Shadow Man: Grayson Duet: Book One

by Wiltcher, Catherine

  “What the hell happened?” demands Dante, striding up to her.

  “They attacked me! They took Viviana!”

  “Who did?”

  “Three men,” she cries, clutching at her chest. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  “Fernandez,” Dante rumbles, his expression failing to hide his rage. “How the hell did they get in here? We have a hundred men patrolling this estate.”

  But I’m already halfway out of the door. I take the stairs at a run, ignoring the blistering jolts in my shoulder. “Anna!” I shout as I reach the bedroom door. “Anna?”

  No answer.

  The room is empty. White curtains flutter at the open windows as all kinds of hell explode in the pit of my stomach. She’s gone. She’s fucking gone—

  A gunshot rings out and I’m retracing my steps quicker than I made them. Gomez is sprawled out at the foot of the staircase with that prophesied hole in the back of his head.

  “Caught him trying to sneak out while I was dealing with Gabriela,” says Dante, holstering his gun. “I think it’s safe to assume we found the leak. His petulance should have been the first clue.”

  “Anna’s gone too,” I announce bleakly, watching his expression plunge even deeper into darkness. “I won't rest until I find her, even if I have to rip this whole fucking country apart.”

  “Fuck!” he roars. “Fuck!” He stops pacing for a moment and runs his hand across his jaw. “Radio Reece outside. See if any of our men were harmed in this attack, and then get Gomez’s guys in here. Let’s see if he was working alone. Tell them the newly resurrected Santiago cartel just took control of their organization.” He takes a breath and catches my eyes again. He knows I don't give a shit about any of this. He knows my thoughts are fully focused on one thing, and one thing only. “We’ll get her back, Grayson.”

  His cell beeps and he glances at the message.

  Without a word, he chucks the cell to me. My world turns an even darker shade of black when I see the message. It’s Anna. Bound and gagged. Staring directly into the camera with the kind of fear I never wanted to see reflected in those river-deep eyes again.

  My fingers clench around the device. Dante’s devil is raging through my veins just as much as his today. My resolve is cold steel and ice. It’s napalm and gasoline.

  I was there to save her the first time.

  I’ll be there to save her again.

  The cell starts ringing, and I answer it right away.

  “My terms are simple,” comes Fernandez’s harsh rasp. “I want Gomez’s entire operation and you out of the picture in exchange for one of the girls. I’ll let you decide which.”

  Motherfucker.

  “When?” I demand, switching the call to loudspeaker so Dante can hear.

  “We keep the round table meeting tomorrow as planned, but there’ll be three seats instead of five. I’m sure you’re already aware of what’s happened to Perez and Hurtados. You can take the place of Gomez. Do what you like with him. He’s outlived his usefulness.” I glance at the dead body on the floor. We already got the memo. “My estate in Cartagena, tomorrow at sunset. No guns. No men. No nasty surprises. Once your assurances have been given, you can take the girl and go. I want you gone from Colombia, never to return.”

  I catch Dante’s eye again. His terms are bullshit. We’re walking into a firing squad, and we both know it.

  “You hurt them and the deal’s off,” I roar, losing my temper.

  Fernandez laughs again. “Until I get my assurances tomorrow, El Asesino. I’ll do whatever the hell I like with them.”

  31

  Joseph

  The same day my father blew a hole in my life, he cursed me and sent me straight to hell.

  I say hell… It was more a purgatory; an icy plane trapped between two existences, neither of which made any sense to me. I was alive, but I couldn’t subscribe to that word, and normality played out like a fucking jazz song. The notes never stayed in one place long enough to feed a rhythm: not my brief marriage, or the precious time I spent with my son, or the six years in the US military that made me feel proud to fight for someone other than myself for a change.

  That was the curse.

  That was my hell.

  So when the devil came around looking for a new lieutenant, I sat up and I paid attention. He offered me a way to escape my purgatory, and I negotiated for my soul over a bottle of bourbon in a bar in Texas.

