by S. Ann Cole
Stefano jerks around and scowls. “Oh, come on now. You have made it this far without bawling and crawling. Don’t ruin your street cred with me now. Save the waterworks for the journey home.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop it from trembling, then clamber out of bed and pad to the bathroom.
He’s right. Though I’ve feared in secret and silence, I’ve done my best to put on a brave face around him and his men. Now is not the time to break down. Trent’s imminent arrival doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. If there’s anything the last five days with Stefano Castello has taught me, it’s that he cannot be trusted. I’m going to need a clear head for this exchange, make sure to keep my focus on him at all times.
So, I freshen up at the vanity and slip on the face of fake courage I’ve been wearing the past few days.
When I return to the room, Stefano isn’t there. I stare at the duffel bag. Pack, he’d said. As if I’ve been here on vacation or something. But, by now, I’d like to believe I know him and his warped brain just a teensy, tiny bit; if I leave behind all the expensive garbs and jewelry he bought me, he’ll interpret it as an insult. So I pack them all, but get dressed in the blouse and jeans I was wearing when I got nabbed.
When I trek downstairs, I notice suited men stationed in corner of the house, armed and stoic.
On this floor, there’s a wall of French doors that open into a large and luxurious indoor pool area. That’s where I find Stefano and Lorenzo talking in hushed tones, while Stefano attaches a silencer to his gun.
Apprehension and anxiety stabs at me again. What the hell are they up to?
Stefano catches sight of me and the trepidation must be emblazoned on me because his hard expression softens a smidge. He gives me a single, sharp shake of his head, and somehow I understand what it means. Not for you.
If not for me, then who? Ellie? Slim? Trent?
Dear Savior, I’m begging you, please don’t let anyone die tonight.
For the next several minutes, I pace restlessly in the living room.
Soon, a phone call comes in.
A curt conversation is had.
Looks and gestures are exchanged.
Stances shift.
He’s here.
“Here, Lexi.” Stefano beckons me to the poolside where he and Lorenzo are standing. When I reluctantly amble over, lingering at a distance, he takes me by my upper arm and positions me, so I’m sandwiched between them both.
Lorenzo looks down at me and a sliver of warmth sneaks through his perennial go-fuck-yourself glare. As mean and rude as he is with others, he’s always a little…kinder to me.
Stefano holds his phone up to show me the security feed of his front yard. Two familiar jeeps brake haphazardly in front of the house and bodies pile out. I recognize all except one. Trent, True, Tripp, Ellie, Alvin, and a huge, muscle-bound man with long dark hair.
My heart hiccups at the sight of Trent. Dios, how I miss him.
“Three Garzas,” Stefano mutters. “You must be a family favorite.”
And if Torin was on US soil, I have no doubt he’d be here, too. Even though I’m not blood, the Garzas’ never leave the people they care about behind. And I’m so damn grateful for them in this moment. They showed up for me.
Stefano’s home is huge, so it takes a minute or two before a chorus of footfalls is heard in the main area, and seconds later before the group, lead by one of the suited men, comes into view.
Trent, Tripp, True, and the huge muscle-bound man, in their all-black getup with holsters and “RCI” branded bullet proof vests, look like the freaking FBI. I might’ve known about Red Cage, but I’ve never seen them—the Garzas—like this before. Looking so…badass.
My heart is skipping far too many beats to be normal, so I inhale a deep breath and exhale on ten slow counts.
Once the group is in front of us, Trent’s hardened eyes comes straight to me. Jaw locked tight, he scans me up and down. And it takes everything in me to not run and throw myself at him. But the Castello twins positioned me between them for a reason, to maintain control. If I move a foot before I’m told, there’d be consequences.
When Trent gives me an almost imperceptible shake of his head, I know I’m making the right decision to stay put.
A whimper draws my attention to Ellie. Pale and reddened with fear, her hands handcuffed in front of her, her mouth duct taped.
Rage and indignation override my anxiety, my hands ball into fists at my side. Now I’m fighting the urge to move for an entirely different reason.
