I should have expected this. I should have known when Kara told me about her father’s bookies that they would find out about our relationship. I should have seen this coming a fucking mile away.

Why did I leave her alone at that fucking blackjack table?

“Fuck!” I roar, then I take off running toward the stairwell on the opposite end of the hotel, the one that empties into the parking garage.

No doubt the hotel elevators will be packed with panicking guests right now, and the police and first responders will probably use the stairwell closest to the scene of the shooting. I don’t have time to give a statement to police, and Kara’s abductor was pretty clear that I should not alert authorities.

I explode through the exit door and pull my vibrating phone out of my pocket as I begin descending the stairs. My heart races as I see I have another text from my father, which is certainly from the Russian.

My stomach vaults as three images are sent. The first is my father in the back seat of a dark sedan, duct tape stretched across his mouth as blood trickles from his nose and a swollen cut on his cheek. The next picture is Dex sitting in the back of a van with his feet tied together and his hands tied behind his head. His torso is tied to the steel security screen separating the front of the van from the back. The third picture makes me want to set the fucking world on fire.

The third photo is a picture of Kara lying on the floor of the same van, her eyes are closed as a male hand shoves her face into a pool of vomit. I want to turn away from the image, but I force myself to look at it, to let it fill me with the raging fire of a thousand suns. I let the fury overtake me until I feel as if I’m almost outside my own body, analyzing the situation from every angle, using my anger as a tool to make better use of every single second I’m away from Kara.

These motherfuckers will regret the day they touched her, and they’ll regret it for the rest of their lives.

I burst out of the exit door into the parking garage, thankful that Kara’s captors insisted I can’t involve the authorities. Knox Security is much more experienced at handling these types of situations than Vegas PD. They’re so experienced that, as I’m about to call the emergency number Knox Savage gave me when I became a client of his two years ago, my phone rings before I can even dial the number.

“Hello?”

“Cash, it’s Knox. I’m out in front of the hotel,” says Knox Savage in his deep New York wise guy accent.

“How did you know?”

“I was in California when Hector called a few hours ago to tell me about Benny. I’ve dealt with him before, so I didn’t hesitate. This isn’t the kind of threat you wait out. Come on, kid. We gotta get movin’.”

“I’m in the parking garage, on the third floor, but I can hear sirens coming from the lower level.”

“Take the emergency stairwell on the south side of the garage down to street level, and meet me at the entrance to Via Bel Canto,” he replies without hesitation.

“Got it.”

I disappear into the concrete stairwell just as the first police car arrives on the third level. Racing down the steps, I rush out into the cool Las Vegas night, running across the sandy desert landscaping toward the black SUV idling at the entrance to Via Bel Canto. The back door swings open when I’m nearly there, allowing me climb inside and slam the door shut as the SUV begins moving.

The guy in the back seat isn’t Knox Savage, but he’s definitely there to break some heads and take some names. His head is a block of granite sitting atop a fucking quarry, with a tattoo of the word “Devil” carved into his thick neck. He’s busy loading a gun in his lap.

I nod at him. “Cash.”

He nods without looking at me. “Bruno.”

“Sven,” says a blond guy in the third row seat, who’s busy typing on a laptop, which sits securely inside a steel hard case.

“Jimmy,” says a dark-haired guy next to Sven.

Jimmy is also loading a weapon. He’s almost as huge as Bruno, but his blue eyes are even colder. This man will do whatever needs to be done without hesitation. That much is obvious.

Hector is driving the SUV while Knox Savage sits in the front passenger seat loading another pistol. This must be the team that was with Knox when Hector called him a few hours ago.

“Hector, if you’re here, who’s guarding Kurt?”

Knox responds for Hector. “I have a couple guys guarding them. They’re fine.”

My heart pounds as I have to stop myself from declaring that they’re not fucking fine. “They sent me some photos in a text—”

“Give me your phone,” Sven cuts me off.

I glance toward Knox and he nods. Handing over the phone, I feel as if I’ve given over control of this operation, which makes me feel powerless. I need to be able to do something or the rage will consume me.

Sven connects my phone to his laptop and continues typing. “Ping info should come through in ninety seconds.” He stares at the screen unblinking, his fingers poised over the keyboard. “They’re headed toward downtown.”

Just like that, they already have these fucking amateurs’ location.

“I want them all dead.”

Knox turns in his seat to look me in the eye. “The blood-thirst is good, but it will only help if you don’t let it get in the way. You ever shoot a gun?”

I nod as I recall skeet shooting and quail hunting with my dad in my teens. “Only rifles.”

“I’ll give you a lesson with this .38, but you gotta remember the rules of engagement or I’ll fuckin’ kneecap you. You’re only useful to me if you listen. Got it?”

I swallow my pride and throw him a curt nod. “Got it.”

“Your phone’s ringing,” Sven declares. “Unknown number. Give me ten seconds for the trace.”

“Answer the fucking phone!” I shout, ready to climb into the third row.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” Bruno warns me, pressing the muzzle of his gun to my head.

My muscles tense as I’m frozen in place. “Okay, okay,” I say, slowly moving back into my seat.

He slowly pulls the gun back just as Sven declares the call is coming from a landline before he answers the call by putting it on speaker.

“Who’s this?” Sven asks.

“Who’s this? Where’s my son?” my father shouts into the phone.

“Dad! I’m here!” I shout back. “Where are you? Where are you calling from?”

“I don’t know where I am,” he replies. “I think I’m — are we downtown?”

He seems to be talking to someone who’s there with him. My heart soars as I pray it’s Kara. The text I received implied they might release my father and Kara together.

“Kara! Are you there?” I call out.

“Kara’s not with me, son,” my father replies, dashing my hopes. “They dumped me on the street. This kind Samaritan allowed me to use his phone. I’m at the AutoZone on Eastern and Fremont.”

“Stay there,” Sven replies before I can. “Are you injured?”

“A little roughed up, but I’m fine.”

“No possibility of internal injuries?” Sven asks.

“I’m fine,” my father insists.

“Good,” Sven replies. “Ask if they can hide you in the stockroom. We’ll send someone to pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“No!” my father shouts. “You will come and pick me up. I’m not going to sit back and take it while these thugs abduct my future daughter-in-law. You will pick me up, and I mean now!”

Jesus Christ. My father has no chill.

I look to Knox, and he and Sven seem to be engaged in a telepathic conversation. Finally, Knox nods and Sven shakes his head.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes. Sit tight,” he tells my father before ending the call.