understand. How could someone in his right mind commit such a brutal, hideous act? In a strange way, she understood why the Black Tosca wanted revenge. How could she not?
But live streaming the murder of Sophia? That sickened her. She could comprehend the need to murder Vicente; the prick deserved it. But setting fire to two teenage girls?
Anna wept at the thought of what could happen to Sophia and her friend. She wept at the unfairness of it all. Then she became furious, enraged at the raw truth of her father’s past actions. He, too, was responsible for Sophia’s disappearance.
The bastard.
She must have taken a wrong turn because she found herself on a very dark, badly paved street she didn’t recognize at all. Where was the Jeep again? She walked on, increasing her pace. She sensed movement behind her.
Before she could react or scream, an arm wrapped around her neck, and a hand covered her mouth. Anna tried to kick at her assailant’s shins, but she was being dragged backward too fast. She tried to bite the hand but couldn’t even open her mouth. Suddenly she felt herself flying through the air. She slammed into a brick wall and fell on the ground.
“What are you doing here, pretty lady?”
Anna lifted her head. A tall and beefy twentysomething kid with a boyish grin, wild eyes, and long, stringy hair that needed a good shampooing was looking down at her. He swept his hair back and said, licking his lips, “What am I gonna do with you?”
She reached for her gun, but he raced forward and tried to kick her in the face. She blocked the blow with her forearm, but the pain radiated through her shoulders. She managed to get up, but his fist smashed into the side of her head. Her vision blurred. Then his hands found their way around her throat, and he pushed her against the brick wall, grinding his lower body against her.
She tried to break free by bringing her arms up in between his forearms, but he was too strong. Fuck! She only needed to create enough distance between her back and the brick wall to get to her gun. His fingers were digging into her neck, cutting off her oxygen. She kicked at his knees, but there wasn’t much strength in it. She clawed at his hands, but it only made him angry. He was saying something to her, but his words barely registered. She brought up her right knee as hard as she could. It landed directly between his legs. For a moment, the man stopped moving, and she took the opportunity to knee him again. This time she did it hard enough to rattle his yellow teeth. He involuntarily bent forward, and she seized his head by his long hair and pushed it down to meet her other knee coming up.
His head snapped back with a crunch. A broken nose? A vertebra? She didn’t care. The man fell. She stumbled backward a step, panting. Oxygen was finally returning to her brain. She took a deep, shaky breath and thought about putting a bullet in the sexual predator’s head. Instead, she kicked his head as if she were punting a football. The man rolled sideways, moaning. He coughed, and blood erupted from his mouth and nose. He rose to his knees.
Two muffled shots startled her. The man’s body twitched as the bullets exploded in his back. Anna’s arm was raised; her hand was holding her silenced pistol. She didn’t remember grabbing the gun. She felt a stab of horror at what she’d done, but it lasted only a moment. What if the “pretty lady” he’d accosted had been a young woman like Sophia, unable to defend herself? She couldn’t feel sorry that that young woman would now be safe because he was dead.
But what was she going to do with the body? Tony. Her brother would know what to do.
She called his number. Where am I? She looked around. The alleyway was quiet. All the windows facing it were closed, and no one seemed to be looking out. Good thing her pistol was suppressed. She used the location application on her phone to find out exactly where she was.
“Are you all right?” Tony asked as soon as he picked up.
“I’m fine,” she replied. I really am, she told herself.
“Where are you?”
“I’ll send you a screenshot of my location, Tony. Could you send . . . hmmm . . . could you send guys over?”
“Something happened? You found Sophia?”
“No, Tony,” she said. “No, I didn’t find Sophia. It’s just that . . . I . . . someone’s dead, and I need—”
“Don’t say anything else,” Tony cut in. “Not a word. You’re injured?”
“I’m fine.”
“Hunt?”
“He’s fine too.”
“I’ll have men over very soon. Stay put.”