by Ophelia Bell
Mad’s eyebrows lift at that. “One you restored?”
I nod and manage to smile a little. My brother knows me well. “A ’69 Mustang convertible in Raven Black with a red stripe. Rafael and I started work on it before Emilia got pregnant and finished it just last month.” I grit my teeth when it hits me how recently the four of us were together.
Emilia and Rafael were both alive, and we were taking the car for a drive for the first time since completing the restoration. It was the afternoon of Christmas Day, with Zoe making her happy baby noises from beside me in the tiny back seat, bundled up against the chilly air because there was no way we were going to break the car in with the top up. Zoe had laughed through the first half of the drive, the wind turning her little nose pink. She’d eventually fallen asleep, but we enjoyed the ride together until then. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life as I was in those moments, oblivious to the fact that they would be dead within hours. It seems like a lifetime has passed since that day.
“Fuck me,” I whisper under my breath, staring down at Zoe.
“Did they own the house outright?” Maddox asks.
I sigh. “Yeah. And Rafael was no dummy when it came to setting up legal and financial shelters for his family. He could’ve run the organization himself.”
“Then there’s bound to be a will, or at least some documentation that their property belongs to Zoe now. We can figure it out before we go.”
The SUV pulls through the driveway in front of the hotel and we get out. Maddox gives me his trademark scowl when I reach for Zoe’s carrier. “Brother, we’ve been over this already. I’m not too keen on answering to the doc if you fuck up your back.”
We have a short stare-off for the second time. When we left the convent, he insisted on carrying her, and I relented. The baby plus her car seat probably weigh about three times my limit, even if I feel more than strong enough to handle it myself.
Frustrated with even this small concession, I hold up my hands and step back. I haven’t even held her yet, and it’s killing me.
When we reach our floor, I swipe my keycard across the pad on the door, then push through. Maddox is right behind me and pauses in the shadowy entryway.
“Callie?” I call, not immediately seeing or hearing any sign of her. I peek into the bathroom, but there’s nothing but her cosmetics bag on the counter.
“Looks like she went shopping,” Maddox says. He sets Zoe’s carrier on the king-sized bed and peeks into one of several pastel shopping bags strewn across the bed. “They’re baby things.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a swath of soft lavender fabric, holding it up to display a little outfit with a monkey embroidered on the front. His eyes crinkle and he shakes his head. “You found a keeper, that’s for sure.”
I pull out my phone and dial hers again.
From the center of the bed, a chirpy ring sounds, and Maddox’s head jerks up to stare at it.
My stomach drops like a stone and I rush over, pawing through the bags until I find Callie’s purse, her phone lit up from my call. I grab it and look around the room again, frantic, as if she could be hiding in a corner somewhere.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Maybe she decided to go work out in the hotel gym or something,” Maddox offers.
I’m already shaking my head, the dark dread sinking in deeper with every second. “She was pissed enough that we weren’t taking her with us, because she knows what a big deal this trip was. She wouldn’t have left her phone behind.”
“Fucking hell,” Maddox mutters, and when I meet his gaze and see the stricken look, I know he’s come to the exact same conclusion I just did.
That’s when Callie’s phone begins to ring again. I stare at the screen like it’s a live grenade. The number displayed has a local area code, but that doesn’t mean anything since the man I’m sure is on the other end is likely calling from a burner anyway.
I swallow hard, then swipe the screen to answer and put the phone on speaker.
“Yeah,” I say by way of greeting.
“You didn’t think you could just slink off back to LA without a reckoning, did you, Santos?” Gustavo’s rough, accented voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“Where the fuck did you take her?” The phone case emits a slight cracking noise and I have to force myself to ease my grip on it. I deliberately keep my voice low and even to avoid waking Zoe, but my rage burns as hot as ever.
“She’s close, but if you don’t do what I say, her pretty face is getting a nice little makeover.”
“What the fuck do you want, Delgado? I’m out of your fucking life. There’s no goddamn point to you constantly hounding me. Does Amador even know you’re still after me?”
