“That sounds delicious,” Mya said, heading for the door.
“Wait, we need to finish this wall,” I said, stalling for time. “I can make chicken here.”
Muffin eyed me. “You said you don’t cook. And I want finger-lickin’ chicken.”
“Let me use the bathroom,” I said. I could wait in there and then come out after she’s arrested.
“You’ll have to have Frankie plunge it,” she said. “There’s a bathroom at Cluckity Chicken. Just use theirs.”
I couldn’t think of any more excuses. I followed them out the door, over Gus and my furniture, and to the parking lot.
“Who’s driving?” Muffin asked.
“I only have Sergio’s moped,” I said.
“I can drive,” Mya offered.
“Where’s everyone going?” Frankie asked. He was still in the parking lot waiting for his hot cops.
“We’re heading out for chicken,” Muffin said.
Frankie eyed me. “You can’t go! My uniform is almost here.”
“Work it out yourself,” Muffin said. “I’m hungry, and I’m gonna eat.”
“Just wait for your uniform. We shouldn’t be long,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t know what else to do, and I didn’t have any cuffs to keep her here. Then again, I didn’t think cuffs would even fit her. I hope the cops were better prepared.
Mya and Muffin hopped into the car. I slid into the backseat. Nothing I did seemed to turn out right as of late, so I was going along for the ride and having a snack. Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing.
Mya steered her way to the Cluckity Chicken while Muffin recited the memorized menu.
“I’m ordering a bucket of extra-crispy Cluckity Chicken and the mashed potatoes with extra gravy. Oh, and some of those little pies, maybe two of each flavor. I might have some green beans. But that might put me over my calorie limit. I’ll skip the green beans.”
“I’m ordering the kid’s meal. It’s the perfect size,” Mya said.
“Yeah, a small wing like you can’t eat like me. I have to work to keep this figure. It requires a lot of dedicated time in the kitchen.”
“Just throw me a biscuit back here and I’ll be fine,” I muttered.
I wasn’t hungry. All hunger ceased when Greyson banned me. Damn those eyes!
“You need to work on your figure,” Muffin said. “Mya and I have our bodies perfectly attuned. You should take a lesson.”
“I eat when I’m hungry.”
“Do you eat at the poker table?” she asked. “I’m sure you get hungry, and you probably don’t eat. You just sit there. That’s why your butt is bigger than the rest of you.”
“My butt isn’t bigger than the rest of me.”
“Have you looked in the mirror?” Muffin asked. “You have a skinny body and a large booty.”
I turned to see what Muffin was talking about. “Mya, do I have a large booty?”
“A little. But men like to watch you walk,” she said.
I panicked. I spun around, tangling myself in my seat belt. “Men don’t watch me walk. I think I’d have noticed. You’re freaking me out. How fat is my butt?”
Mya giggled. “It’s not fat, just padded.”
“Forget the biscuit,” I said. “I’m not eating for a week.”
“It’s sexy,” Mya said. “Greyson can’t keep his eyes off of you. It makes you curvy instead of a stick.”
“If I don’t eat, and lose my butt, then Greyson can keep his eyes off me.” His hauntingly scary eyes. Not that I’m ever going to see him again.
We drove into the Cluckity Chicken parking lot. Mya found a spot close to the door. Muffin exited first, followed by Mya. I trudged behind.
Muffin towered over the customers waiting to place their orders. Mya resembled a miniature figurine standing next to her. I stared out the window, focusing on nothing. Zoning out would give my brain a break from replaying the scene of Greyson slamming the door and Fiona smiling like she was going to have her chicken dinner.
A luxury sedan screeched down the street, followed by a dark SUV. My eyes followed them until I comprehended what I was witnessing. Catarina was speeding away from an SUV—one that looked exactly like Dagor’s. Catarina must have the trophy.
Dagor was in pursuit.
Chapter 17
I tugged at Mya. “Give me your car keys. Dagor and Catarina sped by.”
Mya turned on her heels and dashed for the door. “I’m driving. I’ve always wanted to be in a chase.”
