Page 72 of Body of Trust

“You’re just nervous because I have recordings of every contract bid from over the last year,” I dare. “It was nice working inside the mob for a while.”

“Bullshit,” he says, but I can hear the panic in his steady voice.

I’ve given him something to be nervous about.

“Names, faces, accounts, and crimes dating back twenty-five years are with my source. If I don’t make it home, it all goes to the top of the food chain,” I challenge and am rewarded with a kick to the ribs.

“He’s bluffing,” the one in leather says, looking me square in the eyes to see if I’m bullshitting.

I don’t know where I am or how I’m getting out, but I’m certain Amelia is here somewhere. I need to buy myself enough time to get to her.

If they don’t kill me first, that is.

The wise guy in black looks at me with a narrowed squint and an evil glare. “Probably is. Just to be sure, why don’t you guys do what you can to make sure he talks?”

As he walks away in his fine Italian shoes, one of the criminals slides on a set of brass knuckles and walks up to me, punching me in the side.

I call out to the gods as my rib cracks from the force.

I’m held down, unable to defend myself. They curse at me and spit on my skin. A bat is brought out, and I know this very well might be it.

A muscular thug rushes toward me, reaching for my shirt and hauling my body against the concrete slab. I throw up my forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back. Another lifts me up and tosses me to a chair in the middle of the room. They take a swing, one at a time playing a game of hit the pinata, except I’m not made of crepe paper.

In an act of violence that makes you cough up your own blood, eight men rain hell on me. I absorb the drama, swallowing the pain.

The only thing that keeps me steady is her.

With a sucker punch to the face, I remember the sound of her voice.

With a kick to my chest, I picture the way her soft skin feels in my arms.

With the swing of a bat to my knee, I relive her laugh when she gets tickled.

For every ounce of pain, I think of my Amelia.

It was worth it.

All of it.

For her.

For the first time in my life, I have the strong sense I might never see my family again.

Or my sweet Amelia.

Chapter Nineteen

Amelia

My head is foggy.

I swirl my tongue around, desperate for a drink of water.

My back hurts like a mother, a searing pain radiating up my spine and twirling around my side.

As I go to move my back, it creaks, and I realize I’ve been sitting in a hunched-over position for a long time. I straighten my back and adjust my eyes, squeezing them shut and opening them again.

The room is spinning, and I heave with nausea.