“Amador ordered me to kill you three years ago. I don’t like leaving jobs unfinished, so the deal is simple: your life for hers.”
“You mean Amador ordered you to clean up your own fucking mess. Isn’t that closer to the truth?”
Maddox hisses a warning at me and I scowl. I may be a little overconfident now that I have some worthwhile ammunition to use against this bastard. It’s just a matter of stringing him along, letting him think he has me cornered. But I shouldn’t provoke him as long as he has Callie.
“I would’ve done it already if you hadn’t made some deal with Zavala to protect you. And here I thought exposing you for the fraud you are would compel him to do the job for me. What the fuck were you doing for him in Denver, anyway?”
I raise my eyebrows at Maddox. The fact that Gustavo’s this clueless can work to my advantage too. He doesn’t know Zavala was only protecting his investment in Denver, and he’d have happily killed me himself if I hadn’t delivered. He also doesn’t seem to have a clue that I was undercover the entire time I was working for Zavala.
“I’m not telling you shit. But if you lay a fucking finger on Callie, I’ll end your miserable goddamn life.”
He lets out a vile laugh. “Don’t tell me this one actually means something to you, the man who had so little to live for he was happy with whatever pussy he fell into each night. You and I both know your life is as worthless as your old man’s.”
My vision goes red at the edges, and Maddox gently extracts the phone from my hand. “Just tell us what to do, asshole.”
Gustavo laughs. “Sounds like we’ll have a nice little reunion. Maybe I can kill two saints with one stone. I warn you, I’m ready for any surprises. Come to the address I text you when we hang up and be prepared to bleed. If you don’t show in thirty minutes, the pretty doctor won’t be so pretty anymore. Every minute you’re late, she’s getting a new bruise, and if I get wind of any of Arturo’s men coming to help, I’ll pull out the jumper cables.”
The call ends with a beep, and a second later a text message pops up, but it isn’t an address. It’s a photograph of Callie, gagged and bound to a chair in what looks like some dank basement. Her blonde hair is a tangled mess around her face and her shirt is ripped at the collar, but she looks more pissed than scared. Her expression makes me love her even more.
The address appears just beneath the image, and I recognize the location. It’s a pool hall in a sketchy neighborhood south of here.
“Let’s go. If we get a taxi, we can make it with time to spare,” I tell my brother. When he gives me a dubious look, I glance down at my sleeping daughter and cut myself off from uttering another curse. Fuck, I really need to get a handle on the language from now on.
“Wait a sec.” Maddox reaches for one of the other shopping bags on the bed. From inside, he pulls out a black contraption with straps like a backpack, except it’s obviously not a backpack. It looks more like tactical gear. “Hold up your arms.”
I obey, and he slips the straps over my shoulders then leans down to snap a couple buckles in front, beneath what appears to be a heavy-duty polyester mesh pouch. Staring down into it, I see holes at the bottom.
“No shit. It’s a fu—it’s a baby carrier.”
“Tactic
al baby carrier, is more like it,” Maddox says as he carefully unbuckles Zoe and lifts the snoozing baby out of her car seat. She’s so peaceful it feels wrong to disturb her, but she barely makes a peep as he slots her into the big pocket with her cheek against my chest and her feet dangling underneath.
My hands come up to cradle her butt automatically and I crane my neck to look into her scrunched-up face. Her little fist is shoved into her mouth, the tiny knuckles wet with drool as she gnaws it in her sleep, and I can see two little teeth peeking through her lower gums. She didn’t have those the last time I saw her.
My throat tightens up and it’s weirdly hard to swallow. I take a shaky breath and rest my hand over her soft, round head. It’s covered in a little yellow beanie, but she’s like a miniature furnace under my touch. I blink rapidly to hold back the wash of alien emotions.
“You okay?” Maddox asks, peering closer at me with a slight smirk.
I clear my throat, sniff, and nod. “Yeah, just had something in my eye. I’m good.”