“What about my chicken?” Muffin hollered as we flew through the door.
“We’ll be back,” Mya called.
“Oh, hell!” Muffin pouted as she barreled after us.
We piled into the car, and Mya peeled out of the parking lot.
“Where do I go?” she asked.
“Turn left and head straight down the road. You’ll have to speed to catch them. They had to be going at least fifteen over the speed limit.”
She pressed her fashionably heeled foot down on the accelerator. The speedometer read ten over and then fifteen. When she was swerving between cars at twenty over, I kept my eye out for the SUV. I wasn’t sure about Cat’s sedan, but I could spot Dagor’s SUV for sure.
Three stoplights away, the SUV turned right. “Mya, the SUV turned right.”
“I saw him,” Mya squealed with delight and slammed her foot on the accelerator.
We flew through the first two lights and rounded the corner on the third. I squeezed my eyes shut, clinging to my seat belt. I should have stayed at Cluckity Chicken. Mya’s driving was either amazing to the point of her entering a Formula 1 competition or miraculous luck that would end in a fiery explosion.
“Why are we chasing the SUV?” Muffin asked.
“Because he’s chasing after Catarina. I think she has the trophy,” I said.
“You mean the twisted blob I cooked in your oven?”
“Yes. There’s something inside of it that everyone wants. I just wish I knew what.”
“Is it worth something?” she asked. “Like diamonds?”
“It’s worth something, but it’s not tangible. At least I don’t think so.”
“I could use some money. Let’s steal it and sell it.”
“Be my guest. I just want Dagor behind bars.”
Mya squealed around another corner.
“There he is! There he is!” Muffin was clearly infected by Mya’s excitement—and the bonus that there was money involved. “Do you know how to drift like in those movies?”
“No, but I could try.”
“No!” I barked. “No trying anything unless you’re in an empty parking lot and I’m a mile away.”
“I don’t know why we brought her,” Muffin said. “She’s a stick in the mud. Go ahead and drift around the corner. I think you just have to yank up on the emergency brake.”
“Mya, don’t do it. Emergency brakes are for emergencies. This is not an emergency!” I scolded, tightening my seat belt to the strangulation point.
“I see the SUV. He’s pulling into a business complex.”
The complex was old and vacant. Tufts of unruly weeds grew through veined cracks in the pavement. Boards covered the windows. Wooden signs hung loose, faded by the sweltering Nevada sun.
“It looks abandoned and boarded up,” I said. “Let’s turn around and call the police. Dagor and boarded-up buildings are not good for my health.”
“Police are bad for my health,” Muffin said. “Keep going!”
Mya swerved into the parking lot and followed the vehicles around the complex and into the back lot. She slowed as we took the last corner and saw Catarina bolting to the complex as Dagor chased her.
“Stop!” I yelped. “I don’t want Dagor to see us.”
“He won’t see us. He’s too busy chasing Catarina,” Muffin said. “Oh, damn! Did you see that?”
I watched as Catarina spun around and kicked, nailing Dagor in the shin. He hobbled as he grasped his shin but continued his pursuit an
d was right behind her. Cat flung open the building’s back door. The metal door slammed into Dagor’s nose. Blood gushed out. His hand swung to grasp the back of her shirt. I heard a scream as the door shut.
“Let’s get in there,” Muffin said. “I want the trophy.”
“We don’t even know what the trophy has in it, and Catarina isn’t working alone. She has pepper spray,” I argued.
“Come on,” Mya said. “Catarina’s in trouble. I don’t like her, but she’d do the same for us.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She pepper sprayed me today and stole the trophy.”
“Then we can pepper spray her and steal the trophy back,” Muffin said, swinging open the car door.
Mya popped out after Muffin. If Muffin was the only one going in, I’d stay put, but I couldn’t let Mya go in without me. I hurried in after them. The thought of pepper spraying Cat had me in a near grin.
