Prologue

R achel Silverstone, chained to the pipe coming out of the floor, rolled her head but remained unconscious ever since the man named Garcia came in and used the bat, striking her numerous times.

Ruger told her several times since he got caught trying to rescue her—Don't provoke the men.

But she tried to protect Ruger from the beatdown. Barely a hundred and twenty pounds, she was a little thing compared to him. Though, she had fight in her.

He rubbed his bloody, raw wrists. The ache came from deep in his bones. The surface was numb from the attacks.

"Hey." Ruger leaned over Rachel. "You need to wake up."

The rescue mission to save Shady's sister from her kidnappers, repaying his debt, went south when he stepped into the house. He hadn't expected six Los Li members. Shady had told him it was one man. He should've known the fucker would lie to him.

He picked up Rachel's arm, sliding his finger between her slim wrist and the handcuffs holding her hostage in the basement.

Los Li members, the strong-arm of the Mexican mafia, had made one big mistake. They'd used a chain around his wrists, getting a kick out of welding the two ends together while holding him down. Eventually, he was able to work one fucking link far enough apart to slip his hand free.

It'd taken him over three weeks to finally have a chance at gaining his freedom.

His captors believed he was still secured to the steel pipe concreted into the floor. He needed to hurry. It wouldn't be long, and the men would come to the basement. He needed Rachel awake long enough for her to remain alert and quiet, ready to go when the time was right.

"Rachel. Wake up." He patted her cheek with his free hand, pushing the blood soaked hair to the side.

A drop of blood broke through the crack on her lip and trailed down her chin. His gut tightened. The first chance he got, he planned to kill the fuckers who hurt her.

But he was more likely to get killed unless he figured out a way to jump whoever opened the door.

"Rug..."

The soft mew grabbed his attention. He cupped Rachel's face and put his lips against her ear.

"I don't want you to move or make any noise. Pretend you're passed out." He paused, listening for any noise to alert him of company coming down the wooden steps into the house's basement. "I'm going to get us out of here, Rach. I promise."

"No." She rolled her head away from him. "No. They'll kill you."

"Sh." He took his hand off her, afraid to cause her more pain.

"They'll kill Shady." She gasped. "Ju-July..."

Covered in bruises, bloody, and swollen, Rachel spent most of the last twenty-four hours asleep. She wasn't going to live much longer. Already, she'd stopped fighting the handcuffs. She no longer screamed in pain when the captors beat her.

She wasn't eating or drinking.

She'd stopped talking to him when night fell, and the basement became completely black.

They were both in bad shape, but he had enough muscle on him that it would take more than beatings to make him give up. He ate the shit they brought down because if he refused, he'd waste away, and they wouldn't make it out of there.

Rachel vomited everything she tried to get past her lips. She had no extra weight to lose. After six weeks of captivity, she'd lost all strength.

If he hadn't seen the picture of her that Shady shoved between his cot and wall in prison, he never would've recognized Rachel when he broke into the house and got caught.

The frail, scarred, battered woman was the same knock-out, vibrant, spirited woman in the photo who danced in the kitchen of a house without a care in the world.

He hadn't known Shady for long. They shared the same cell the last year he served in prison. But every time his cellmate got thrown into solitary, Ruger would take the picture, the hidden phone, and any drugs Shady had in confinement and keep his things safe until his cellmate returned.

It was their silent agreement. In return, Shady would alert Ruger when the others were gunning for him in prison. Being bigger than most men and a long-term inmate in the prison system put a target on his back. The others believed it was their right to try and take him out.

He'd made a name for himself on the inside because he refused to let others dictate how he'd live on the inside. The others stayed away from him because of his reputation for not taking shit from anyone.

By his fifth year in prison, he had enough prisoners protecting him. He could stay away from fighting and making his sentence longer. Good behavior was the only reason he received early release after serving eighteen years.

Footsteps above alerted him to someone coming. He leaned against the wall and put his hands behind his back. He wrapped the loose chain around his left hand, then held it completely still.

He wasn't going to jeopardize his right hand. He'd need it to get Rachel out of here.

But he'd sacrifice his left hand. With the chain, he could do a lot more damage.

The door at the top of the stairs opened.

Ruger closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He wanted to make sure whoever entered got as close to him as possible. One miss. One error. They'd kill him and Rachel before he could get to his feet.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Heavy boots fell on the concrete of the basement. Ruger slowed his breathing. There was only one way to get Rachel out of the handcuffs.

There were four men. He had yet to learn which one held the key.

They were men who had three square meals a day. Men who fought and killed. Men who were not afraid of Ruger's size because they'd weakened him.

He couldn't remember when he'd had food last. Maybe yesterday or the day before. It was some dry beans he could barely swallow. He was dehydrated. It wouldn't be long, and he'd lose all his stored energy.

The man kicked Ruger's boot. He willed himself to stay loose, hoping the man would try to rouse him again and leave Rachel alone.

"Wake up." The man's voice came closer.

Instead of firing off rapid Spanish like the other men, the man spoke English. Ruger slowed his breathing, barely letting his chest rise and fall.

Footsteps shuffled. An exhale sent a wave of humid air toward him, covering his face. Ruger never hesitated. He lunged forward, knocking his captor onto his back in surprise. Before the man could yell out a warning, Ruger pressed the chain against his kidnapper's throat.

All his strength centered on his hands, holding, pressing, tightening.

The man fought, kicking out and violently attempting to get his hands underneath the chain to remove it from his neck, but Ruger wasn't budging. He watched the veins pop in the man's eyes until they were only two red orbs, swollen in their sockets.

At that instance, he had all the strength in the world. There was no fucking way he was going to die.

He had to get home. His daughter needed him.

There was only one person he lived his life for, and that was Katrina. He'd spent too much time away from her. Now, she was all grown up, and he refused to lose her again.

The man's hands fell off the chain. His body stopped moving.

Ruger held him down, pinned by the chain around his neck until he was positive there was no coming back. As he eased his hands off him, his strength left him. There were still three more men he had to deal with.

Three more men he had to kill.