  My morals were shot down in flames soon after. I drenched my fists in blood. I was content with my choice until I saw a girl on a sidewalk. A girl whom I subsequently discovered smells of vanilla and orange blossom, and who rides my cock so hard I find myself daring to believe in more.

  There’s no way I’m losing that girl today. I made her a promise, and it’s one that keeps on moving in a circular motion. If she breaks, I’ll fix her. If she’s lost, I’ll find her. If a cartel boss steals her, I’ll compromise everything to bring her home. If he hurts her…

  We arrive at Fernandez’s estate on time, pulling up to the main house at six p.m. sharp. It’s just Dante and me in the car as stipulated, but with a couple of hidden knives and an army of vengeful demons to call upon when required.

  We’re frisked and shown into an interior courtyard—a mosaicked riad with overhanging balconies and an extravagant blue fountain that’s making the whole place stink of cleaning fluid. Stupid move giving us ideas like that. By the end of the evening, I guarantee Fernandez will be facedown and drowning in it.

  The man himself is waiting for us like a cheap king on his patio chair throne. He’s flanked by five of his own, all armed, with a dozen more stationed in the balconies above. His own gun has been neatly placed on the glass table in front of him like some kind of fucked-up decoration, the muzzle pointing portentously—or what he’d like to think is portentously—in our direction. Next to it is a stack of paperwork and a bottle of Aguardiente.

  The guy’s sixty, but he looks like he’s pushing seventy. That's the kind of crazy shit an eighteen-year-old girlfriend will do to an old man. He’s dressed for the occasion in black, with the color highlighting the network of gaunt shadows on his face. He’s a skull in a suit, but we’ll be the ones delivering death tonight.

  No Anna.

  No Viviana.

  No more patience.

  “Where the fuck are they?” I growl, striding up to him.

  “Señor Santiago… El Asesino.” He doesn’t bother to stand and greet us. Mistake number one.

  “What do you want, Fernandez?” says Dante, putting his hand on my arm. He needs me simmering, not exploding. He’ll be wanting me to save that for the finale. “This is a tedious charade, not befitting of any of us.”

  “My son is dead, Señor Santiago,” declares the old man, holding it up like a trump card when everyone here knows it’s a fake. Alberto was a drunk and liar, and he’s far more valuable to his father six-feet under than he ever was alive. “What could be more befitting than retribution? Surely you know this better than anyone…”

  “The countless virtues of my dead daughter could never erase the vice of your dead son, señor,” he responds coldly. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, but on this occasion I will… What the fuck do you want?”

  The sudden singsong nature of his voice is a warning. The fireworks are in danger of being lit early tonight from the both of us.

  “Dante,” I hiss, impressing on him the importance of sticking to our plan in a single word. Nothing can happen until we know they’re alive.

  Fernandez glances between us, trying to read into our silence.

  Good luck with that.

  “What I want, señor, is a mere five minutes of your time.” He gestures to the spare seats opposite him. “I’d like to conclude all business transactions before we have the, ah, pleasure of their company.”

  The way his accent thickens as he says it makes my blood freeze. If he’s laid one finger on her—

  “This isn’t a fucking boar
d meeting, Fernandez,” snaps Dante. “You’re not a corrupt government figurehead anymore. We don't sign paperwork in our business. We ink our shit in blood. You want Gomez’s organization? You know what you need to do about it.”

  “Gomez’s organization is mine already,” he says, dismissing him with a wave. “You can’t stop the inevitable. My men are poised to take control of his processing plants this evening. This is about savoring my victory.”

  “And what victory would that be?” I say coolly. “The acquisition of a plot of land next to your son’s grave?”

  There’s a long pause. It’s the cool hush before the start of a circus show, when all of the lights are down.

  “Is Gomez dead?” he says idly.

  “All our enemies are dead,” I say evenly.

  “Not all,” he says with a smirk as he reveals his second trump card of the night.

  Dante was right. There’s a silent partner in this game.