“Right,” he says giving me a dubious look. “We should get moving if you’re comfortable enough with this getup. I figure it distributes her weight well enough that you can hold onto her.”
“It’s fine. But you’re not going with me.”
39
Callie
When my captor hangs up the phone, he slips a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a set of brass knuckles. He slowly slots his fingers into the holes, then flexes his fist. His smile stretches absurdly wide as he closes the distance, and I flinch when he raises his fist and grazes my cheekbone lightly with the ridged metal, which is warm from his body heat. This asshole’s some kind of fucked-up sadist, and the fact that I’m shaking like a leaf just seems to encourage him.
“I think I’ll start with this pretty mouth of yours,” he says, drawing the metal down and across my lower lip. The ridges bump painfully against my teeth. “I bet this is J.J.’s favorite part of you, isn’t it? I bet you’re good at sucking dick.”
I can only glare at him. I’ve given up struggling or trying to speak through the gag in my mouth. The fact that Mason answered the man’s call was enough of a relief that I was able to relax a little, though my trembling hasn’t abated. The call means he succeeded in completing the trade for Zoe. It also means he’s likely on his way here now, though, straight into an obvious trap with eyes wide open.
My gut roils with sick dread. I don’t want to be the reason he sacrifices himself, because this asshole clearly wants him dead. But on the other hand, I don’t want to die. Maybe he wouldn’t kill me. Maybe he’d only beat me until I was disfigured, but I can’t see this scenario ending without bloodshed, and the realization makes me nauseous.
Get a grip, I tell myself. You’ve got an iron constitution for stress. Treat this like surgery and you’ll be fine. I close my eyes and breathe, and finally manage to stop shaking from fear.
He notices and smirks. “Don’t get your hopes up, hermosa. If he gets here on time, you get to watch while I take him apart, piece by piece. Maybe I’ll leave your favorite part for last so you can have something to remember him by.”
God, I want to spit in this asshole’s face. I struggle again, roaring in incoherent rage through my gag.
“You have something to say, let’s hear it, chica.”
The second he pulls down the gag, I let fly a bolus of saliva that smacks right onto his left cheek. “Fuck you!”
His hand is a sudden blur of brown skin and gold aimed at my face. My head flies back, and for a second I’m too stunned to tell which hurts worse: the impact of my skull into the concrete wall behind me, or the crush of his weapon into my cheekbone. My vision wavers from the agony and the gag goes back in my mouth before I can say anything else.
The pain leaves me dazed and unable to focus on much besides my own misery. Wetness creeps down my cheek from the cut his brass knuckles made. Time crawls with interminable slowness, the blood cooling on my skin.
“Watch her,” he demands a little later before disappearing up some unseen stairs. I’m alone now with two disinterested lackeys who lean against the wall, sharing a joint while they stare at me.
When I hear footsteps somewhere above, my heart leaps into my throat and I stare at the ceiling. I’m terrified and relieved in equal measure.
If Mason’s here, I’m safe.
But if Mason’s here, he might be about to die.
Heavy feet rattle down the wooden stairs, several pairs this time. Gustavo appears first, looking extremely disgruntled. Then my eyes widen as Mason appears, the black baby carrier I bought earlier today strapped to his body, a sleeping baby ensconced within. I can’t help but make a muffled sound of pleased surprise. But the feeling evaporates with the reminder of why he’s here and what Gustavo plans to do.
When I shake my head, giving Mason an anguished look, then glancing at Zoe, he merely winks. I hope to hell that means he has a plan because if he’s putting his daughter at risk for me too, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
But Mason’s serene look turns livid when he sees my face. I can’t imagine what it must look like. If it looks as bad as it feels, I’m probably not a pretty sight.
“I came on time, you a-hole. What the heck?”
I can’t help but blink at the toned-down language, so out of sync with the situation and Mason’s obvious anger. Gustavo gives him an odd look too, then grits his teeth and snorts.
“She mouthed off. It’s her fault.”
