“What?” Rogan asked
Dylan shook his head. “Not the place.” He rubbed his eyes. “Shit, I’m tired. What’s the time?”
“Nearly two in the morning.”
“God, Tilly’s probably frantic.” He patted his pockets for his phone then remembered he’d given it to Cillian. “Hey, have you got my phone, Brandt?”
“Yeah, I put them both in the glove box for safekeeping. I’ll get them when we stop.”
Dylan sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. He was absolutely exhausted. He’d been so busy the last few days with Rogan that he’d barely seen Tilly. It was hard on both of them, especially so early on in their relationship.
He had really missed Tilly over these last few days, and he couldn’t wait to get home and cuddle up next to her in bed. They’d barely had any time to themselves in the last few days.
Well, there was no point in texting her now, she’d be fast asleep. They’d deal with Miller, go home, and then they’d leave San Antonio and this mess behind them. He’d miss Rogan and Aedan, but now that they’d reconnected he could make more of an effort to see them.
Brandt drove the car to an empty parking lot. There was an old cemetery on one side and some empty buildings across the road.
“My contact is going to meet us here,” he told them. “He’ll take us to where she’s being held.”
Rogan reached under the seat, and suddenly the middle of the bench seat opened up to reveal three handguns and ammunition. Reaching in, Rogan passed him a gun. Dylan took the gun with a nod and checked it over. The safety was on, and it was fully loaded. They’d been driving around with loaded guns in the car.
“There better not have been loaded guns when Tilly was in the car,” he warned as Brandt stepped out of the car. Rogan just looked at him.
“Of course not,” he said. Dylan couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.
They both climbed out of the car. Brandt seemed a bit on edge, smoking furiously on a cigarette. Dylan guessed he was impatient, waiting for his informant to turn up.
“Who did you get this info from?” Rogan asked.
“One of their own,” Brandt replied. “He turned for a little cash. Gang loyalty isn’t their strength.”
Rogan snorted. “Do they have any strengths?”
Finally, a dark car pulled up and the driver climbed out. He was a huge man with long hair and a shaggy beard. The back seat opened, and a thinner man appeared. He reached in and dragged out a half-conscious girl. Her dark hair lay in dirty tangles around her head. Her thin clothing was ripped and filthy. She gazed around her through glassy, drugged eyes.
Dylan took a sharp breath as recognition hit him. He’d seen a photo of her at Tilly’s apartment, but this fragile, bruised girl was nothing like the happy woman in those photos.
“Miller,” he said.
Rogan stiffened. “You’re not from the Seven Sinners. You’re Iker’s men.”
The skinny guy smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant look. “That’s right.” He shoved the girl on the ground then pulled out his gun, aiming it at her head. She sat on the ground in a dejected heap.
Dylan bet she didn’t even realize what was going on. Probably just as well, as things were about to get nasty.
The larger man drew a gun as well and aimed it at Rogan.
“Are you crazy? Do you know who I am?” he asked without a hint of arrogance.
“Oh, we know exactly who you are,” the skinny man said.
“Iker will kill you for this,” Rogan said. “If I leave him anything by the time I’m through with you.”
The skinny guy laughed. “Who do you think set this all up?”
Miller moaned and Dylan glanced over at her. “So you had her all along?” Christ, he felt ill. All this time when he’d believed Iker. He thought she’d run off. Who knew what hell she’d been through?
“Iker lied to me,” Rogan said. “This calls for blood.”