Midnight Revenge

by Elle Kennedy

  Even with his fingers around her windpipe, she didn’t look at all afraid. “You won’t kill me. You can’t kill me. Jason needs me alive.”

  “Jason will kill you in a heartbeat if it turns out our man is already dead.” Liam smiled humorlessly. “So why don’t you give me the inside scoop? What will Jason find when he gets to the island—a dead man, or a living, breathing one your father will trade for you?”

  “I already told you, my father won’t make a trade,” she said scornfully. “Jason stole the most important person in Papa’s life. His perfect son. His heir. I’m nothing to him. Not the way my brother was.”

  “Is our man alive?” Liam repeated through clenched teeth.

  “You look like a movie star,” she remarked, ignoring the question. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Sullivan told him that all the time.

  Sullivan, who had been tortured by this woman’s father.

  “Tell me what your father did to him. Tell me if he’s alive.”

  Her dark eyes twinkled. “Oh, querido, look at you, all worried about your little friend. Are you a soldier or are you a pussy? I’m leaning toward pussy.”

  He closed his hand tighter around her throat. “Tell me.”

  Angelina started to laugh, the sound low and wheezy, thanks to the obstruction of his hand. “You are worried. You poor thing. Will it make you feel better if I told you he enjoyed every second of what we did to him? What I did to him?”

  Liam loosened his grip. “He’s alive?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment, and he could see her brain working, as if she were trying to decide whether to say more. She must have reached the conclusion that whatever she said couldn’t hurt her, because she laughed again, high and melodic this time.

  “He begged for it, you know.”

  “Begged for what?” Liam said warily.

  “Me.” She was positively beaming now. “He couldn’t get enough, that sweet, beautiful man. He is beautiful, no? Not like you, not so . . . perfect. But that face.” She shivered. “Rugged. Masculine. And his cock . . . Your friend is hung like a stallion. Did you know he had a big cock? He’s a big man, so I suspected it, but suspecting and seeing are two very different things, aren’t they?”

  His breathing got choppy.

  “I won’t lie, though,” she said, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “He didn’t like it at first. But that was all right—it’s more fun when they fight it. But, querido? He grew to love it. I’d put my mouth on that big cock and he’d beg for more.” Angelina’s rosebud mouth curved. “Do you want me to tell you the sounds he made when he was inside me?”

  The bitch was lying. There was no way Sullivan would screw this woman. No way he would beg.

  Unless he had no other choice. Unless it meant staying alive.

  Liam grew sick to his stomach. Sullivan could have done it. Slept with this vile creature in order to survive. Either that, or the bitch had raped him.

  Didn’t matter, though. It didn’t fucking matter, because Liam had officially heard enough.

  Somehow he managed to stand up, despite his wobbly legs.

  Angelina watched him as he grabbed the black case from the table. “Aw, querido, did I upset you?”

  “Shut up,” he muttered.

  “But why?” She batted her eyelashes. “I thought you wanted to talk. Did you not?”

  He unzipped the case and extracted a clear vial and a syringe.

  “Did you not ask me to tell you what I did to him?” she taunted. “But I see you don’t like what I have to say. You don’t like knowing that I fucked your friend. Many, many times. And he loved it—”

  Liam jammed the needle into the side of her neck. “Shut. Up.”

  But the bitch kept talking. The sedative would take a minute to kick in. A minute was plenty of time to allow her to spew more filth, to mock him, hurt him.

  “Would you rather we discussed the waterboarding? Or maybe the drugs? I can tell you all about the drugs, Mr. Movie Star. All about how we broke him and played with him and—”

  Liam slammed the bedroom door and stumbled into the hall, raking both hands through his hair. Christ, how could a person take so much joy from describing the torture of a man? D was right. Angelina Mendez wasn’t innocent. She was poison.

  The sound of the front door opening had him hurrying to the main room. He must have looked as stricken as he felt, because Ash’s expression flooded with concern the moment he saw Liam’s face.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He swallowed the bile coating his throat. “I was checking on the hostage. She’s still down for the count.”