“You want to punch her, don’t you?” Lorenzo’s voice is rough and scratchy at my ear.
“So. Bad,” I grit out.
His chuckle at this is dark and chilling.
Five days. Five days of utter mental torment because of this dumb, gluttonous bitch. She never listens and she never fucking learns. Now look. Look where she’s gotten us. How is she even going to get herself out of this one? There’s no way on earth I’m going to be able to talk Trent into saving her again considering he wasn’t a fan of her from the get-go.
The backstabbing twat can’t even look at me. Her red, swollen eyes are trained on Lorenzo, wide and full of terror. Lorenzo does have that horror-inducing effect on people, so I can imagine the dread running through her.
But I can’t find it in me to feel sorry for her. Who I do feel bad for is the skinny, awkward man beside her with a crack on his thick-rimmed glasses. Poor Alvin is as white as a ghost, fear etched in every crease and crinkle of his face. Only God can tell me Ellie didn’t coax him into this.
Trent throws a large bag at our feet.
“Is it all there?” Stefano asks.
Trent nods once. “We replaced what was spent.”
As Stefano opens his mouth to speak, Trent adds, “And don’t even try to pull that interest bullshit. We went all the way to Turks and Caicos to drag these two back here. You owe me for that shit.”
“Yes, and my payment is your bodacious Latina girlfr—”
“Non fottermi, Stefano.,” Trent grits out in Italian, taking a threatening step forward.
“Alright, alright. No interest,” Stefano drawls with a hint of humor. He sure is having a blast with having one up on the Garzas. “Tripp, Trueman,” he says in acknowledgment of his cousins. “I’m sorry our gathering this time is on such an intense note. But you know how I am about my money. Now back up, please.”
I’m gazing at Trent while Stefano talks, so I don’t see it coming. I only hear a soft vhhoot and blood splatters across Trent’s face. In stricken horror, I watch as his body jerks away and Ellie’s lifeless one hits the floor, a reddened hole in the middle of her forehead.
“There. Now no one can beg for her life,” Stefano says casually. “Fool me once, stupido me. Fool me twice… You all know how it goes.”
“For fuck’s sake, man,” Tripp curses, wiping blood splatters from his face.
“I did tell you to back up, didn’t I?” Stefano retorts.
“You’re despicable,” True mutters as he gets out a kerchief from his back pocket to clean the splatters of blood off himself as well.
I’m still gaping in shock at Ellie’s lifeless body when Stefano nudges me and points to Alvin. The front of Alvin’s khaki slacks is soaked.
“That is what happens when you mix fear with an empty stomach,” Stefano tells me. “They should have at least given him a finger of whiskey.”
“P-p-please don’t k-kill him,” I beg, struggling to formulate words around the shock. “He’s worked for Slim for years and has always been loyal. I’m positive Ellie talked him into it.”
Stefano cocks his head to the side and hides his gun from view by crossing his hands behind his back. “What do you suggest I do with him then?”
“Maybe s-send him back to Slim. Let Slim p-punish him.”
Stefano grins, but it’s one of his fake, deceptive grins that I’ve seen him give to people when he knows they are playing him. “You are only suggesting that
because you know Slim is a pussy who would not harm a fly. He stole my money, so I have to punish him.”
Both his voice and his eyes grow cold on me, and it’s like he’s transformed into Lorenzo. I’ve never seen him look so mean and vicious before. And I know…I know this is the real him. I tried to play him, and he’s pissed at me for it.
“He used his hand to steal from me, and according to you, his cock made him do it. So, sweet Lexi, since you are the only one here begging for his life, I am going to allow you to decide which one I cut off. His hand or his cock?”
Swallowing past the giant lump in my throat, I look to Trent, search his face help. But he gives me nothing. He just looks impatient and angry. Does he not care about this man’s life?
I sweep my gaze to True and Tripp, hoping for something from them, but they both just look bored and annoyed, as though they have places to be and I’m holding them up.
The long-haired muscle-bound man is leaned against a column with his eyes closed and the same bored expression as everyone else.
