Page 34 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

THIRTY-FOUR

Enzo

The Mitchell house sat quietly in the dark, wrapped in wealth and gated fences. But no amount of imported tile or polished marble would ever erase what he’d done to Robbie. Tonight wasn’t about threats or warnings. It was the end of a chapter soaked in pain. I checked my watch—2:14 a.m.

“The cameras have blind spots,” Jamie chuckled. “Arrogant people always leave gaps.” He crouched by the side gate, fingers flying over his phone. A second later, the little green camera light above the garage door blinked off. No alarms. No alerts. Jamie had the system cracked before I reached the gate.

“Smooth,” Rio muttered, impressed.

Jamie grinned like this was just another job, another break-in, another night. “What can I say? I’m a professional.”

He started patting down his pockets, pulling out a mess of randomness: a switchblade, zip ties, a half-eaten protein bar, a bottle of fluid, matches, and duct tape. Jesus.

“What the fuck,” I whispered, not bothering to hide my disbelief.

“I’m prepared,” Jamie whispered back, completely unapologetic. It was ridiculous, but I wouldn’t want anyone else watching my six. “One more check,” he murmured and scrolled through something I had no hope of understanding. “There’s no one else here, just him, no basements, no outside structures with heat signatures, no sign of anyone but him.”

“There’s no one being held here?”

Another Robbie?’

“Nah, he keeps this place clean—everything goes through the warehouse.” The same warehouse I would call in anonymously to get it raided. We’d already scouted it, and it was empty—Rio wouldn’t let me go into the room where they’d held Robbie, and I didn’t argue, but if others had been there, I wanted the cops in on it. “Divorced, no other family.”

Rio stepped forward, dead serious now, blade sliding free from the sheath on his thigh. He twirled it once like it was part of him. When Rio drew a weapon, I guessed it was already too late for the guy on the receiving end.

I reached into my jacket and drew out the gun I’d used on Vinnie—kinda fitting. Cold metal. Unmarked. When I’d visited earlier today, Mateo had handed it to me without a word. He hadn’t asked questions, said I owed him, or asked for payment. He nodded, said he understood, and passed me the weapon and ammo. The safety clicked off like a countdown. My pulse didn’t spike. My hands didn’t shake. I was past emotion. Past rage. Focused.

There was a keypad on the front door that was a joke. Killian had texted the code, and the second I entered it, the door gave way with a soft click. We slipped inside like shadows, moving in silence. There were no words, no second-guessing, only the weight of everything pushing us forward.

The interior screamed money. High ceilings, echoing marble floors, sterile walls dressed in art someone else probably picked out. Too clean. Too cold. This place wasn’t a home. It was a mask. A lie Mitchell wore so no one would see the monster underneath. Jamie signaled toward a hallway where a soft light spilled out beneath a closed door.

Rio moved first, knife steady in his grip. I followed the gun clutched in my hand. My heart thudded slow and heavy. Not panicked. Ready. No turning back.

We reached the door. Jamie crouched to check the knob and nodded, unlocked.

I mouthed the count.

Three.

Two.

One.

Rio kicked it in.

Mitchell was mid-turn in his chair. The shock on his face almost made me laugh. Almost. He scrambled to his feet, all bluster and bullshit. “What the hell?—”

I stepped forward. Gun raised. Sight locked dead center between his eyes.

“You!” he said, and reached for something.

Jamie was there in a millisecond, holding him away from the desk. “I disabled all the alarms,” he said, more to me than the guy we were here to kill.

“John Mitchell,” I spat.

“What do you want?”

“Roman Lowe?” My voice didn’t shake. Calm. Cold. Certain.

“The dead kid?” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “What—look, whatever this is?—”

“No more words. You don’t get words. You get silence. You get fear.”

I kept walking, and Mitchell stumbled back, bumping into his desk, Jamie forcing him down into the chair, using the zip ties to fasten his hands and ankles. Then he pulled out something new--a thin string he tied around Mitchell’s neck with a neat knot, mirroring the position of where Robbie had been collared.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“You made a mistake,” I said. “You laid hands on what’s mine.”

