***ZANE’S POV***
We reach the beach house at ten p. m. and the look on our faces is one of pure trepidation.
With our revolvers in our hands, we stand out and watch for men. Two are at the gate and one of the main top buildings.
We take them out before they know they are being attacked. With the silent guns, it is easy to move around as we keep taking them out.
An alarm sounds off and I pull the trigger on the fucker behind the screen, his head scattering and his brain matter remaining on the glass behind him.
“He deserves it,” Rio says as he passes me, punching me across the arm.
Inside the house, the men running downstairs are busy and we take turns taking them out.
I check out the rooms and in the cinema hall, I notice the lights on. With a head nod, I signal to them to come towards the room. Banging it open, Riley is there and before he grabs his gun, I shoot him in the arm.
“Ahhh! You shot me,” he wails as he falls to the ground.
“Come here,” I bark out as I pull him toward the ground.
“Son of a bitch,” he yells and I punch his mouth.
“Shut up,” I blurt out.
He shrieks and looks around hoping for someone to help him, anyone.
No one is coming for him. All his goons are dead by now.
“Where is my wife?” I ask staring at him wildly.
“Who? The bitch Logan fucked and dumped a few weeks ago?” he asks chuckling.
I see red.
With the back of my gun, I blister Riley’s face. I got him in a bad place and Russell had to pull me off him to extract answers from him.
“Calm down, Zane, this isn’t the way to go about it,” he says.
“There is only one way to get about it,” I grit out.
I get a long and hard glare from Russell and I take a step back.
Russell takes the floor.
“You want to tell us where your brother is? Also where to find Michael Logan? Because I promise you, if I have to let Zane get a closer look at you, I bet you wouldn’t have your tongue in your mouth to bitch him around,” he says ticking his head with his middle finger.
The bastard flinches and I bare my teeth at him, knowing that I wasn’t playing around.
With matters that have to do with my wife, this man better be providing answers before I bury him with my filthy hands.
“Where is Enzo?” I ask.
“He left. He had a business to do with Logan in Russia,” he says.
I don’t care what business he had to do or if Riley was shitting me, but the next question that pop out of my mouth is what will make me kill this man if I don’t have the answers to it.
“And my wife? Where did you fuckers keep her?” I demand losing my patience.
A low guttural chuckle escapes his lips as he cackles, making the sound turn my stomach off.
Slowly, the young man tipped his head upwards until his eyes matched with mine. I hold my breath, waiting for the bomb to fall.
“You will never see your wife again. We killed her and I buried her corpse behind the house,” he says and all I see is red.
The last thing I remember is Riley laughing frantically. He wouldn’t have the guts to do so in a second.
I move towards him, and with my hands, I capture his neck pressing his neck until I hear his windpipe crush beneath my hand.
“Die,” I spit in his face, releasing his neck as I watch him suffocate with the lack of oxygen passing through his nostrils.
I watch with delight as Riley chokes to his death. His irises blurring into his eyes and only the white eye bulbs flashing his lifeless nature.
“We have no business here, let him rot here. I am going home to shower and then sleep,” I say walking out of the cinema room and closing the door gently behind me.
My men will take a couple of pics and send them to Enzo Antonov. He will soon be in touch. If what Riley said is true and that London is dead, I will receive a few pics of her discarded body at least.
The mere thought of my woman being dead, of her body being buried in an unmarked grave makes my body tremble. Fear makes me shake as I slide into my car.
Reaper doesn’t utter a word and the car ride back home is silent until we pull into the gates.
“I will park the car and check on the kids,” Reaper says nodding towards the headquarters.
Shaking my head, I stop him. “No. You go to bed. I will do a run after I take a bath. I will see you in the morning, Reaper,” I say exhausted and weak.
As I stomp to my bedroom, I open it, and memories of London flash to my face.
The faintest of her smell is in the room.
Entering the bathroom, I notice her shampoo. Her beauty product and fuck, even her toiletries.
I don’t want to believe that London is dead. My wife can’t be dead and buried behind some house. I swear, I will pay men to dig the entire beach and lands that surround it until they find her body.
If she is gone, she deserves a burial ceremony.
I choke on the thoughts of that as I slam my hand across the tiles, hot tears flashing down my cheeks.
I have never been this caught aback by the fact that my wife is dead. It is not every day you hear heart-wrenching news like that.
As I choke back tears, it becomes harder to think, I turn the faucet on and lay beneath the spray, letting the cold water take me out of my head.
It doesn’t. Instead, I think harder about her. The numerous times we had fucked in this bathroom.