by Jo Davis
“I’ll keep trying to contact Santos. He’s enjoying this, but he’ll get tired of waiting soon enough.”
“Do that. And by the way, Simon and I will be your guests until this is over. This is the perfect place to lie low.”
“Fine,” he said, barely hiding his annoyance. “Have Henry show you to a couple of rooms.”
After the men left the office, Rio shut the door behind them and studied his brother in worry. “You shouldn’t have left the hospital. You look like death warmed over.”
“I feel worse than that, believe me. But there’s no way I’d stay, not when Anna’s with those animals, probably terrified.” Lowering himself to a sofa, he stared absently at a painting on the wall. “Do you think he’s given her to Petrov? That the bastard is hurting her?”
Moving over to him, Rio squeezed his shoulder. “No, I don’t think so. Not yet. She’s his leverage, as you said.”
“I hope you’re right.” God, Anna.
“I am.”
Slowly, he raised his gaze to his brother’s face. “The FBI is never going to get the chance to send Santos to prison. You know that, right?”
Rio understood. “Yeah. I know, and I’ve got your back all the way.”
Relief swamped him, along with a wave of sick fatigue. “It’s as good as done.”
The train was in motion, rolling downhill, and not even Deno Santos would be able to stop it now. He was going to die.
For taking Anna, the motherfucker was going to die slowly.
And Joaquin’s face would be the last one he’d ever see.
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