Feeling helpless, I return my gaze to Alvin. He’s covered in cold sweat, his shoulders shaking, his eyes pleading with me, his duct-taped mouth preventing him from begging for his own life.
Stefano’s hand whips up, gun aimed at Alvin’s head. “Talk fast, Lexi, or he gets the next bullet.”
I open my mouth to say hand, the ‘Ha’ leaving me on a short breath. But then, remembering who I’m dealing with, I switch at last second and say, “His cock.”
Stefano narrows his gaze at me, as if pissed that I’ve just bested him. “Well done,” he grounds out. “Hand it is.”
He jerks a nod to his suits and two of them comes forward and haul Alvin away.
“You’ve kept her around you for too long,” Lorenzo comments with faint humor. “She’s learned how to win with you.”
“That she has,” Stefano mumbles grumpily.
Trent strides over and pulls me to him. Even in the midst of this horror show, his touch still manages to give me flutters.
He looks to Lorenzo and asks, “Dealt with Slim for me?”
Lorenzo nods. “Reparation’s already wired to her account.”
What? Slim? Is the “her” in this exchange me?
Stefano frowns. “I’m assuming this is about Lexi getting hit? Why was I not in on this ‘reparation’ deal? How much did he pay? I think I deserve a cut—”
“FUCK OFF, Stefan,” all three Garza men plus Lorenzo bark at him.
“Okay, okay, I get it. None for me,” he grouches, holding his hands up. The man even has the gall to pout. “Nice doing business with you again, Trenton.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Trent spits. He turns with me and starts to walk off, then makes a sharp pivot, jerks forward, and freaking head-butts Stefano.
From the unexpected attack, Stefano loses his balance and topples back into the pool.
Water splashes on all of us.
Seconds later Stefano’s head bobs up, sputtering water.
“That’s for not letting me talk to my woman when I called, you fucker,” Trent growls.
Stefano laughs maniacally. “So, not my left side or my right side, huh, Lexi? But right in the middle.” He laughs some more, treading the water. “Didn’t see that one coming. Do you think it will leave a mark?”
“I really hope it does,” I tell him, and he winks.
As Trent cinches me to his side and carries me out, I take one last glance at Ellie’s lifeless body on the ground and think, five days earlier that could have been me.
Chapter THIRTY
“Let’s just say I didn’t care.”
Lexi
I just witnessed a murder.
The murder of someone I once thought of as a friend. Someone I once shared a bed with, meals with, jokes with.
Dead. In the blink of an eye. Just like that.
I’ve also just begged for a life to be spared. Someone who will have to live with a missing limb as a regrettable reminder to never again make the mistake of making decisions with his dick, but have his life nonetheless.
None of it feels real. Like I’m in an awful dream or having an out of body experience.
“Talk to me, Lexi,” Trent pleads.
We’re in his jeep, speeding back to L.A. Tripp is sprawled on his back in the back seat, maybe asleep, maybe not. Last I heard of him he was sweet-talking someone on the phone and telling them to send him nudes.
For some reason, I haven’t been able to get a word out for over an hour now. What happened in Vegas is the most horrifying things I’ve ever experienced and it’s hard to come to terms with it.
One could say I’m in shock.
One side of me is gut-wrenched that Ellie is motherfreaking dead. While the other side keeps reminding me that, five days ago, that same gun was pointed at my head.
Out of greed, Ellie had set me up. Me. Someone who’s only ever been kind to her. A friend to her. Looked out for her. Saved her when she landed herself in shit. Without a care or thought for me, she’d rolled the carpet of death toward me only for it to roll right back to her.
And only because I’m lucky enough to have people who genuinely care for me—the Garzas, who I spent years shutting out. I don’t deserve them, don’t deserve their loyalty.
“I…” I start, then stop to clear my throat, my voice hoarse from being quiet for so long. “I guess I’m just trying to process—”
“You don’t process shit like that,” Tripp’s gruff voice comes at me from the backseat. “You try to ‘process’ that and it’ll swell and grow in your head like a fucking tumor. Creep into the corners of your mind and fuck you up. Depression, anxiety, paranoia. Dump you into a swamp of insanity,” he goes on. “You gotta kick and punch that shit out of your head, give it no room to breathe. Shut that shit down immediately and fight like hell for your sanity. Tell yourself whatever you need to justify what you saw tonight. But don’t ‘process’. Never ‘process’.”