  Ash nodded. “Any word from D?”

  “No. It’ll probably be a couple hours before he—”

  Liam’s ringing phone cut him off midsentence. His pulse sped up when he glimpsed the unknown number.

  “Or not. I think this is him.” He wasted no time answering the call. “D?” he barked.

  Heavy panting filled his ear.

  “D?”

  There was a soft groan, barely audible, but clear enough that Liam’s spine turned into a steel rod. “D. Talk to me, damn it.”

  “It’s . . . not D, mate,” a voice croaked.

  Every muscle in Liam’s body coiled tight.

  No.

  This couldn’t be happening. He was hallucinating that voice. His mind had conjured up the memory of it and—

  “Boston, you there?”

  A shocked breath shuddered out. “Sully?”

  • • •

  Isla del Rey was stunning. A true slice of paradise. Beyond the protected marina and airstrip were endless miles of unspoiled beauty—white sand beaches on the coast, rocky elevations inland, and lush vegetation as far as the eye could see. From her seat in the helicopter, Sofia admired the gorgeous island, for a moment forgetting that she was not coming here by choice.

  All it took to remember her current predicament was the sharp voice of the man in the pilot’s seat.

  “Preparing for descent.”

  She bit her lip and gave D a sidelong look, but he didn’t look back.

  He hadn’t said a word to her since they’d boarded the chopper, and she didn’t blame him. She’d screwed up. She shouldn’t have given in to panic and chased after him. She should’ve known that just because they had time before the helicopter arrived didn’t mean that nobody would be watching the airfield. But in her overpowering concern for D’s well-being, she hadn’t once stopped to consider they might not be alone.

  And now that one foolish mistake had cost her. Big-time.

  Her stomach churned as the helicopter began to descend. Her hand instinctively flattened over her lower belly, which finally garnered a reaction from the man beside her. D gave a slight shake of the head, his lips pursing in a frown. Sofia hastily removed her hand and laced her fingers together instead.

  Message received. He didn’t want her to advertise the pregnancy.

  Hell, she didn’t want to either. She just hoped she didn’t get sick in front of Mendez.

  Dread gathered in her chest when the helicopter touched down. One of the three camo-clad men on board opened the door, then ordered her and D to get out.

  After that, it was utter silence. D still didn’t speak. Neither did the men.

  Sofia inhaled deeply as they were ushered toward a waiting Jeep. The salty scent of the ocean filled her nostrils, along with the fragrant aroma of mango, coconut, and guava. She tried not to flinch when one of the men shoved her toward the backseat of the Jeep. Instead, she donned a bored expression to match the one D wore.

  A moment later, they were driving inland. Mangrove trees stretched out from either side of the dirt path, which was narrow and bumpy, causing the Jeep to bounce hard enough to make her queasy again. She swallowed the nausea and breathed in the sickly sweet scent of the golden trumpet flowers along the path, willing herself not to vomit.

  If you follow my orders and play along, ther
e’s a chance we’ll get out of this alive. If you don’t, then we’re as good as dead.

  D’s blunt words continued to buzz in her mind, relentless, urgent. She had to trust that he would get them out of this. He had to get them out of this.

  The drive took twenty minutes, each passing second heightening her nerves. A luxurious house came into view, perched high in the landscape with its red Spanish-tile roof gleaming in the morning sunshine. It was a sprawling, gorgeous home with a modern hacienda feel to it, offering panoramic views of the ocean and rainforest. As opulent and over-the-top as Morgan’s place in Costa Rica, except this one actually did belong to a criminal.

  As the driver killed the engine, the thug in the passenger’s seat hopped out and yanked open the back door. “Get out,” he snapped.

  She and D obeyed without question, but Sofia could tell that following orders was not something D enjoyed. His profile was harder than stone, his jaw twitching as if he were trying to restrain himself from snapping back.

  “Mr. Mendez is waiting for you on the terrace. I need your weapons now.”

  This time, D did respond. “No.”

  “You can’t see him if you’re armed,” the thug said tersely.