His mouth opened again, maybe to plead or spin some desperate excuse. It didn’t matter. Nothing he said could unmake what he did.

“You hurt him,” I said. “You chained him, beat him, and let your bosses rape him, for eight years.

Mitchell went pale. “I only hurt him when he kept secrets, the rest was on the others!”

“Who are the two men you’re working with?”

His eyes widened, then he smirked. “With? You mean for. They’re bigger men than I am,” he said. “When they find out you touched me, they’ll kill you for this.”

I took a step closer and pressed the gun to his forehead, watching the smirk flicker, tremble, and then disappear. “Good. Let them try,” I said. “Let them come and find out what I am when someone touches what’s mine.”

Mitchell shifted in the chair, the plastic zip ties biting his skin. He wanted to speak again, but I didn’t let him. Jamie stood behind him, eyes locked on me, arms crossed. Rio leaned against the wall, knife twirling once more, slow and deliberate.

“You think you’re still untouchable,” I said, low and even. “Safe? Neither of these men is here now, are they? It’s just you. Tied up. Helpless.”

He was sweating now. I could see the fear. Not only in his face but in his breathing. Shallow. Rapid. He knew this wasn’t a bluff.

“Roman told me everything he knows. Every fucking thing,” I said. “You end tonight.”

Mitchell scoffed again, but it was weaker. “You don’t have the guts.”

I stepped back and turned the gun slightly, not aiming now, showing him I wasn’t bluffing. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. I used to think I had to be a monster to survive. Then I met Roman, and I learned what real strength looks like. It doesn’t scream. It endures. It gets back up.”

I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “But make no mistake. I’ll still become a monster to protect him. And no one’s going to miss you.”

Mitchell tried to spit something else, but Rio clamped a hand over his mouth. “We want those names,” he said and attached a small piece of wood to the twine Jamie had tied around his neck, twisting it tight until it cut into his skin, and Mitchell had to clear his throat. Was it choking him? “Give us the names, and we’ll kill you quickly,” Rio murmured.

“I’ll give you the names, and you let me go,” Mitchell muttered. “That’s the deal—take it or leave it.”

Rio tightened the noose slowly, expression blank, methodical. The cord bit deeper into Mitchell’s neck, a perfect echo of the cruelty he’d once inflicted on Robbie but was now turned against him. It was poetic. Mitchell’s eyes bulged as he choked back a sound, his bravado cracking at the edges.

Meanwhile, Jamie stepped forward with quiet purpose, uncapping the bottle of fluid he’d brought. The sharp chemical smell hit the air as he splashed it across the chair and let it soak into the fabric of Mitchell’s sleeve. The man flinched, and Jamie held up his lighter, flame flickering like a threat made real.

“Can I burn him now?” Jamie asked, tone light as if he was asking to borrow a pen.

“Not if he gives us the names,” Rio replied, voice gravel and steel, eyes still fixed on me. “You know the rules. We ask once. We give him one chance so he doesn’t burn. After that, all bets are off.”

Jamie clicked the lighter closed but didn’t pocket it, pouting like a kid denied a treat, but with something much darker simmering behind his eyes. He tilted his head, studying Mitchell with the kind of fascination that even made me pause and the lighter was visible—a promise, a threat, maybe both.

“You know,” he said, voice a little too cheerful, “this stuff? Melts plastic like nothing. You should see what it does to skin.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just say the word Enzo, and I’ll light him up like a birthday cake.”

A promise. Mitchell was breathing hard now, panic creeping into every motion. He realized, maybe too late, that no one in this room was bluffing. Not tonight.

“One name and you let me go, and when I’m free, you get another name.” He looked so pleased with himself.

“Jamie?”

Jamie glanced at me, and I nodded at Mitchell’s computer. Without missing a beat, he tapped his pocket where his phone was tucked. “Already on it. In fact…” He pulled the phone free and set it down on the desk next to the monitor, angling the screen so we could see the upload in progress—ninety-eight percent. Whatever Mitchell had on that machine—records, video, names—Jamie copied it all: every keystroke, file, and dark secret buried in folders. He’d told us it would track the dark web shit as well, and that was way over my head.