Muffin was first in the door. We followed her in and stood for a moment. The large, dimly lit office was scattered with heavy, old, metal desks. Broken-down cubicle walls littered the walkways, making them nearly impassable. A scream pierced through the desolate office, giving us the direction to head.
“She’s in the far left office,” Muffin said.
Muffin trudged through the office obstacles, Mya hopped and skipped over them, and I banged my toe and shin on every hard surface within the walkway radius.
“Ouch!” I said for what had to be the fifteenth time.
“Shhh!” they both scolded.
We neared the office door and slowed to a creeping pace, straining to hear sounds.
“I want the trophy back or I’ll shoot Catarina,” Dagor hissed.
“Go ahead and shoot her. Then I’ll shoot you and leave here with the trophy,” a man said. His accent was thick French.
“The trophy is mine!”
“It’s never been yours,” the French accent continued. “I’ve been tracking it since French Guiana—long before the drug lords gave orders.”
“I’m dead if I don’t give it to them.”
“More will die if I give it to you. So, by killing you—or having them do it for me, I’m saving lives.”
I crept to the door. Peeking through the crack, I saw both men pointing their guns at each other. Dagor appeared shaken. The gun rattled in his hand while his nose oozed with blood, staining his shirt and the floor. Pierre was calm . . . too calm. He seemed at ease with the situation and in control. Catarina was to the side and slightly behind Pierre. Her face was pale with a cut under her eye. But she seemed confident in her partner’s ability to keep her safe.
“What if we team up?” Dagor asked.
Pierre cracked a brief and empty smile. “I think not. You’re quivering with your gun. What happened? Did the drug lords find you and give you an ultimatum?”
“I’m desperate. They changed their deadline. I need the trophy tonight. They already have men waiting in the U.S.”
“That’s why you never work with the cartel.”
Muffin bumped me out of the way. “Move over,” she whispered. “I want to see.”
A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Someone else was in the main office. We weren’t alone, and they didn’t want to be seen. This had the makings of a trap.
“Mya, we have to go,” I whispered.
She’d heard the dialog between the two men, and her face was drained of all rosiness. She wasn’t going to be a hard sell to leave. I motioned for her to lead us. I wanted her out first. Not that I had any way to protect her, but it seemed like a good idea.
I didn’t check to see if Muffin was following. She was on her own. If Dagor or Pierre didn’t nab her, the police would.
Mya was scurrying over the last cubicle obstacle when the partition gave way; she collapsed with a thud. The creak and groan of metal and crashing wall broke through the silence.
I frantically helped Mya back up.
“Hurry!” I whispered.
Mya stood up, shaking. Hurrying out the door would be impossible. I glanced back to see Muffin nearly on top of us, with Dagor and Pierre in close pursuit.
Muffin bulldozed through, plucking Mya off the cubicle landslide and running toward the door. As Muffin pushed past, my foot fell through the cubicle fabric. The weight of the metal frame crushed around me, pinning me in place. I struggled to free myself, but within seconds, the unforgiving metal of a gun barrel pressed into the back of my head. Both of my hands flew up to signal yield.
“She’s mine,” Dagor growled.
“Go get the others,” Pierre ordered.
“I don’t care about them. I only want the trophy and Nadia. Then I’m leaving the country.”
“I don’t care what you want. She’s not leaving here until I know who she’s working for.”
“I’m not working for anyone,” I pleaded.
Pierre used the framing to jump over me and run to the door. He cracked it open with his gun to peek out.
“They’re gone,” he said, slamming the door. “Who were they? I should shoot you for spying.”
“Shoot Dagor first and deal with me second.”
The blunt end of Dagor’s gun smashed down on my head. My hands flew to the back of my head as pain seared its way through my scalp. The sensation of blood tricking through my fingers and down my arms made me queasy. My stomach groaned against its lining. I’d never believed someone could see stars when they received a hard blow to the head, but sure enough, little pinpoints of lights swirled in my hemisphere.
My leg remained trapped by the cubicle frame. I leaned my weight against the broken wall to prop myself up.
