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“I can show you—”

“Stay out of my way, DeHart.”

“But—” Shit. Aiden needed to get Raibel to Dustin.

“I mean it.” Raibel ended the call.

“Fuck.” Aiden spun around, but stopped himself from throwing the phone. He didn't have time to replace it, not now. “We're going to have to grab Raibel.”

“What are you planning?” Julian asked.

“Set Raibel up as Madison's accomplice. While they're busy with him, they won't notice us.”

“Now, how exactly do you plan on grabbing Raibel?”

“No clue.” Aiden shrugged. It wasn't a good plan, but it was better than giving a piece of his heart up for dead. Madison was his heartbeat. How could he live without her?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Madison twisted her hands, but the plastic only cut into her wrists further. They'd left her alone, but for how long? She had no idea what was going on, but she didn't think Michael's polite routine would last long. She'd seen TV. Her father had told a few war stories about men getting captured. Soon they'd turn Pasha loose on her to torture the information out of her. Would she be able to keep her mouth shut? Derby made her tough, but this was something so far beyond that.

What if she couldn't take the pain and told them?

She stood and paced the room. There hadn't been an opportunity to tell Aiden she loved him. Would he know? Maybe it was better if he didn't. The death of his sister hurt him, and she didn't want whatever happened to her to weigh on his soul.

The door banged open, bouncing off the wall. She whirled and froze. Dustin held out his hand, slamming the door back once more. He'd shed the suit jacket and now only wore slacks and a button-down shirt. How had she ever been attracted to him? Why hadn't she been able to see that he was a loser?

“I'm going to enjoy this,” he said.

Fear almost paralyzed her.

Madison backed into the corner farthest from the door, pressing herself against the wall. Dustin strode across the room. She hunched her shoulders, unable to keep from cringing. The hell she'd let him hurt her without giving as good as she got. Madison focused on her rage, all the hardship he'd put her through. Dustin reached for her and at the last second she drew her leg up and kicked, aiming for his knee. She felt the impact on the ball of her foot and pushed harder, putting her shoulder against the wall and shoving him with everything she had.

Dustin cried out, pitching backward.

This might be her only chance at freedom.

Madison dodged his flailing arm and darted around him. If she could get out of the room, maybe she could get away. Hope spurred her on, but Pasha filled the doorway. She ran full tilt into him, almost bouncing off his bulk. He grabbed her by the arm. Dustin screamed profanities at her.

“No,” she wailed. She couldn't even be satisfied about kicking Dustin because in the end, she was still at his mercy.

“Get her out of here,” Dustin spat right behind her.

Pasha propelled her ahead of him down a hallway. They passed a utility room with a side entry. That must be where they'd brought her in. She was led into what must be the main part of the house—or mansion. It could have been any number of wealthy Miami homes. Windows, gleaming wood surfaces, polished marble floors, and light fabrics. A couple of green, fanlike plants sat near the windows, a bit of the outdoors brought inside. It was a contemporary beach theme. Michael Evers stood at a bar set into the corner of the room pouring a drink. Several other men with guns tucked in their waistbands sat or stood around the room.

Michael glanced up at her, swirling his drink. “Good. We're going to have a little chat with your friend soon. Make yourself comfortable.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening.

Aiden was coming here? Why? He couldn't.

“Oh, scared now? Want to tell us the story of how you decided to steal from me?” Michael smirked.

“Fuck you,” she said. Pasha shoved her into an armchair.

Dustin followed them, a dark scowl on his face.

“You shouldn't have gotten rid of this one, Dustin. She's got spunk. Probably manages money better than you do. Maybe she's the one I should have hired.” Michael turned and strolled toward a white table strewn with papers.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

* * *

Aiden pulled the Challenger into the driveway of Michael Evers's mansion and cut the engine.

He was alone, but that was the way it would have to be. Raibel had disappeared into the wind and with no leads or time to spend finding him, Aiden had to do something. Making this meet with Dustin—and maybe Evers—was necessary. If nothing else, he wanted to get a glimpse of Madison and know she was okay. It was hard to think beyond that, but he had to. Given enough time, he could haul Raibel in to take the fall, but he wasn't ready to risk Madison's neck for him.

