JAGG PUT HIMSELF between them when they got out of the car too. He held her hand tight, keeping her locked to his side.
“Vex was right,” Swerve said. “You are possessive with this one.” A snicker. “No one gives a damn about her pussy. You’re the free toy with the meal today. What a treat for Silv.”
Swerve marched on ahead and Jagg held her back.
“Should we keep up?”
“We know where we’re going.” He kissed the back of her hand as they crossed the hospital threshold. “I don’t want you taking any risks up here. Stay behind me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to make my choices for me.”
Swerve held the elevator door open. Despite others obviously waiting, no one passed him to go inside.
“Genny—”
Speeding up cut him off. They were with Swerve and then ascending. No going back.
The door opened to an ominous sight. At regular intervals, lining the walls were guys. Big guys, not guys she’d want anyone to bully. The couple at the end she recognized as Jagg’s men.
They approached.
“Ford called,” said one of them. “We didn’t know what to do. It’s Silvio fucking Manzani.”
“You’re good,” Jagg said, nodding him away. “It’s all good.”
They backed off, leaving her and Jagg alone with Swerve.
“Everything said in this room is off the record. Everyone will deny this little get together ever happened.” Swerve paused, Mila’s door handle pushed down. “That’s far enough, Dunn. You’ll stay out here.”
“How many guys has he got in there?” Jagg asked. “Are you staying out here? No fucking way. You’ll have to shoot me first.”
“Fine, but no fucking talking. I want this shit done. I have a date tonight.”
She almost couldn’t believe it. “You have a date?” What the hell would that romance look like? “You?”
Landing a glare on her that she couldn’t decipher, Swerve opened the door and gestured inside. “Ladies first.”
Confidence meant everything. Sersha carried herself with confidence, which couldn’t be easy when dealing with such intimidating men. In that moment, she learned its necessity. Holding her head high, she strode inside, noting Mila’s still form under the crisp sheet. The man at the other side of the room, sitting in front of the window, commanded attention.
Gray-white hair, still thick enough to give a glimmer of youth, there was almost a majesty about his stature. The man may have wrinkles by his eyes and a few elsewhere, but he carried it off. Men like him always did. And had she been thinking confidence? Shit, nothing she could bolster came close to his obvious superiority.
As she assessed him, he did the same, giving nothing of his opinion in his perusal of her figure. It wasn’t sexual or particularly predatory. If anything, somehow, the scrutiny minimized her, reduced her to nothing more than a fleck in the atmosphere.
Only a few seconds could’ve passed, but the sound of the door closing startled her out of a daze.
“Very nice, Jagg,” Silvio said.
Easy on the words, bold in expression, a hint of a smile hid behind his expressive lips.
“I don’t give a shit what—”
“You’re here to be quiet,” Swerve said and stepped up beside her. “Miss Stratford, I don’t suppose I need to introduce you, but this is Silvio Manzani.”
“Charmed,” she said like it was a period movie. God, she had to get on her game and fast. “Why do we have to do this here? Mila needs her rest.”
Her friend’s presence lowered her volume. Waking up to a room full of crooks would do nothing to aid Mila’s recovery. And as long as they were in proximity to her, she was in danger.
“Don’t worry about your friend.”
Except that’s all she could do as Swerve got nearer the head of the bed.
“She doesn’t deserve this.”
“None of us deserves this.”
That was a laugh. “What exactly have you endured?” Jagg squeezed her shoulder. “No, he’s saying—wait—” Swerve drove a needle into Mila’s IV. “What are you doing? Stop! What is that?”
He pushed in the plunger, and then the needle was out. Medical staff, doctors, nurses, she hadn’t seen any on the floor. Goons and green would scare off even the most dedicated employee.
“Something to help her sleep.”
“Hasn’t she been through enough?”
Swerve was bold enough to put the needle in the sharps box on the wall. “You wanted her to sleep,” he said. “Now she will.”
“Will she wake up again?”
Swerve’s attention went to Silvio. “That, Miss Stratford, is up to you.”
