But he’d defended Owen as often as he’d bullied him. He hadn’t been as cruel as their father.
Shane changed the subject. “How’s Mom?”
The question didn’t soften Owen’s sympathies any. Shane had a lot of fucking nerve, asking about their mother. “Better, now that Dad’s gone,” he said, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “I’ll send her your regards.”
He had the grace to look guilty. Their mom had a substance-abuse problem. Since their father died, she’d been clean, but Owen was worried she’d relapse. Difficult situations—like Shane busting parole— triggered her addiction. “Have you seen Jamie?”
“Yes. I visit him once a month.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Janelle won’t even let me talk to him.”
Owen didn’t blame her. Jamie’s mother didn’t want her son to have anything to do with Shane, for good reason. He was a convicted killer. He’d only served eight of his ten-year sentence, which had been light to begin with. His brother had gotten off easy because the liquor store clerk had fired at him first—while he was running away with the contents of the cash register. The bullet intended for Shane had nearly hit Owen, who’d been sitting behind the wheel of the getaway car.
“Why are you doing this?” Owen asked, lowering his voice. “You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Shane took a drag of his cigarette, eyes narrow.
“Do you owe them money?”
Shane didn’t answer. It was easy to get drugs in the pen if you had the right connections. Guards brought in the supplies while prisoners racked up debt. The AB was deeply involved in the underground narcotics trade.
“You could have gone to the police,” Owen said.
Shane snorted at the suggestion. The Brotherhood might not track down and execute every ex-member, but they didn’t mess around with snitches. If Shane gave incriminating information to the authorities, he’d have to enter a witness protection program.
“Fuck the police,” Shane said. “I’ll do the damned job and get it over with. Then I’ll be free of them.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t have a choice, and neither do you. I told them you’d cooperate.”
Owen refused to consider it. He had too much to lose. He wanted to make something of himself. Shane was asking him to throw his future away. “Not a chance. The last time we collaborated, I went away for three years.”
Shane tossed his cigarette in the fire. The conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped, so he switched tactics. Shoving Owen facedown on the ground, Shane climbed on top of him. He hooked an arm around Owen’s neck and applied a crushing pressure to his windpipe. Owen was trapped under his weight. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Shane continued to choke Owen until his vision went dark. “Tell Dad I said hi,” he muttered, finishing him.
CHAPTER FOUR
PENNY EASED AWAY from Cruz and sat up, her ears straining for the slightest sound.
The men had finally quieted. She’d watched in horror as they’d beaten Owen to a pulp. When the leader had climbed on to his back and choked the life out of him, she hadn’t screamed or broken down in hysterical tears. She hadn’t unzipped the tent opening and rushed to his aid. She’d gone completely numb, her heart shrinking inside her chest.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Someone dragged his body away from the fire, out of her line of sight. Then the men gathered in a circle and passed around a bottle. They didn’t seem upset or anxious about the sequence of events. If anything, they were giddy. In the hours that followed, they’d celebrated their success, drinking beer and laughing like hyenas.
Now they were probably sleeping it off inside the other two tents. The guy who’d searched her was still awake, sitting outside. He’d been respectful, but she didn’t fool herself into believing she was safe. Dirk had made several suggestive comments about Penny. What would stop him from trying to attack her?
These men were dangerous criminals.
She doubted her father would follow their instructions. There was no way he could keep this secret from the police. His profile was too high. He’d bring the money and pretend to cooperate. She swallowed hard, imagining a bloody shoot-out.
Even if everything went according to plan, which she doubted, the kidnappers might kill her before the money exchange was completed. They could take her father’s money and kill him. They could kill Cruz.
Her thoughts raced with possible outcomes, none of which involved a happy ending. They’d killed Owen. Hadn’t they?
Her head ached from tension. She refused to accept the fact that he might be dead. Maybe if she saw him up close and touched his cold skin, she could acknowledge it. Until then, she had to push the awful possibility from her mind.
She thought back to the dance she’d shared with Owen at his friend Sam’s wedding. It was months before he became her bodyguard. Her sister Leslie had been helping Cruz eat a piece of cake at a nearby table. Penny and Owen had had a rare moment to themselves. But when the song was over, they’d broken apart.
Tears of regret spilled down her cheeks. If only she could go back in time and not let go. She should have hugged him closer, confessed that she wanted him. Instead, she’d withdrawn, waiting for him to make a move. He hadn’t.
For too many years, she’d been passive and acquiescent, pleasing her parents. After surviving the earthquake and seeing so much devastation, she’d been overjoyed to be reunited with her family. She’d needed their love, comfort and security. Keeping Cruz safe was her main focus, and her father’s house was very safe.
But her father wasn’t going to rescue her tonight. Neither was Owen. She had to save herself—and her son. If she didn’t try to escape, and they hurt Cruz, she’d never forgive herself. She had to act fast, while the leader and his cronies were inebriated.
Outside the tent, the guard made quiet crunching sounds. Slow, deliberate, infrequent. After a long pause, he started again.
Penny’s stomach lurched. She’d been too nervous to eat before going on stage, and now she felt sick. She was also desperately thirsty, and her bladder was full. They hadn’t been given any food or water, or allowed a bathroom break.
Cruz shifted beside her. “Mommy?”
“Be quiet.”
“I have to potty.”
Damn.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”
“We’re camping.”
Cruz had always wanted to go on a camping trip. Her father had taken them boating at Pyramid Lake once. Her son had been enthralled by the sight of tents and picnic tables on the lakeshore. This probably wasn’t what he’d pictured, however. He had no pillow and only a blanket as a cushion. “I’m thirsty for water.”
At least he wasn’t hungry. Yet.
She unzipped the front of the tent and looked out at the guard. “Can we have a drink of water?”
He handed her a canteen, his eyes shifting in the dark.
A glance around as she accepted the offering revealed nothing but inanimate shapes in the moonlight. “Thank you,” she said, helping Cruz get a drink. After she slaked her own thirst, her bladder screamed for relief. “We have to go to the bathroom.”
“One at a time,” the man said.
She urged Cruz outside, telling him