The two-story mansion was in one of the more modest, older money neighborhoods of Miami. Well respected and private, it was a hard place to purchase property. Emery's initial search told them the house had been renovated following Evers's buy. The end designs were well documented on both the architect and interior designer's portfolios. Thank goodness for the Internet. The house's beachfront location played a large part in the difficulty of maintaining it. The first level let out onto a stone patio with a pool that appeared to be an extension of the ocean. There was even a dock with a couple boats moored to one side, so they wouldn't disturb the view.

Two men approached from either side of the car, hands on their barely concealed guns. Aiden placed his hands on the steering wheel and waited for the one on his side to open the door. There was a big difference between the guys Dustin employed for flash, and those Evers had guarding his home. These were professionals who knew how to operate. Aiden needed to pull off appearing as nothing more than a guy with a thing for speed and grease under his nails.

His door opened and the man gestured for him to exit. Aiden stood and glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. It was another beautiful Florida day. Too bad Evers was ruining it. There were men posted at intervals around the fence, discreet but probably armed. Something had Evers spooked. Was it them? Had they stepped into something they didn't understand?

“Should I do something?” he asked, playing dumb.

“Hands on your head. You packing?”

“No.” Aiden laced his fingers behind his head and waited for the guy to pat him down. He had a knife in his boot, but anything else he'd never be able to sneak past these guys, so why bother? Neither checked the car.

“This way.” The other led the way into Michael Evers's house.

Aiden had been outside of the mansion once casing the joint, while it was being fumigated and empty, but never inside. He followed the guard in through a set of frosted glass doors that let into a foyer with a curved staircase. Julian had a long-range scope on the place, so he'd warned him of the layout and that he wouldn't like it.

Madison sat in direct view, in an armchair. One eye was slightly swollen and she sported a busted lip. She sucked in a breath when she saw him, but other than that, she gave up nothing.

It took everything in him to not rush to her side. God, she was amazing. Any other woman would have cracked and given them up already, but not Madison. She stuck by what she thought was right—even when it hurt her. If they lived through this, he'd make sure nothing ever hurt her again.

“This is your guy?” Michael Evers stood up from where he sat and walked toward Aiden. Evers sized him up as if he were livestock, his gaze calculating.

It was the closest Aiden had ever been to the man, and it was damn hard to not haul back and punch his lights out.

“Yeah, this is DeHart.” Dustin sat on a bar stool, a bag of ice perched on his knee while he leaned on the bar. “He's a good guy.”

“Then where is Raibel Canales?” Evers walked a slow circle around Aiden.

“Hell if I know. I only told Dustin what I heard, that it was Canales who hit you last night.” Aiden couldn't look at Madison. He kept Evers in his sights, watching him in a mirror or by the reflection of the glass windows.

“How do you know it was Canales?” Evers asked.

“I don't know for sure, that's why I said—
it's what I've heard
. Everyone knows the Eleventh has been up in arms since their shit went missing. You're the big operation in town.” Aiden shrugged and glanced at Evers, more interested in the placement of the others in the room.

“That's pretty convenient.” Evers glanced at Madison. “How does she fit in?”

Aiden followed Evers's gaze to Madison. She was staring at him, her skin so pale and her hair sticking to her face despite the coolness of the room. “Canales used to date one of the derby girls. He's friends with Madison. Saw them hanging out at her bout.” He shrugged, hoping she was following. “Sorry, babe, nothing personal.”

“H-how could you?” Her words were barely above a whisper. Fear, no doubt, was crippling her.

“Like I said, nothing personal.”

She sucked in a deep breath, something flashing in her gaze as she gathered herself. “You asshole, I trusted you!”

Ah, there she was, and that mouth.

“Shut her up.” Evers waved at Madison.

A bulked-up guy with a shaved head stalked toward her, something that looked like a bandanna in hand.