“Nearly there,” Jamie said, calm and focused. The seconds dragged, the bar inching forward until it hit one hundred percent. A quiet chime sounded. Jamie gave a slight nod. “Got it all.”

He didn’t gloat. He didn’t need to. Fuck knows where he’d gotten those skills from, but at that moment, we owned Mitchell. Not just his life but his leverage. His backups. Everything he thought made him untouchable had been dragged into the light.

I looked down at Mitchell. His expression faltered for the first time, a flicker of real fear tightening around his eyes. His arrogance had cracked. He knew what we had now, and he knew there was no bargaining left.

“You think you have all the power now?” Mitchell wheezed, his voice barely audible. “You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”

“Names,” I said, pressing the barrel of the gun to his temple. “Now.”

“It’s too big a list to give you?—”

“Just the ones who hurt Roman Lowe,” I said and leaned closer, pressing harder with the gun, forcing his head back a little as Rio tightened the garrote. This wasn’t string; it was metal coated with tiny barbs and smelling of kerosene.

Mitchell’s gaze darted between the three of us, calculating, desperate. “Kessler,” he finally spat. “Marcus Kessler.”

Rio twisted the garrote more, making Mitchell gasp, his eyes bulging. “And the other?”

“He’ll kill me if I?—”

Jamie flicked the lighter again, holding the flame dangerously close to Mitchell’s accelerant-soaked sleeve. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting a gleam in his eye that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You know this stuff eats through more than just clothes,” Jamie said, his tone far too casual. “Give it another ten seconds; it’ll bubble through the upholstery. Want a demonstration?”

Mitchell went rigid, and the smirk he wore earlier had gone.

“You’re insane,” he hissed, voice shaking.

Jamie just smiled wider as if the words were a compliment. “Takes one to catch one.”

“A second name,” I demanded, but Mitchell pressed his lips in a tight line.

“Name!” Rio twisted the cord a fraction tighter as blood began to bead.

Sweat beaded on Mitchell’s forehead, trickling down his temples. “Lassiter. Edward Lassiter

“You’re lying.” I stepped back, the gun feeling heavier in my hand. “That can’t be right. Lassiter is?—”

“A federal prosecutor,” Rio finished, his expression hardening. “High-profile anti-trafficking cases.”

Jamie whistled, his lighter still dancing between his fingers. “Well, shit. That explains a lot.”

Mitchell’s laugh was ragged, blood now running in thin lines down his neck where the barbed cord cut deeper. “You’re in over your head. Lassiter has judges in his pocket. Police chiefs. You think you can touch him?”

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You didn’t think I could touch you either.”

His eyes widened just a fraction, real fear flickering in them now.

“We’re not finished,” I cut in, voice flat. “These two—Kessler and Lassiter—they’re the only ones? The only ones who hurt Roman?”

“Yes,” Mitchell croaked. “Just them. I swear. Kessler handled the money, and Lassiter provided protection. Political cover. I didn’t fuck Roman, okay, it was them. All I did was lock him up to keep him safe.”

“You kept him chained up for eight years,” Rio snapped and buried his knife in Mitchell’s shoulder. Mitchell screamed, and through his sobbing, we heard him try to justify what he’d done.

“It… was for… his own… p—protection,” Mitchell mumbled as if he believed what he was saying. “If they knew what I’d stolen from them, knew he was remembering everything I showed him… everything they talked about in front of him… I had to let them have him… I chained… so they couldn’t t-take him.”

Rio loosened the garrote, allowing Mitchell to take a shuddering breath before tightening it again and removing the knife with a sideways yank, blood spurting after the blade.

More screaming—it was getting to be too freaking loud.

“I can help! I can help!” he shouted. “I have evidence—recordings?—”

“You mean the ones we just downloaded? Even the locked files that Roman Lowe had the codes for. Well, we have all of that now.” I gestured to the phone, observing Mitchell’s expression going from hopeful to lost.