“Leave her alone until my questions are answered,” Pierre snarled at Dagor. He lifted the twisted metal off my leg to free me. “Get into the office. Dagor, if you want to leave without bullet holes in you, then leave now.”
If I was Dagor, I would have run. Pierre’s words weren’t a threat. They were a promise. But upon seeing me, Dagor’s composure renewed and he sneered at Pierre. His gun no longer rattled in his clammy hands.
I rubbed my newly freed leg with my blood-covered hands, accidentally smearing the red stain on my clothes and skin. Crawling the rest of the way, a movement behind Pierre and Dagor caught my attention. Someone was definitely hiding here. I hoped they were friendly; they were very careful not to get caught.
A gun nudged my back, spurring me to hurry. I scrambled along the collapsing walls and found my way to the office. I paused at the door before the gun jabbed me forward; the hard metal barrel bruised my skin.
“Stop poking me with the gun,” I said, rubbing my sensitive skin.
“Get in there,” Dagor hissed.
I stepped through the doorway to see Catarina inspecting the trophy. Her eyes drifted to me as I entered. She made no sign or movement that she intended to help me. Instead, her eyes glittered and her lips curled, showing just a hint of her teeth.
“If you boys need any help with her, I have some pepper spray left. I know she loves it.”
Pierre glanced at Catarina but didn’t give the order to have me sprayed. Instead, he steered me to an old metal chair with a cracked and weathered leather cushion.
I sank down into it, relieved my knees wouldn’t have to support my shaking weight any longer. I watched as Pierre leaned against a desk. His hand still wielded his gun, though it wasn’t pointed directly at me.
“Who were your friends?” he asked.
There was no harm in telling him general information. He might even be satisfied and wouldn’t pursue the matter. “The giant one is a con artist who wants the trophy but doesn’t know what its value is or why anyone would want it since she was the one who cooked it. The blonde was just driving us because we had no other means of transportation.”
His eyes set on me intensely. He didn’t speak right away.
“Why were you at the tournament? Were you trying to win the trophy?”
“Of course I was trying to win. I needed the money,
not the trophy.”
“Then how did you become involved?”
His questioning made me slightly relax. He wasn’t like Dagor. Dagor would have beaten or strangled me in an attempt to wrench the information. With Pierre, we were chatting like we were at a tea party . . . minus the tea, add some guns and blood.
“Caleb won the tournament. He always wins. He sent the trophy to me so he didn’t have to lug it home.”
“Does he know what the trophy is?”
“No, and neither do I. Why would anything of value be placed inside a trophy?”
He smirked. “It was a mistake. The trophy had an identical twin and was to be transferred to a drop-off spot. It was discovered that they were switched.”
“Why does everyone want it?”
“That’s none of your concern. Now I know you are of no use and will only get in my way.”
“Let me get rid of her for you,” Dagor said. I could hear his excitement blooming at my impending demise. He was nearly panting from delirious delight.
Pierre held up his hand, stopping him from continuing. “Not quite yet. I know Sergio has been around your apartment. What’s he to you?” he asked me.
“He was working for me,” Dagor answered instead. “But since I had the trophy, I cut him out of the deal. Then she stole it,” he sneered at Catarina.
Catarina stood her ground. “It was easy enough,” she said. “If you weren’t so keen on getting into my pants, then you’d be out of the country with the trophy.”
“And you’d be dead. It’s a mistake I don’t intend to make again.”
I watched them both with a wary eye. It answered my question as to why Catarina was still alive.
“Enough,” Pierre said. “Catarina, tie her up.”
Catarina’s callous laugh filled the room as she picked up a piece of rope from the desk. She grabbed at my wrists. As she bent to tie the rope, I elbowed her. She stumbled back, holding her jaw where my hit landed.
“Please behave yourself or I’ll have Dagor shoot you,” Pierre said, seeming bored with the whole situation—as if this was just another chess move in a drearily long game.
“If you don’t need her, then let me shoot her now,” Dagor said.
High Stakes Page 18