Evers pivoted toward him, head tilted to the side. “It's too neat. You're lying, or there's something else going on. I don't know what it is, but I want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Lying? Excuse me? I'm doing him a favor just showing up here.” This wasn't good. Aiden had hoped to at least bluff his way through this meet and get out. There wasn't a realistic hope of extracting Madison, not without more of a plan in place. But if Evers pegged him as part of the hit, that would make the rescue a bit . . . problematic.

“You. Over there.” Evers pointed at Aiden, then the sofa adjacent to Madison.

The guard who had escorted him inside stepped toward Aiden, gun in hand. Now that they were inside there was no need for pretenses. The MP-446 Viking handgun was pretty much a calling card. The guy was no joke. A Russian Spetsnaz soldier was a killing machine, pure and simple. The Russian government liked to pretend the Spetsnaz didn't exist anymore. If so, then where had this guy come from and how were the Russians involved with Evers?

“There's no need to point a gun at me.” Aiden held up his hands and walked toward the sofa. Since he hadn't been able to wear a wire into this, Emery had hacked his phone, making it capable of transmitting audio from Aiden's location.

He sat on the sofa, leaning back and forcing himself to pretend he was at ease. Madison stared at him, wide-eyed and innocent. He just kept not looking at her, at least not directly. He could see her in the reflection of the glass easily enough. God, he hated what they'd done to her.

Dustin seemed content to nurse a drink and grimace at his knee, while the guards stared at Aiden. At least six sets of eyes were trained on him, one of which was a Spetsnaz, two carried themselves like Special Forces. The other three might pass for Cuban at a glance, but Aiden was willing to bet if he got his hands on their passports, they'd be Colombian nationals. Americans, Russians, and Colombians. Interesting and potentially volatile. They didn't all play well together, so what were they doing working for Evers?

From the little surveillance they'd been able to do, they knew there were close to twenty people in the mansion. The staff was nowhere to be seen, so eight laypeople were unaccounted for somewhere. Which left—what? Four guards outside? Where was Evers's accountant? His lackey? The other people who helped in his day-to-day operations?

“Here's the problem.” Evers reached behind him and pulled out a pistol. “You're lying. I know it. You know it. But he doesn't.”

“What?” Dustin blinked, looking for all the world like the idiot he was.

“We don't clean up messes, Ross.” Evers pivoted toward him, lifted the pistol, and shot, hitting Dustin square in the chest. The report of the gun was enough to make ears ring.

His arms flung out and he toppled backward on the stool, hitting the rug.

Evers stalked toward Dustin, lying on the floor in a growing pool of his own blood, gasping for air. Madison hunched over, whimpering on the sofa.

“I warned you about causing a mess, and now look what you've done. Years of working with the Colombians, possibly ruined because of you and your greed.” Evers glanced up. “Call Juan. Clean this up.”

Aiden caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. It was beyond the house, at the fence line. He didn't know what that signal was supposed to entail, but suffice to say—there was a plan forming. He just needed to bide his time. Either his crew would get them out of here, or he'd have to use his distraction card and make a run for it. God, he didn't want to have to use the distraction, but Madison was worth it. He'd once said he'd bet his Challenger that she was innocent, well, it was time to pay up.

He wished he could communicate it to Madison, give her at least a little reason to relax. She might have hated Dustin, but seeing him killed in front of her was traumatic. She must be frightened. He hated that she was here, that he'd put her in danger. This was all supposed to be easy. Where had it gotten off the rails?

They descended into an uneasy silence, punctuated by Dustin's wheezing breath.

One side of Evers's mouth hitched up and a sinking feeling plunged through Aiden. “Pasha, I'd like for you to make our female guest less comfortable while I have a chat with Aiden, here. I think we have a lot to discuss, don't you?”

Madison tried to speak around the gag, but it was tied too tight. Aiden didn't dare move to help her. Had he already made a wrong move? Or was Evers bluffing? What were they really going to do to Madison?

Pasha crossed to them. He grabbed Madison by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Aiden didn't look at her, didn't glance, lest he make this worse by appearing to care, though on the inside he was ready to bash in the heads of every piece of shit in this place.

“Where's my product, DeHart?” Evers asked.

Whatever his crew was going to do, they needed to get on with it, before Madison paid for their crimes.