“You want me to lie. Everyone in this room knows what you did—what you do. Killing innocent women—”
“Dramatics don’t impress me,” Silvio said like they had all the time in the world. “People do what they’re told or they’re punished. It’s as simple as that. Beg, scream, cry, I don’t care. Here’s what is going to happen, you’re going to write a piece for your newspaper on the disappearances.”
“Murders.”
“Words are your choice. You’ll implicate Rodney Bryant and stress that law enforcement is looking for him. Armed and dangerous, don’t approach, call authorities. Usual drill.”
“And everything else? The videos? The torture?”
“Law enforcement has everything they need to prosecute.” He’d made sure of that. “Anything that happened to those women was perpetrated by Bryant.” So Bryan wasn’t his real name, but it was close. “He’s a sick individual who acted alone.”
“Why would I do that? Look at this woman…” She opened a hand at Mila. “This happened—”
“Bryant was at the wheel.”
Even Mila said that. “On your order. Women died. Innocent women. How many are you holding now? Did Yvonne make it out of that fire? Or will her body show up somewhere else in the next few days?”
“Don’t say I’m not a reasonable man,” Silvio said, signaling his thug with a nod.
Swerve raised the remote control to turn on the TV. “…anonymous tip earlier today.”
Cops and a crowd gathered around a car as a cuffed someone was urged toward the vehicle. To get the arrestee in, they forced him to turn to lower and…
“Langspring,” she whispered. “That’s Simon Langspring. Yvonne’s boss. You set him up to take the fall for—”
“They order them,” Swerve said, switching off the TV. “You wanted to know how the women were picked? The client selected them. Pickup was just an additional service.”
Oh, God. “Ordered them?”
It was so disgusting, so outrageous and demeaning, yet she absolutely believed it.
“Some of our top clients, loyal customers, some were invited to a platinum level service.”
Sickness roiled, flavoring the back of her throat. “The men knew them. It wasn’t anonymous or chance, they were specifically targeted. And Simon Langspring ordered Yvonne.”
“Due diligence was done. We watched the targets. Measured their suitability. Bryant was sent in to expedite the process.”
“To ask questions about their lives,” she said. “Find out who would be missed, who these women were close to. Their hopes, their fears, their vulnerabilities.”
“We wouldn’t want anyone problematic involved.”
“Problematic? This is sick! How can you possibly—who thinks something like this is acceptable? It’s murder. Kidnapping. Torture. Murder!”
“An indulgence that’s not worth the trouble anymore. The risk outweighs the benefit.”
“It’s a business decision?” Another sickening point. “How do you live with yourself?”
“Very well,” Silvio said, his gaze cooling. “This was a side project, a hobby. It is not worth jeopardizing our other operations for.”
How much would the men pay for the service? Hundreds? Thousands? Whatever it was would be a drop in the ocean to the Manzani empire.
“Am I supposed to be grateful?”
“You’ve done enough to make your point,” Silvio said. “Spirited women are enjoyable to a point.”
“What point is that?” she asked, not sure she appreciated the description.
“To the point at which I break them.”
No apology. No shame.
“You haven’t broken me.”
“We’ll see,” Silvio said and stood to stroll over. “Write the piece as directed or you and those you care about will suffer for it. You have your perpetrator and Yvonne Ingham is being picked up by ambulance as we speak.”
She gasped. “She’s alive.”
“You don’t do what you’re told and she won’t be for long.”
He paused at her side. “Any story other than the approved version will never make it into your newspaper.” She looked up. “Steeple is your boss, isn’t he? He is a reasonable man. A man who understands how this relationship works.”
Silvio carried on and the door opened.
“Genny?” Jagg asked, coming around in front of her. “Babe, are you okay?”
“I… maybe.”
“My guys will leave the garage after we’re all out safe,” Swerve said.
“What about Mila?” Going to the end of the bed, she grabbed the rail. “What did you inject into her—”
“She’ll be fine,” Swerve said. “Though she is weak, anything could happen any time.”
Still staring into her friend, so small and vulnerable, Jagg left with Swerve, but she stayed put.
Write the story or lose her life. If that was the only choice, she might take the risk. Steeple had a wife, a family. Her brother, Jagg, her dad… Was revealing a charge the Manzanis would wriggle out of anyway worth their lives?