The Tourist (Sold #1)

2. Diego

CHAPTER 2

Diego

CHAPTER 2

I t’s late at night as I pace back and forth in the dusty warehouse that is used for one thing only—revenge.

My mind is consumed by fury. The air crackles with tension, and I clench my fists so tightly the whites of my knuckles show. The man in front of me, crouching on the floor in the fetal position, has dared to betray me. I will not stand for it.

My day started, like any other, balls deep in a warm pussy, but things have gone rapidly downhill since then. I’ve a great deal of power and influence in the bustling cityscape of Las Vegas, so most people know not to mess with me or my business. That doesn’t stop the occasional idiot, like the one in front of me, from trying to test me.

When I learned of this man’s betrayal, I was fueled by righteous indignation and searched for him with relentless determination. I eventually tracked him down to a seedy brothel and brought him here, to my warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It’s a place where his screams won’t be heard. In addition to his treachery, he brought a rapid halt to my early morning sexual escapades, so he’s going to suffer doubly for that.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it?” I stare him in the eyes, looking for any signs of remorse or even guilt for what he’s done. But there’s none.

He’s lied to me and sold information to a rival of mine, which has cost me money and dented my reputation.

“It wasn’t about getting away with it,” the man responds disparagingly. When he was brought into the warehouse, he was crying like a baby, but he seems to have found some bravado since then. “It was about seeing you lose money.”

He spits in my face.

Without even so much as a growl of disgust at the slight, I wipe the saliva away, breathe in deeply, and then unleash my fury upon the man. Every blow I land on his body is a symphony of retribution for his audacity to show such disrespect to me.

Eventually, I stop. The man is now lying curled up at my feet. The wounds I’ve inflicted on his face are bleeding, and he’s groaning in pain. I stare at him as my mind begins to race with thoughts of the torture that awaits him.

“String him up,” I order, and the other men in the room, loyal bodyguards who’ve been with me for many years, immediately do as I command. “I’m looking forward to trying out this new punishment. It’s guaranteed to get the information we need from this piece of shit.”

Strappado is a medieval torture method I recently read about in an old book an English historian friend of mine sent me, and I’ve been looking forward to using it on someone.

Walking over to the sink, situated in one corner of the warehouse, I wash my hands and dry them on a soft, black towel while I watch what’s happening to the man. His hands are bound with rope behind his back, and a chain, hanging down from the ceiling, is attached to the bindings around his wrists.

When the man’s lifted off the floor, using the chain, he screams as the muscles and ligaments in his arms and shoulders are strained. Once he’s suspended high above us, my men look to me for my next order. With a wave of my finger, the chain is released, and the man is dropped suddenly from height. When he’s a few feet above the concrete floor, the men pull on the chain and his descent comes to an abrupt halt.

I’ve never seen this torture method used before, but I know he’ll have experienced a painful and damaging jerk to his joints when his arms took the full weight of his body. If done right, it will have dislocated his shoulders, and from the loud screams of agony filling the room, I’m guessing it’s worked.

I motion for him to be raised again.

“Who did you sell my secrets to?” I demand, holding my hand in the air, ready to indicate another sudden drop to my men.

“Go to hell!” the man screams.

Beads of sweat are now mixing with the blood on his face and dripping down onto the once white T-shirt he’s wearing.

“Are you sure that’s all you want to tell me? Next time you drop, it will break bones and pull your arms out of their sockets. You’ll be crippled for life. That is, if I decide to let you live.”

“I’m not telling you anything. We both know I’m a dead man anyway, so do whatever you want.”

I wave my finger, signaling to my men to drop him again. His blood-curdling screams ring out around the warehouse, along with the loud snapping of bones. I revel in the punishment. No one betrays me and gets away with it.

“Raise him up again,” I order.

But before I can exact the punishment for a third time, my sanctuary is breached by the sound of urgent voices and footsteps. I’m distracted when the door to the warehouse opens, and Henri, the head of Serena’s security detail, walks in. His face is ashen white.

My eyes narrow as I regard him, my anger simmering beneath the surface. This is a complete turnaround from the excitement of a few moments earlier. I don’t need to be told to know my guards have failed me.

"What is it?" My voice is cold and commanding in stark contrast with the chaos swirling inside me.

Henri steps forward, his voice hesitant but resolute. "Forgive the interruption, sir, but there has been a development. It’s Serena and her friend. They...they're missing."

My heart tightens at the mention of my sister's name. Our parents died in a plane crash over the Grand Canyon a few years ago, and Serena is the only family I have left. She’s my cherished sibling, and I’ve sworn to protect her at all costs. I’ve also known Chloe for a long time, so her safety’s important to me as well.

Serena and her best friend are like chalk and cheese—one being fair and the other dark. Chloe has always captivated me with her blonde hair and blue eyes, but as my sister’s friend, she’s strictly off limits. Now, they’re both missing and presumably in danger.

"Tell me everything," I demand, my tone brooking no prevarication.

Henri relays the circumstances surrounding their disappearance, explaining how Serena and Chloe slipped away from his security detail. Their movements were captured by the watchful eyes of surveillance cameras in the casino. The footage from the live feed shows masked men descending on the girls at the rear of the premises. They carried my sister and her friend to a waiting car and spirited them away, to gods-knows where, before Henri and his team had a chance to catch up with them.

It was only later, as my men searched for more clues, that the license plate of the car used was traced back to the man behind nearly all the missing girls in Las Vegas—Richard Armstrong. My archenemy and family's nemesis has my sister and her friend. What is still unclear is how Armstrong knew the girls were at the casino in the first place.

I’m sure this wouldn’t have happened if Felix, my second-in-command, had been on guard duty. He’s extremely vigilant, especially when it comes to my sister, but he’s had to go out of town for a few days to deal with some personal matters.

Rage boils within my veins, a storm threatening to consume me. My sister, my only remaining flesh and blood, has been taken from me by a man who frequently challenges my authority and is responsible for trafficking sex slaves. I will move heaven and earth to bring Serena and Chloe back home safely.

"Set up a search party. I want every available resource dedicated to finding them,” I command to those around me, my voice a thunderous decree that none of them would dare question. “And bring me the guards who were responsible for the girls’ safety.” I address my last comment to Henri. He knows the consequences of failure, the price to be paid for allowing harm to befall those under his protection. “They will answer for their negligence."

Next, I turn to the head of my security, Ramon. His expression is grim as he acknowledges my orders. He’s been holding the strung-up man in the air, and without a moment’s hesitation, he drops him onto the concrete floor. I don’t even hear the man’s screams of agony. Fearful of what’s happened to my sister and Chloe, the pounding in my head overrides everything else.

I watch as everyone hurriedly leaves the warehouse. Their footsteps echo in the silence that follows until a groan draws my attention back to the battered man writhing on the floor. I no longer care about what he’s done or why he’s done it. I retrieve my Glock from my jacket, cock it, and execute him with a single bullet to the skull.

Alone, I allow myself a moment of vulnerability, my facade of strength crumbling in the face of uncertainty. I grab hold of the crucifix around my neck and say a silent prayer for my sister and her friend. But then, with steely resolve, I push aside my doubts and fears and focus instead on the task at hand.

Time is of the essence, and I won’t rest until Serena and Chloe are safe. I’ll hunt down those responsible. I’ll track them to the ends of the earth if I have to, and when I find them, they’ll pay dearly for their crimes.

No one takes what’s mine to protect and lives to tell the tale.