Standing at the threshold, she turned to give the luxurious condo one last glance and then she walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.
~~~**~~~
“Wakey, wakey.”
Rory fluttered his eyes open, blinking against the bright light and pain in his temples. Bringing his hand up to rub his forehead, he heard a jingling of metal and then he remembered why he was asleep on the floor. He brought his chin up and jerked when he came face-to-face with anger, and it wasn’t Wynn. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“You have a nice place here, Salvano.” The balding, pockmarked-faced man knelt beside Rory.
“You’re not supposed to come here, Garvey.” Movement in the doorway made Rory look, half expecting to see Wynn, but it was Garvey’s goon who was broader and meaner-looking. Where the hell is Wynn?
“When you decided not to show up with the delivery, Striker and I decided to pay you a visit.” Garvey swiped a pudgy hand down his broad, whiskered jaw.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to get up from the floor and give us the merchandise,” Striker said from the doorway.
Garvey snickered and stood. “You heard the man. Get the hell up.” He nudged Rory in the ribs with the toe of his polished shoe.
“I’ll get your shit, but then I want you both out of my house.” Rory pushed himself up from the floor and stretched his aching back, noticing that several of the drawers on Wynn’s dresser were open and empty. He’d figure out where she had gone later.
“We’ll be glad to get out of your hair once we have what we came for,” Garvey followed him to the closet, “and let you get back to whatever kink you’ve been freaking.”
Rory stepped into his closet and made an opening in the row of clothes. Reaching down for the gym bag, he grasped empty air instead. Dropping to his knees, he frantically searched the floor, corner to corner, and came up empty. His balls shrunk to the size of walnuts. Fuck!
“What’s the fucking hold up, shithead?” Striker bellowed.
His mind racing, Rory looked at the locked box where he kept his loaded Glock. He didn’t have the key on him to open it. No doubt, the two goons were packing and would shoot him dead before he could place his finger on the trigger. Mother fuck! Wynn had left him, and she must have taken the bag where he’d stashed the delivery. What the hell would he do?
The only choice he had was to face the bastards.
Once on his feet, he took two steps, but came to a halt when Garvey planted a large hand into his chest. “Where’s the merchandise, Salvano?”
“We have a problem.” The dangling handcuffs clanked loudly.
Striker, who had been standing from a distance up to this point, strolled to the center of the bedroom, looking at Rory with beady, cold eyes that could make a warrior tremble. He’d always wondered if the man wasn’t born from his mother’s womb but the devil’s loins. “Did I hear we have a problem?” Striker reached into his back pocket and took out a switchblade. With a flick of his wrist, the six-inch blade opened, the metal glinting. Using the tip of the blade to clean out from underneath his fingernail, he looked up. “I don’t like problems.”
“What’s the fucking problem, rodent?” Garvey growled.
“The goods…they’re gone.”
Striker paused the knife on his finger and sighed, nailing Rory with a hard gaze. “Gone? As in lost?”
“I had the delivery here. I promise you, it was here last night,” Rory pushed a hand through his hair, feeling like he could vomit. A drop of blood splattered on Striker’s shoe from where he cut himself. He didn’t even notice. “Hey, the rug is Egyptian and it cost a fortune. I don’t want it ruined.”
“Fine. Garvey, take care of the rug,” Striker demanded.
“Will do.” Garvey grinned as if he enjoyed throwing his weight around.
Striker made his way across the room and stopped at the vanity, examining the contents while Garvey rolled up the rug.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Rory started to cross the room but stilled in his tracks when Striker lifted a hand.
“You said you didn’t want the rug ruined, right? There’s always that possibility, and from my experience, a white, Egyptian rug never looks good with a puddle of blood.”
Rory went pale.
Garvey laughed.
Striker picked up a bottle, brought the perfume to his nose and inhaled. “Mm, that’s nice. I like a woman who smells like flowers. I met a woman once while in Paris who smelled this good. What happened to her, Garvey?”
“She cheated on you. She didn’t need the perfume anymore.” Garvey picked up the rug. “What do you want me to do with this, Strike?”
“Let’s see how this goes. For now, lean it against the wall.” Striker set the bottle down and picked up a framed picture of Wynn and Rory taken on their first date. “This is your bitch, Salvano? What the fuck is a sexy fox like this doing with a wet noodle like you? Beats me why she’d marry you.” He shook his head.
Garvey was laughing so hard now he snorted.
“She’s not my wife,” Rory corrected.
“If you’re fucking her, she’s your wife. That’s the problem with the world today. People don’t put a ring on it and then they’re fucking wondering why their sorry-ass is left alone,” Striker snarled. “I guess money can buy a good piece of pussy.” He swiped his elbow