When Mason looks at me, I give a slight shrug and glare at Gustavo, hoping that’s enough to confirm what he said. Not that I deserved to be hit over it.
“You okay other than your cheek, baby?” he asks.
Before I get a chance to nod, Gustavo jumps in. “She’s good. Now get that baby off and get them out of here. You’re mine now, motherfucker.”
Mason scowls and covers Zoe’s ears with both hands. “Language. She’s impressionable.”
One of the lackeys cuts the duct tape securing me to the chair and removes the gag. He holds my arms as I rise and hauls me across the room, stopping a few feet away from Mason.
Gustavo has a gun in one hand, aimed at Mason. “Give her the baby.”
“Not a chance. This is what’s going to happen now,” Mason says, jabbing a finger in Gustavo’s face, ignoring the gun completely. “The three of us are walking out of here in a few minutes. You and your posse are staying behind, and from now on, you’re going to leave us the heck alone.”
Gustavo lets out a derisive snort. “I made it my mission to end you, Santos. I’m not about to let that go without a good reason.”
“March 15th, 2000,” Mason shoots back. “How’s that for a good reason?”
I have no idea what he means, but he says the date with such conviction, I know it must be important. The way Gustavo goes completely still and silent, the only movement the muscle in his jaw spasming, tells me it struck a nerve.
“What about it?” he asks through gritted teeth.
Mason glances around at the handful of other men in the room and tilts his head. “Do you really want me to explain it to you with all these ears? How on March 15th, 2000, you took a little trip to—”
“Get out,” Gustavo snaps, looking at his men and pointing to the stairs. They eye Mason warily, but leave one by one. A door latches shut up above. I take advantage of the resulting freedom and rush toward Mason, curling into his one outstretched arm and slinging my arms around his neck from the side, careful not to disturb the oblivious baby girl attached to his chest.
“Thank you. But if we don’t get out, he’s going to kill you,” I say, my voice quavering.
He turns toward me and brushes his lips over mine, his jaw flexing as his eyes stray to the cut on my cheek. “I’ve got this, baby. Just sit tight.”
“What the fuck do you know, Santos?”
“I know you were in Rosarito the night Lola Flores died. I also know you were spotted on CCTV at a gas station two
miles from the house she owned there. If I ask Arturo where you were supposed to be that night, I’m betting he won’t say Baja. It was easier to cross the border before 9/11. You could’ve fooled him easily.”
“So what? I wasn’t required to check in every goddamn second. I had freedom.”
“Freedom to be a few miles from his wife’s vacation home within an hour of her death?”
“Fuck Flores. I don’t give a shit what he knows.” He lowers the gun, eyes narrowing. He’s on guard now, but is starting to look more like a caged animal than the jailer he was a few minutes ago.
“Maybe not,” Mason says. “But I’m sure Amador would love to know who really killed the woman he loved. I’m assuming you knew about the three of them. That Flores and Amador shared Lola. They both loved her. Her death is the reason they’re enemies now, which I’m pretty sure was what you hoped to accomplish by killing her. What would it look like for you if they made up? I’m sure ending your life would be the first thing on their agenda after making amends.”
“What do you want?” Gustavo’s voice is a low rasp, still challenging yet with an edge of surrender.
“I want my dang life back. I want to be able to move back to LA without looking over my shoulder. You leave me the heck alone, I’ll make sure neither Amador nor Flores ever set eyes on the intel I have.”
His eyes narrow. “Intel . . . This was what your deal with Zavala was about, wasn’t it? His men weren’t the only ones tailing you in Denver. You had DEA agents shadowing you at every turn, and a suit at your side too. You’re a fucking narc, aren’t you? Hijo de puta. They weren’t even trying to arrest you, were they?”
Mason chuckled. “You are so oblivious it isn’t funny, Delgado. Why do you think I faked my own death? You give yourself too much credit if you think it was just to hide from you, though that was a nice bonus.”
Gustavo bares his teeth and raises the gun again. “What’s to stop me from killing all three of you right now and taking it?”