  “Fine, then I guess we won’t be seeing him.” D bared his teeth in a smile. “Take us back to the chopper.”

  “Or”—the guard drew his gun and pointed it at Sofia’s chest—“you can give me your weapons.”

  She felt the color draining from her face as the gun barrel focused on her heart.

  D’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t put up a second argument. He simply handed over his sleek black pistol, then gestured for Sofia to do the same.

  Maybe it made her the wimp of the century, but she felt slightly better without the weight of the gun in her waistband. She hated guns. Hated violence. Which was ironic, because she was currently surrounded by the former, and probably about to endure a lot of the latter.

  The thug handed their weapons to the driver, then nodded at them to follow him. Sofia swallowed as they walked past the stone courtyard and rounded the side of the Mediterranean-style home. The path was lined with orchids, some as high as eight feet tall, their beautiful white petals offering false security to the island’s visitors. This wasn’t a beautiful place. This wasn’t a safe place.

  God, why hadn’t she told D about the baby over the phone? Why hadn’t she stayed home, damn it?

  The path ended at a set of wide stone steps leading up to a massive terrace with a regal iron railing. Sofia fought a burst of panic when a man appeared above them, his hairy arms resting on the rail.

  Dark eyes gleamed at them. No, at Derek. The man’s gaze was focused solely on D, and a sneer twisted his lips as D climbed the steps with an easy gait, as if he had no care in the world.

  “Jason, how good of you to visit.” Mendez’s cold features belied his pleasant tone. “I was about to sit down for breakfast. Join me.”

  Sofia had no clue if the invitation included her, but the armed guard was behind her on the steps, so she had no choice but to follow D. The terrace smelled like a greenhouse, probably because of the dozens of potted flowers filling up the space. At the far end was another set of steps that led to an infinity pool that sparkled amid a natural setting of boulders and fronds.

  “Kiwi?” Mendez held out a serving plate laden with the green fruit as they approached a wrought-iron table at the edge of the pool.

  Sofia hated him already. He was pompous and phony, her two least-favorite qualities in a person. The man hadn’t seen D in nine years, for fuck’s sake. What was the point in this gracious-host act when he was obviously seething inside?

  Clearly, D was as irritated by the charade as she was. “I don’t want your damn kiwi, Raoul. I want my man. That’s all I came for, and that’s all I’m willing to discuss.”

  Mendez’s nostrils flared. “Is that any way to treat an old friend? With such hostility?” He signaled his guard. “Leave us.”

  Once the thug disappeared, Mendez gestured to the table. “Sit.”

  D remained standing. Sofia followed his lead.

  With a grumble, Mendez lowered himself into a chair and crossed his ankles. The epitome of casual. He finally turned his curious gaze to Sofia, who met it head-on. She prayed she looked calm and in control. God knew her heartbeat was the farthest thing from in control.

  “Introduce me to your colleague, Jason.”

  D didn’t even glance at her as he said, “Esmé, meet Raoul. Raoul, Esmé.”

  All righty then. Apparently she was Esmé now.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Esmé,” Mendez said graciously.

  Her expression remained indifferent. “Where’s our man?”

  Holy shit, she’d just sounded like a total badass. She was tempted to sneak a peek at D and check if he was impressed, but she didn’t dare risk it.

  Mendez let out a hearty laugh, his eyes moving back to D. “I was really hoping we could catch up before we got into all the messy stuff. However, I see I’m going to meet resistance. From both of you.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sit, my friends. Please. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Sofia once again allowed D to make the decision, and when he grudgingly pulled out a chair and dropped into it, she did the same. The moment her butt landed on the seat, her legs began to tremble, fear replacing the bravado she’d displayed. At least she’d managed not to shake like a leaf when she’d been standing in front of Mendez. And as long as he didn’t peek under the table, he wouldn’t be able to see how rattled she truly was.

  “Let’s get to it, shall we?” An ugly scowl marred Mendez’s mouth. “I want to know how you did it, and why you did it.”

  D’s unruffled expression didn’t alter, but an incredulous note entered his voice. “You want to know how I kidnapped your daughter? For fuck’s sake, old man, is that really a pressing issue at the moment?”