The color drained from his face, and blood darkened his shirt, his face white; the only thing holding him up was Rio’s hold on his neck. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with. I had no choice! That fucking kid took everything and hid it! I was trying to protect him! They’ll bury you and make it look like you never existed.”

“Like we give a shit,” Rio snarled.

Mitchell swallowed hard, the cord biting deeper, and he whimpered. “It was business. Just business.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t business. It was evil.”

“What the fuck do you care? Roman’s dead!”

The words hit like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. My grip on the gun tightened. Roman. He didn’t even have the right to say that name after everything. I stared at Mitchell, this pathetic, bloodied man trying to twist the narrative one last time and to rewrite the ending.

But I already knew how it ended.

“You don’t get to say his name,” I said, voice flat. “You don’t get to speak about him like he’s a story you heard once. He’s not dead. He’s breathing. Healing. Living. And I’ll make damn sure no one ever hurts him again.”

There was no rage now—just that cold, moral line I’d crossed and wasn’t coming back from. And if this made me the bad guy in someone else’s story? Fine. I’d be the villain. But I’d be the one who protected Robbie.

Mine. My Robbie.

I stepped back, signaling to Rio and Jamie with a slight nod. They understood, Rio’s grip tightening on the garrote as Mitchell began to thrash, and Jamie stepping closer, flicking his lighter and placing it on Mitchell’s sleeve. The flame spread across the accelerant-soaked fabric with hungry intensity. Mitchell’s scream was cut short by Rio’s tightening grip, reducing it to a strangled gurgle that echoed in the pristine office. The fire licked up his arm, casting dancing shadows across the walls as Jamie stepped back. His face was lit in shifting orange and red, the light flickering across his skin like some unholy halo as the fire caught the garrote and sparked blue and orange in a bizarre chain around Mitchell’s neck. But Jamie’s expression didn’t change—serene, almost detached as if he were watching a campfire instead of a man burning alive. His eyes didn’t only reflect the flames; they held them. Like something inside him had come alive in the chaos. Not excited. Not horrified. Calm. Dangerous. Unblinking.

“We should go,” Jamie said, voice steady despite the chaos unfolding before us. “When it catches the rest of the room, fire department response time in this neighborhood is under six minutes.”

I watched Mitchell thrash against his restraints, the zip ties melting into his skin as the flames spread across his chest.

“Is that enough?” Rio asked. For a split second, I hesitated. One breath. Long enough for the weight of what I was doing to crash my ribs like a wave before I let it wash over and pass. There was no saving Mitchell. No forgiveness. I steadied my aim.

This wasn’t mercy to stop his agony from the flames—I was jealous of the fire stealing his life—I needed to be the one to end it, to earn another thorn on my back around the wolf. This needed to be done. For Roman. For all the others who’d never escaped. I watched Mitchell scream, soundless now, and then I aimed for the center of his head—two shots, right between the eyes.

“Now I’m done.”

We left through the side entrance, as silent as we’d come in. The fire would erase everything—fingerprints, DNA, any trace of our presence. Jamie had already wiped the security footage; we were ghosts who’d never been there. The night air hit my face, cool against the sweat beading on my forehead, carrying the faint scent of smoke that would soon become a roar.

“You good?” Rio asked as we slipped through the gate, his voice low, controlled.

I nodded, tucking the gun away. My hands should have been shaking. They weren’t. “Yeah.”

Jamie was already in the car, fingers dancing across his phone screen. “Wiping the last connection now,” he muttered. “System’s clean.”

The neighborhood remained quiet around us. Expensive homes nestled in manicured lots, their occupants sleeping peacefully behind their security systems and privileges. Rio started the car, but Jamie stepped out. “I’ll wait and make sure,” he announced.

I clasped his hand.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” I said.

Jamie grinned his full-on, toothiest grin. “I wanna watch it burn.”

Rio put his hands on Jamie’s shoulders. “Stay safe, yeah?”

Jamie winked, happy as a pig in shit. “Always.”

“What about you Enzo?” Rio asked me.

“I want to go home.”

To Robbie.