  Dante breaks the deadlock first by swinging out a chair and taking a seat. I know what he’s doing. He’s intrigued, and now he’s angling for time. As usual, I keep one pace behind him and two eyes on the game.

  “Where’s Luis Ossa?”

  Fernandez offers him a bland smile. “He had a prior engagement.”

  “With your bullet?” Dante crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. “Here I was thinking you two had a deal… Do you make it a habit of renegading on them, Fernandez?”

  “Only with those who fail to uphold their side of the bargain.” With that he slides a stack of paper across the table toward him.

  Dante doesn't pick it up. He doesn't even glance at it. “You will never have control of Colombia.”

  “I already do.” Fernandez rolls a pen across the table at him.

  “And I told you we don’t sign paperwork in our business,” says Dante, flicking it back.

  “Not even the deeds of properties?” There’s a hint of triumph in his voice.

  “What properties?” scoffs Dante. “I don’t even live in this fucking country anymore.”

  “I want your brother’s former estate,” he says, steepling his hands with a smirk.

  “I don’t claim that ownership.” Dante glances around the courtyard. “Can I get a drink, or is your hospitality as poor as your word?”

  “I beg to differ, señor,” says Fernandez, ignoring his request. “Gabriela Lopez may reside there, but she doesn’t own the—”

  “No, she doesn’t, but my brother’s daughter does.”

  It’s not true. He’s stalling for time again. But the smirk drops from Fernandez’s face so fast I reckon we’ll be needing one less bullet tonight.

  “What daughter?” he demands. “What is this trickery?”

  “I thought you two would have been introduced.” Dante leans forward and plants his elbows on the table in front of him, adding a gravitas to his lie. “After all, she’s been enjoying your hospitality for the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Hijueputa, you liar!” blusters Fernandez, his composure slipping.

  “So, in a fucked-up way, a Santiago did shoot you son dead, after all,” muses Dante, tossing his word bomb at Fernandez’s red face.

  “Malparidos! Bring them out!” he bellows.

  There’s movement in the shadows in front of us.

  Anna.

  One of Fernandez’s men shoves her toward us. Her mouth and hands are bound, but her eyes are liquid fire. I know that conviction. I killed for it. I restored it. She’s been here before, and she knows she can survive it.

  Viviana’s the same. Her two fireballs of fury are working overtime tonight. Her natural Santiago arrogance is starting to emerge.

  Together, they make a formidable pair. I watch them shrug their captor’s hands away. I can hear their silent curses in my head. They've killed together; they've faced their fears together. A bond like that binds two lives together forever.

  Fernandez’s sicarios manhandle them toward the table and force them into the two spare seats at opposite ends. At the same time, I feel the muzzle of a PKM machine gun ramming into the small of my back as another sicario sticks his gun in Dante’s face.

  Kalashnikovs. Russian. There’s no need to guess which side of Fernandez’s fucking family they came from.

  “I thought you were giving us a choice with the women?” says Dante, re-crossing his legs.

  “I’ve changed my mind, señor,” sneers Fernandez. “As for the house, I’ll be taking it anyway and putting all the runaway putas back to work.”

  “Then what the hell is this?” Glancing at Anna, I watch her gaze shift to the rings around my neck. Her eyes widen before jerking up to meet mine again.

  “This?” Fernandez waves his hand between the girls like he’s the ringmaster introducing the first act. “This is justice.”

  A bad feeling starts chewing up my insides as two 9mm Berettas are brought to the table. He releases both magazines in turn, removing the cartridges until only one is left in each before slapping them back into place. At the same time, the cable ties are cut from Anna and Viviana’s wrists.

  “Both these bitches deserve to die for what they did to Alberto, but the choice is in their hands now.” He leans back in his chair to enjoy the show. “Will it be love or will it be family who takes the crown?”

  At a click of his fingers, his men slide the guns across the table—one in Anna’s direction and the other in Viviana’s. They skid to a halt right in front of them. “One bullet each,” he explains silkily. “First one to fire wins their freedom.”