  Anger colored the other man’s eyes. “I’m not talking about my daughter. My daughter will be fine.” Malice dripped from his tone as he continued. “I’m talking about my son, you reprehensible bastard. I want to know why you murdered my son.”

  Chapter 15

  The call finally came in. Finally. Bryant had been waiting for a report ever since the team leader in Cancún had informed him that the prisoner was on the move. But the man had been completely useless for nearly forty-eight hours. A puking, sniveling mess, taking his sweet-ass time contacting his colleagues.

  No wonder he’d gotten captured. If he’d been a trained Smith operative, he never would’ve wound up on that fucking island to begin with.

  “He made a phone call,” the leader of Bryant’s ground crew reported.

  Triumph surged through him. He stalked to the wet bar in the corner of his office and poured a glass of Scotch as he addressed his man. “Any idea who he contacted?”

  “Negative. He used a pay phone in a town near the beach. Too far away for us to hear what was being said, but we can contact the phone company and trace the call if you’d like.”

  Lord, there were still pay phones in existence? Bryant had figured cellular technology would have rendered them all obsolete.

  “Don’t bother. Whoever he called, he’ll be leading you right to them. Focus on tailing him. Check in the moment he makes contact with his people.”

  “Roger that.”

  Bryant hung up and took a deep swig of his Scotch, but it wasn’t alcohol he tasted—it was victory. Mendez’s prisoner was going to lead him straight to Derek.

  He basked in the satisfaction of that, of knowing he would see his former operative soon. Derek Pratt had made a mockery of what the agency stood for. He’d taken everything Bryant had so willingly given him, and then thrown it back in Bryant’s face.

  Ungrateful bastard.

  His phone rang again, interrupting his thoughts. Jones was checking in. Good. It was crucial that Jones keep a watchful eye on Mendez now that the prisoner was free.

  “We’ve got a problem,”
was the first thing Jones said.

  “Has Mendez left the island?”

  “No. But Derek Pratt just showed up.”

  Bryant froze. The glass in his hand shook as he absorbed the shock.

  “Are you serious?” he hissed into the phone.

  “As a fucking heart attack. He landed about ten minutes ago. Him and some woman.” Jones cursed softly. “Shit is about to explode, sir. I’m talking Hiroshima-level explosion here.”

  Bryant didn’t get rattled often, but son of a bitch, he was rattled right now. Derek was on Isla del Rey? How the fuck had that happened? How had Derek surfaced without landing on the radar of a single one of Bryant’s people?

  He took a breath to calm himself. “Has Mendez seen him yet?”

  “They’re meeting as we speak. From what I’ve managed to learn, Pratt abducted Mendez’s daughter. He wants to trade her for the prisoner.”

  The prisoner that Jones had let go.

  Shit. Things were absolutely about to explode.

  “Mendez is scrambling,” Jones went on. “He’s got every available man combing the mainland for the prisoner. The island too.”

  “You’re telling me that after two days of searching the island, the idiot still thinks there’s a chance the prisoner didn’t make it to the mainland?”

  “Mendez is a stubborn motherfucker.” Jones snorted. “Look at how long he kept him hostage, doing everything in his power to break him. Six goddamn months, for nothing. Mendez can’t admit defeat.”

  Bryant drained the rest of his Scotch, then slammed the glass on the desk. “If Pratt took the man’s daughter, that means he believes Mendez still has the prisoner,” he said slowly. “Which means Mendez will try to stall.”

  Jones voiced his agreement. “He thinks he’ll be able to recapture the hostage before Pratt grows wise to it. But he can’t stall forever, sir. Pratt is smart—he’ll see through it eventually.”

  Derek was smart, all right. Too smart for his own damned good, and resourceful enough to have been able to pull a disappearing act right in front of Bryant’s eyes.

  Damn it, why hadn’t he given Jones the order to release the hostage sooner? Or hell, to delay it? It was just his luck—Derek voluntarily coming out of the woodwork to save his colleague two fucking days after Bryant had released him.