Angelo Zapelli had sold his pregnant girlfriend and her sister into the sex trade where they suffered at the hands of brutal men and women, all for sick thrills and profit. Zapelli didn’t deserve to live, he didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the women he betrayed.
For the two weeks Kane Rogan watched him, Zapelli clearly felt no remorse for his actions. But it wasn’t until Zapelli started talking up a young and obviously underage girl that Kane knew the bastard hadn’t changed. That he would once again sell girls into the sex trade, or abuse them himself.
Neither of which was acceptable.
Which was why Angelo Zapelli now sat tied to a wooden chair in the middle of a decrepit barn outside Monterrey, Mexico. His face bled—from his mouth and a cut across his cheek and a gash on his forehead that would scar if Kane didn’t kill him. A tooth that must have already been loose lay in a ring of bloody saliva on the ground in front of Zapelli. Kane hadn’t tortured him, not yet, but Zapelli had put up a fight and Kane enjoyed taking him to the ground. Kane planned on killing him and he wouldn’t bring his team or his family into it.
Not this action. Not this time.
Zapelli tried to put up a tough front, but he was soft. Strong and powerful around young women he could manipulate, use, and bully; but he was weak inside, with clean hands and manicured nails. He fought, but now he cried. He’d lost his rage because he wanted to live.
Zapelli knew exactly who Kane Rogan was and what he could do.
“I swear,” Zapelli pleaded, “I’m not doing anything wrong!”
Kane remained silent. He sat on a chair in front of Zapelli, gun in hand. Silence drew confessions from the weak better than torture.
Kane rubbed his jaw. Zapelli had gotten in one left cross, but that was it. Sore, a little bruised, but the punch hadn’t even broken his skin. He stared at Zapelli. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the drying blood. He pontificated, lied, begged. Then lost it.
“Fuck you, fuck you!” Zapelli screamed. “You’ll be sorry. If I die, everyone in your fucking family will die. You think I don’t know who you are? Do you think I don’t know that fed is your fucking sister-in-law? Do you think she’s unreachable?”
Kane kicked the chair over. Zapelli fell hard, unable to brace himself against the hard-packed dirt. He was stunned into silence.
“You won’t do anything because you’ll be dead,” Kane said calmly.
His family had been threatened before; they knew the risks. Kane had read Lucy into the program, she had made many of her own enemies, she was cautious and she had Sean. A low-level prick like Angelo Zapelli wouldn’t be able to get to her.
But it wasn’t only Zapelli that Kane wanted.
Kane had spent the last few weeks putting together the players in the human trafficking organization that Zapelli fed. The Flores Cartel who ran it were wiped out, their accountant was turning state’s evidence, all but two of the family members were confirmed dead, and their organization was decimated. Kane had someone on the inside making sure the youngest Flores brother didn’t start up the operation again.
But Kane understood this business well enough to know that there were others who would fill the gaps, and that the Flores Cartel was the head. Kane might have cut off the head, but those who answered to them would be taking over, and Kane wanted to make it clear that there would be no more black market babies. The sex trade was bad enough, but to use these women as breeders, sell their babies, put them back into the business … it was worse than cruel. It was evil.
Kane would not tolerate it.
He rose from his chair, walked behind Zapelli where he still lay stunned on the ground, and pulled up his chair. When he was sitting up again, Kane re-secured his restraints, then returned to his own chair. He had all day. Hell, he’d stay here all week and watch Zapelli die of dehydration.
“What the fuck do you want?” Zapelli sobbed.
“Your contacts.”
“They’ll kill me!”
Kane just stared at him.
Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked, full panic.
Yes, asshole, you should be very scared.
Zapelli continued to beg, swear, argue, threaten, plead … he tried every tactic and Kane sat there.
Kane wanted to kill him. He’d planned to kill him.
But he’d promised he wouldn’t.
He never made promises like that, and it bothered him on more than one level. Not only because it tied his hands in an operation, but because Siobhan Walsh had figured out his plan without him so much as saying a word.
Since when had the infuriating, sexy, too-smart-for-her-own-good redhead been able to read his mind?
“I know what you’re going to do, and I won’t stop you,” Siobhan said the night he left.
Kane stared at her. “You know nothing.”
“I want to kill him, too. Marisol wants to kill him. But remember what you told her, just two days ago? You can’t come back from murder.”
“He wouldn’t be the first man I killed.” He’d said it to scare her, but Siobhan didn’t scare easy.