  This wasn't in the script.

  Even so, the women are eerily calm in their acceptance…and that’s when it hits me. There’s no way in hell they’re going to point those guns at each other and pull the triggers. Fernandez has underestimated them as his peril. Their bond is too fucking strong for that.

  “Dante,” I mutter, and the Kalashnikov screws deeper into my back. I see the slight nod of his head, and I know he’s read the play too.

  “Pick up the guns, putas,” orders Fernandez. As an extra incentive he picks up his own and points it in our direction, swinging the muzzle between us as if he’s a ticking kill clock. “The longer you leave it, the quicker these men will die.”

  Anna and Viviana do as he says. My Luna isn’t looking at me anymore. She’s staring straight at her friend.

  “Three…” Fernandez’s voice rises in excitement.

  “Two…” Both girls take aim; their fingers steady on the triggers. If Fernandez was expecting a beg-fest, they’re denying him the thrill.

  “One!”

  It’s fucking poetry how both Berettas turn in his direction at the same time. It’s sexy as hell when both bullets eviscerate Fernandez’s face together. A beat later, I’m jabbing my elbow into the jaw of the man behind me, and seizing his machine gun. One glance reassures me that Dante has done the same, and then I see him reach for his watch.

  “Get under the fucking table!” I roar at Anna as bullets explode all around us. She and Viviana dive for cover, ripping at the material around their faces as the final act plays out.

  The bombs our team laid at the front entrance to the house detonate like raucous applause. The riad collapses like a house of cards; the men from the balconies tumbling to the ground with screams and falling masonry.

  “Time to move.” I grab Anna’s hand and drag her toward the remains of the front entrance, as our team moves in past us to secure the area.

  A fleet of black SUVs are waiting for us outside. I throw the girls into one and jump in after. Dante takes the passenger seat. We're hitting the highway in a matter of minutes.

  “Nice shooting, darlin’,” I drawl tucking Anna into my side, relief filtering into my lungs when I feel her soft warmth burrowing into me.

  “I figured that’s what bad girls should do,” she says grinning up at me. “Aim for the head and never hesitate, just like you told me.”

  I glance across at Viviana. “You did well.”

 
She nods, throwing a worried look in Dante’s direction. “Have I made up for shooting you yet?”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.” I pull Anna onto my knee and reacquaint myself with orange blossom and vanilla.

  “Well, it’s stopped me wanting to rip your fucking throat out,” growls Dante from the front suddenly. He turns and regards his niece with a coolness bordering on cold, hard respect. “Grayson’s right. You did well in there. I still don't trust you or the polluted blood in your veins, but there’s a part of you that fell on the right side of the family tree tonight.”

  A silent acknowledgment passes between them, but I’m more interested in the soft fingers curling around my neck. I watch as Anna slides my chain out from underneath my black shirt and stares at the two golden rings that keep catching in the moonlight.

  “I remembered.” She snags my gaze and holds it. “I finally remembered the promise you made to me that night.” I watch as her smile fights through the pain as her worst memory collides with something better. Much better. Something that has been my whole universe since I freed her from a cage. “I see you, Joseph Grayson,” she says softly, closing her fist tight around them. “I see you, and I want you… And I’m here to claim you right back.”

  32

  Anna

  Six Months Ago

  My cage is a prism reflecting light. For the girl who’s trapped inside, it’s dull, dirty and squalid. But beyond my bars it’s a rainbow of color. I’m in a room; an elegant room with exposed brickwork and crystal chandeliers. Bi-fold doors are spanning the length of one wall, offering up the space to an unfamiliar skyline. It looks European, but no one tells me anything anymore. Elegant people circulate around the elegant room. It’s all so goddamn elegant.

  Except for us.

  I’m in one of seven metal cages suspended from the ceiling. They’re big enough to hold us if we cower on bended knees, but that’s how they prefer us anyway. Smashed-up souls mean easy-to-manipulate bodies.