My head falls back against the headrest, and I close my eyes. Seconds later, beyond my control, a tear rolls down my cheek. And then another.
All of what Tripp just said sounds like madness. But maybe madness is what I’ll need to prevent myself from going mad.
There’s no way to undo any of what happened tonight. But I can fight like hell to make sure it doesn’t ruin me.
A large, warm hand covers mine on my thigh, and even in the wake of a nightmare the butterflies still flutter. Making me feel things. Sweet things. Things other than sorrow and fear and remorse.
Smiling through my tears, I turn my hand over, lace my fingers with his, and squeeze. Hanging on to him like my every breath depends on it.
Maybe it does.
I love him.
God, I love him.
~
The sun is bright in the sky by the time we get back to L.A. Trent drops Tripp off in Venice then takes me straight to his Santa Monica home instead of Pasadena.
Now he’s huddled in the driveway with True and the big dude, talking in serious, quiet tones while I wait with my hands wrapped around myself.
Out of patience, I walk up to the huddle and pry the house keys from his hand. He lets me, mumbling that he’ll be in soon.
I let myself inside the house. It smells of him. Like patience, reliability, and consistency.
After helping myself to a glass of OJ from the fridge, I head upstairs to the master bathroom and run the shower to heat.
As I peel out of my clothes, I make a mental reminder to dump them, along with the duffel bag of expensive clothes I brought back from Vegas, into the garbage asap. Whatever it takes to rid myself of the horridness of the last couple of days.
While the shower heats, I clean my teeth at the vanity, and once the mirror starts fogging up, I know the shower temperature is just right—piping hot.
I climb in, welcoming the sting on my skin. Wrapping my arms around myself, I close my eyes and let it beat down on my head, washing away my tears, guilt, and regret.
>
I see Ellie’s lifeless body in the darkness behind my lids, but I fight the stabbing urge to open them and run from it. I face it. Because I know that the moment I start giving in to being afraid of closing my eyes, it will gain power over me. Control me. And what will follow is insomnia and sleeping pills and depression and therapy sessions.
So I squeeze my eyes even tighter and let that image remain until it slowly distorts and breaks away, piece by piece, until there’s only darkness.
Plain darkness.
I don’t hear him come in. I only feel his arms wrap around me. Pulling me to him. And I let him, pressing my face his chest, eyes still closed.
“You’re tense,” I say after a long, long moment of quietude.
“I’m holding in a lot,” he admits.
“Tell me.”
“Not at you, baby.” His arms squeeze around me. “More at myself…my cousins…that stupid bitch.”
“Did you…” I swallow. “Did you know he was going to…do that?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t care,” he replies sharply.
“That’s a life, Trent.” I lift my head and look up at him under the stream of steaming water. “Taken. Without mercy. Without a thought.”
“She was a vile human being.” He’s unmoved. “Did she care about your life when she set you up like she did? Believe me when I tell you, I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either. If the Castellos didn’t need us as much as they do, that would’ve been you, girlfriend or not, family or not. They’d have shot you first then called me after.”
“Why do they need you so much?” I ask.
He sighs, as though this is the last thing he wants to be talking about. “Certain services that we’re able to provide them.”
I take a breath before asking, “Bad stuff? Crime stuff? Like…” I can’t even think it. I don’t want to believe the boys I grew up with are capable of being cold-blooded murderers. Not Monica’s boys. No. I refuse to believe it.
Water clumps his long, dark lashes together as he shakes his head. “Let’s just say there are certain important, high-placed people…and, uh, organizations that can’t—for obvious reasons—communicate directly with organized criminals. So a clandestine mediator for safe, secure, and untraceable communication is needed. Red Cage was chosen by the, um… ‘highest head’ to be that mediator.”
